Chapter 23 Matchless

Chapter 23 Matchless
The rustle of paper filled the room like a whispering wind, blending with the soft scratch of pens and the occasional nervous cough. It was Monday—the start of finals week—and every face in the classroom looked exhausted, worn down by sleepless nights and too much caffeine.

I glanced at our class president. Miracle of miracles, it looked like his planned review session had actually happened. The guy seemed calm, like he could answer every question without breaking a sweat.

I sat hunched over my test paper, trying to focus on the words blurring in front of me. The question was straightforward: Describe the stages of the estrous cycle in domestic mammals. I knew the answer. I had reviewed it three times last night and even highlighted it in yellow. But knowing something and recalling it under pressure were two very different things.

Before the exam, I had told myself I would rely on stock knowledge. Apparently, my guardian angel and I had different definitions of “stock”—I had the stock, but zero knowledge.

The air felt thick. My pen tapped unconsciously against the table as I tried to recall the sequence: proestrus, estrus, metestrus, diestrus. I wrote them down and took a deep breath. My handwriting looked messier than usual, almost impatient, but I didn’t care.

Around me, my classmates were just as tense—shoulders tight, brows furrowed. The only sounds were the faint hum of the air conditioner and the creak of chairs whenever someone shifted. The minutes dragged, yet the clock seemed to mock us, ticking faster than it should.

“Time’s up,” our professor announced.

Almost everyone let out a heavy sigh. I silently prayed in relief—I had survived one subject without dying.

I still had thirty minutes before we headed to the laboratory for Professor Villanueva’s practical exam. That was probably where I would meet my end.

I ran a hand through my hair, already dreading it. I had even asked fourth-year students who had taken his class before what the practical exam was like, but I got zero useful information.

In the end, I stopped worrying. I had reviewed. Whatever happened, it was up to the Lord now.

I decided to go to the cafeteria—maybe grab something light and review a bit more before the practical started.

The cafeteria was lively with noise—students talking, chairs scraping, and the faint clatter of utensils. I joined the short line and ordered the first thing I saw: garlic rice, egg, and sausage. My brain was too tired to make decisions.

I grabbed an iced tea and sat at a corner table by the window, where soft light fell across the surface.

I pulled out my printed reviewer and a couple of books so I could study while eating.

I spread my notes beside my plate, flipping through highlighted terms: canine anatomy, zoonotic diseases, basic surgical instruments. My fingers traced over certain lines as if that could help me memorize them faster. I ate absentmindedly between reading, my mind drifting between facts and fatigue.

Every time I tried to recite the terminology, I drew a blank.

I decided to finish eating first so I could focus better on studying.

While eating, I noticed someone entering from the far end of the cafeteria in my peripheral vision.

It was Ethan.

He looked the same as always—simple but neat. His nursing uniform was tucked perfectly, his ID hanging slightly tilted against his chest. His hair was still damp, like he had just come from the washroom. He scanned the room, probably looking for a seat. Our eyes met for a brief second. My heart skipped—not enough to be obvious, but enough to make me look away first.

These past few days, I had already admitted to myself that something was going on with me. But because it was still new, I wanted to take it slow and go through every step properly.

I forced myself to keep eating, pretending I hadn’t noticed him walking closer. But the sound of his footsteps grew louder until his voice broke through my concentration.

“Can I sit here?” he asked calmly.

I stopped eating, looked up, and pretended to be surprised. “Sure.”

He smiled—small and polite, the kind that didn’t quite reach his eyes but still softened something inside me.

He sat in the empty chair across from me and set down his tray, which held a sandwich and a glass of water.

I continued eating, occasionally glancing at the open notebook beside my plate.

“Still busy?” he asked, taking a bite of his sandwich.

I looked at him when he spoke and nearly choked. He was staring straight at me. My heartbeat quickened, and the way he looked at me didn’t help. I quickly looked away.

“Not anymore,” I answered calmly, even though my chest was pounding.

Silence settled between us, so I busied myself with reading my reviewer.

These past few days, I had wanted to go to his classroom like I used to, but I told myself I would finish finals first before bothering him again.

“Do you have plans on Saturday?” he asked.

My whole body tingled at how softly he spoke.

“Yeah, I have somewhere to go,” I replied without looking at him.

I couldn’t meet his eyes. Every time our gazes locked, it felt like electricity running through me.

“What about Sunday?” he pressed, raising an eyebrow.

I took out my phone to check my schedule. After glancing at it, I slipped it back into my pocket.

I turned to him—he was clearly waiting for an answer. “Not free then either. I have something to do.”

I saw his shoulders drop slightly after hearing my reply.

Guilt hit me immediately. I didn’t actually have plans for Sunday. I had been thinking of visiting my brother in Japan, but it was still just an idea—I wasn’t even sure yet.

“I’ll let you know when I’m free,” I said.

He dropped the sandwich he was holding and looked at me directly.

“Really?” he asked with a grin.

He’s so fucking cute. Lord, help me—I’m not your strongest soldier.

“Yeah,” I answered.

He held out his hand in front of my face.

“Promise?”

I couldn’t stop the laugh that escaped. He looked like a kid asking for reassurance about something he really wanted.

Such a baby. But I like it.

“Go ahead, laugh,” he grumbled.

He started to pull his hand back, but before he could, I hooked my pinky around his.

We did a pinky promise. It was the first time I had ever done it. It felt childish, but I liked it—especially when I saw his eyes blink the moment our little fingers touched.

Woah. I missed those almond-shaped eyes.

We were still like that when Caleb suddenly appeared out of nowhere.

“Pinky swears are outdated. Even Dora was blind,” Caleb interrupted.

I glared at him as Ethan bowed his head in embarrassment. This idiot. What does Dora have to do with anything?

“Chill, bro. You look like you want to kill me,” Caleb said, slinging an arm around my shoulders as he sat beside me.

We all fell quiet, so I went back to reading.

“Fuck, it feels like the exam questions are strangling me,” Caleb complained.

I turned to him. He looked ridiculous slapping his own face.

“You’re a nursing student too, right? I have some notes for tomorrow’s exam,” Ethan offered.

“You’re a gift from heaven, Ethan,” Caleb replied.

He suddenly stood up and walked over to Ethan. My eyes widened when he pulled him into a hug.

“You’re so kind. I hope you and Blake end up together,” Caleb whispered.

Ethan’s face turned bright red.

I grabbed the tissue I had used to wipe my mouth earlier and threw it at Caleb. He caught it easily.

“You’re disgusting, bro,” Caleb shouted, loud enough that half the cafeteria turned to look at us.

Damn traitor. Right in front of me?

“He already has Blake and you’re hugging him,” I snapped.

I checked the time on my phone.

“I have to go. I still have a practical exam,” I said, standing up.

Before I could walk away, Ethan spoke. “Good luck, Lucas.”

I nodded and kept walking. How about that? I have a good luck charm now. I might even help my classmates later.

The laboratory was cold when I entered—the sterile kind of chill that made your skin prickle. Rows of tables were set up with labeled tools: syringes, stethoscopes, scalpels, and gloves neatly arranged. A large jar sat on the front desk, filled with folded pieces of paper.

I took an empty seat at the back. Professor Villanueva would call us one by one to draw from the jar on his table.

Each paper had the name of an animal written on it. The professor would then ask questions you had to answer on the spot.

Every time a name was called, the hairs on my arms stood up. This might really be the end of me.

While waiting, my thoughts drifted back to Ethan and his simple “good luck.”

“Lucas, your turn.”

I jolted upright when my name was called.

As I walked forward, I noticed some classmates trying to hold back their laughter. Who wouldn’t be nervous in a setup like this?

My legs felt heavier than they should as I approached the jar. I took a deep breath and reached in. The crumpled papers rustled faintly.

I opened the slip and froze when I saw Canis lupus familiaris. I showed it to Professor Villanueva.

He gave a small nod. “Alright, Lucas. Let’s begin. Start with the general anatomy of the Canis lupus familiaris.”

I was nervous when I drew the dog. I loved the topic, but it was the last animal I had reviewed last night.

I took a breath and began, my voice tight and almost trembling. “The Canis familiaris, or domestic dog, has a skeletal structure adapted for movement and endurance…”

My eyes flicked between the jar and the professor, who sat just a few steps away, pen ready, expression unreadable. The room was silent except for the faint scratching of other pens. I could hear the clock ticking—slow and deliberate—each second reminding me I couldn’t afford to blank out.

My whole body was shaking, making it hard to focus.

I tried to recall what I had read. “The vertebral column consists of seven cervical, thirteen thoracic, seven lumbar, three sacral, and approximately twenty coccygeal vertebrae.” My throat felt dry, but I continued. “Their forelimbs are attached by muscles rather than bones, which allows greater flexibility for running and balance.”

Professor Villanueva nodded and wrote something on his paper.

My stomach twisted. Was that good? Did I miss something? I couldn’t tell.

“Good,” he said.

I breathed a sigh of relief.

“Next—give one common disease in dogs and describe its treatment.”

My mind stalled for a moment. I closed my eyes briefly, forcing myself to breathe. Then the memory surfaced.

“Canine parvovirus,” I answered. “It’s a highly contagious viral disease that primarily affects puppies. Symptoms include vomiting, diarrhea, and dehydration. Treatment is mostly supportive—fluid therapy, antibiotics to prevent secondary infections, and antiemetics. There is no direct cure, but prevention through vaccination is highly effective.”

Professor Villanueva gave another approving nod. My shoulders relaxed slightly. One question left.

“Excellent. Looks like you studied, Buenavista?”

I laughed nervously even though my heart was still pounding.

“Last—situational question. A dog comes in with a deep laceration on its hind leg after being hit by a vehicle. What immediate actions would you take?”

My heart raced again. Situational meant process and precision—no room for hesitation. I tried to picture the scene: the dog, the wound, the steps. My brain felt foggy, but then Ethan’s face flashed in my mind—his grin and the “good luck” he had given me. For a second, I felt calm.

“First, I would assess the dog’s vital signs—check for shock, bleeding, and pain response,” I began, my tone steadier now. “If stable, I would apply pressure to control the bleeding, clean the wound with antiseptic solution, and immobilize the leg. Depending on the depth, suturing might be required, followed by antibiotics and anti-inflammatory medication. I would also advise the owner to monitor for infection and return for follow-up.”

When I finished, there was a brief silence before the professor gave a small approving smile. “Good job, Lucas. You may return to your seat.”

As I walked back, my knees felt weak—not just from nerves, but from the overwhelming relief. I sank into my chair and exhaled quietly. My hands were still trembling slightly, but a small smile crept onto my face.

Thank God I’m walking out of this laboratory alive.

After the exam, I stopped by the small bakeshop near the main gate. The bell above the door jingled softly as I entered. The air smelled of vanilla and freshly baked bread.

“Good afternoon,” I said to the woman behind the counter. “I’m here to submit a cake design.”

She smiled. “For a birthday, sir?”

“Yeah,” I replied, handing over the printout Elijah had sent me.

When I first saw the design Elijah sent, I was surprised. It really suited Ethan’s course, and I knew he would love it because his siblings had designed it themselves.

After confirming the details and making the payment, I headed to the nearby mall.

I had been walking around the mall for almost an hour, and my feet were starting to ache. Every store blurred into the next—rows of shirts, shoes, perfumes, and random trinkets that didn’t feel right for Ethan.

I couldn’t think of a meaningful gift that would suit him. I had asked Elijah and Elise, but they couldn’t suggest anything either. They said their brother wasn’t really into material things.

When I reached the second floor, my knees finally gave in.

I sat on one of the cushioned benches near the escalator. The air-conditioning cooled my skin as I leaned back and exhaled deeply. Around me, people passed by carrying shopping bags, and faint laughter echoed from a group of friends across the hall. I rubbed the back of my neck and stared at the small fountain in the center, its water catching the light in soft ripples.

“What am I even supposed to get him?” I muttered.

In all the days I had spent with him, I couldn’t remember him ever mentioning something he wanted to buy for himself.

I tried to recall the times I had picked him up from work. I closed my eyes, but nothing came to mind. Our conversations had mostly been about his siblings.

The last time I fetched him from work before I started distancing myself replayed in my mind.

He opened the door and slid into the passenger seat, exhaling as if the weight of the entire day had finally lifted.

“So tiring,” he complained while buckling his seatbelt.

He had been pulling double shifts again lately. I could tell from his shorter texts and slower replies. When he mentioned he would just go home alone after work, I offered to pick him up. He refused at first—said he didn’t want to bother me—but I went anyway.

“You’re spacing out again,” he scolded.

I straightened in the driver’s seat. I hadn’t realized I had been staring at him.

“Why don’t you rest?” I asked.

He turned to me with a confused frown when I didn’t explain right away.

“You said you’re tired. Why don’t you rest?” I clarified.

He took a deep breath, clearly understanding what I was getting at.

“That’s why I’m going home, right? To rest,” he said, eyebrows furrowed and eyes sharp. “Don’t tell me you’re planning to take me somewhere else before dropping me off. I want to sleep already. I also want to see my son.”

I chuckled softly, trying to hide the smile forming on my lips. He already knew what I was trying to do—he always did. Every time I picked him up from work, I found a reason to take a detour, stop somewhere, grab food, or just sit for a while before heading home. Maybe I just didn’t want the night to end too soon. Or maybe I liked seeing him unwind—even for a little while—before he returned to the world that demanded so much from him.

“That’s not what I meant,” I said softly, trying to compose myself. I was afraid of crossing the line again. “You study in the morning, then work afterward. It would be fine if it was just one job, but you have three, Ethan. Of course you’ll feel exhausted. You’re human, not a robot.”

He chuckled and leaned back, eyes half-closed. “I don’t have a choice. I have to do it.”

I adjusted my posture and turned to face him. “For your family?”

“Yes,” he answered quietly.

I frowned. “What about yourself? Don’t you have any plans to take care of yourself? You need rest too.”

Because if you don’t, I will.

I didn’t know why that thought entered my mind, but I let it stay. Even I was confused about myself these days.

He was silent for a few minutes before opening his eyes. “I want to rest.” He sighed. “But whenever I choose myself, it feels like I’m leaving someone behind. Like something is missing.”

My gaze dropped to his hand resting on his thigh. It had faint scars and burns that stood out against his fair skin.

I stared at him while my hand searched the car compartment for the ointment.

“I just want them to have more than what I had. I don’t want Elijah worrying about expenses when he reaches college. I don’t want Elise to feel envious of her classmates because she doesn’t have what they have. So even if I want to put myself first, I can’t,” he said, rubbing his forehead after spilling everything.

When I finally found the ointment, I took his hand carefully and dabbed it over the faint bruise on his knuckles. His skin was warm under my fingertips, rough from work. I tried to be gentle—careful not to press too hard.

He didn’t say anything, just watched in silence as I traced the edge of the mark. When I glanced up, I saw the way his jaw tightened and how his lashes trembled. Then, before I could process it, I saw the thin shimmer in his eyes until one drop finally fell.

Without thinking, I reached for the towel beside me and gently wiped his cheek, pretending it was nothing, pretending I hadn’t just seen him break a little.

But something inside me shifted. Watching him like that—tired, fragile, struggling to hold everything together—left a weight in my chest I couldn’t name.