Kongpob did not believe in coincidence.

Not in outcomes. Not in people.

Patterns existed. Most simply refused to see them.

Arthit Rojanapat was not difficult to map.

Loud.

Predictable.

Consistently inclined toward decisions that prioritized immediate action over long-term efficiency.

Kongpob had spent the better part of a year confirming that.

“Rojanapat is going to get himself killed one day.”  The comment came idly, from somewhere to his left.

Kongpob did not turn.
“He won’t,” he said.

A pause.

“That didn’t sound like concern.”

“It wasn’t.”

Another pause.

Longer this time.

“Then what was it?” Aim asked.
Kongpob adjusted the alignment of the parchment in front of him, ensuring the edges were perfectly parallel.

“Observation.”

Across the Hall, Arthit was arguing.
Not heatedly—he rarely lost control of it—but with enough force to draw attention.
Hands moving.
Voice sharp.

Expression alive in a way Kongpob found… inefficient.

“You’re wrong,” Arthit was saying.
“I’m not—”
“You are.”
“That’s not how that works.”
“That’s exactly how it works.”

Too direct.
Too exposed.
Kongpob watched the exchange for a moment.
Then looked away.

There was no need to continue.

The conclusion was already established.
Arthit:
• reacted quickly
• spoke before filtering
• prioritized clarity over precision

Which meant—
He could be predicted.

“You’re doing it again.”

Kongpob didn’t look up. “Doing what?”

“Watching him.”

This time, he did glance sideways.

Brief.

Measured.

“I look at many things.”

“Not like that.” Aim insisted.

A pause.

Kongpob returned his attention to the parchment.

“Then your observation is flawed.”

A quiet huff of amusement.

“Or yours is incomplete.” Aim teased.

Kongpob did not respond.

There was nothing to add.

He did not need to watch Arthit constantly.

That would imply uncertainty.

He had already seen enough.

Time, as it tended to, rearranged things.

Not dramatically.

Just enough.

Years passed.

Classes became specializations.

Students became—
something closer to finished versions of themselves.

Patterns held.

Arthit remained:
• direct
• reactive
• irritatingly consistent

Which made him—
useful to predict.

Kongpob did not follow him.
That would have been inefficient.
He simply—
adjusted.

If Arthit chose practical defense—
Kongpob selected adjacent theory.

If Arthit’s schedule shifted—
Kongpob noticed.

Not intentionally.
Not actively.
Just—
automatically.

Like correcting an imbalance.

“Strange.”

Kongpob didn’t look up.
“What is?”

“You’re in three of his classes now.” Aim double checked the time table.
A pause.

“That is coincidence.”

“It isn’t.”

Kongpob’s quill did not falter. “Then it is alignment.”

“Of what?”

Another pause.
Slightly longer.
“Circumstance.” Kongpob didn't explain further.

The answer was sufficient.

It was also untrue.

The first time Arthit noticed him—
properly noticed him—
was not significant.

“You’re Suthiluck, right?”

Kongpob looked up.

Arthit stood across from him, slightly out of breath, like he had arrived in a hurry.

“Yes.” Kong replied.

“You’re good at theory.” Arthit probed.

Not a question.

Kongpob considered him.
“You’re adequate at application.” he reciprocated.

Arthit blinked.
Then grinned.

“That’s one way to say it.”

“It’s the accurate way.”

A laugh.
Unrestrained.

“I need notes,” Arthit said. “Yours are supposed to be… readable.”

“They are precise.”

Arthit shrugged “Same thing.”

“It isn’t.”

Arthit didn’t seem to care about the distinction.
“Can I borrow them?”

Kongpob could have said no.
There was no advantage in saying yes.
There was also—
no disadvantage.
“Yes.”

Arthit’s grin widened.
“Great. I’ll return them.”

“You won’t.”

“I will.”

“You won’t.”

A pause.
“…I might forget.”

“You will forget.”

Arthit laughed again.
“Alright, fine. I’ll try not to.”

He took the parchment.
Didn’t thank him.

Didn’t need to.

And left.

Kongpob watched him go.
Not long.
Not obviously.
Just enough.

He did not expect the notes back.

They were returned the next day.

Slightly creased.
But intact.

Kongpob noted that.

Adjusted.

It continued like that.
Small interactions.
Brief exchanges.
Nothing significant.
Nothing—
intentional.

Kongpob did not consider it interest.
That would imply emotional involvement.

This was not that.

This was—
Correction.
Observation.
Alignment.

And one constant, stable conclusion:
Arthit Rojanapat was straight.

The data supported it.
• prior attachments
• visible interest patterns
• behavioral consistency
There was no reason to question it.
Which meant—
There was no reason to act.

Kongpob closed the file in front of him.

Neatly.

Precisely.

Variable identified.

Outcome determined.

Non-actionable.

He did not look up.

There was no need to.

But across the room—
Arthit laughed again.

Too loud.

Too open.

Too—
predictable.

Kongpob’s quill paused.

Just briefly.

Then continued.

Nothing had changed.

There was nothing to reconsider.

And yet—
He adjusted the margin of the parchment.

Again.

Unnecessarily.

Imperfect alignment.

Irritating.

He corrected it.

And did not look up again.