The Monkey King's Curse

Chapter 9: The Viral Problem

The humid, suffocating stillness of the car ride back to campus felt like the eye of a hurricane. Jovan stared out the window, watching the neon lights of the city blur into long, weeping streaks of color. His phone, which he had been desperate to avoid, kept lighting up with notifications—buzzing like a trapped insect against the leather seat.

"Don't look at it," Anisa said, her eyes fixed on the road, though the tension in her jaw betrayed her calm facade.

"I can't help it," Jovan muttered, pulling his hoodie tighter. "Every vibration is just another person seeing my face. How did the quality get so good? It looks like someone filmed it with a professional lens."

"It’s not the lens, it’s the algorithm," Anisa said, her voice sharp. "People like a spectacle, Jovan. They don't care if it’s real or a projection; they just want to share it. We need to get you inside the dorms without anyone noticing."

"That’s impossible," Jovan groaned, running a hand through his hair. "I’m the guy who fought a knife-wielder with a magic stick in a public park. I might as well have put a neon sign over my head."

"Then we act like you’re not him," Anisa countered. She pulled the car into a back alley behind the student union, the tires crunching over discarded soda cans and wet cardboard. "Listen to me. If anyone asks, you were home. You were studying. You were dead asleep. You didn't leave the room."

"What about my clothes? My hair? The girl?"

"She was terrified and in shock. She’s not going to be thinking about your fashion sense," Anisa said, killing the engine. "Just get out, keep your head down, and keep your pulse steady. If the gold starts to hum, press your wrist against the cool brick of the building. It’ll ground the excess energy."

Jovan nodded, feeling the weight of her plan. He stepped out of the car, the air feeling uncomfortably thick. He walked toward the side entrance of his dormitory, his eyes glued to the scuffed toes of his sneakers.

The lobby was a hive of frantic energy. Students were huddled in groups, phones held high, voices pitched in that high-frequency tone of manufactured excitement. As Jovan pushed through the glass door, the temperature in the room seemed to spike.

"Yo, did you see this?" a voice called out from the lounge. "Some guy in the park went full ninja mode!"

Jovan didn't look up. He kept his stride steady, aiming for the stairwell.

"Hey, check it out," someone shouted, stepping directly into his path. It was Marcus, his arm in a sling, his face bruised and swollen from their last encounter. He looked like he’d been dragged through a gravel pit. "Doesn't this guy look a little like our friend the lab rat?"

Jovan stopped, his heart slamming against his ribs. He didn't look at Marcus’s face. He kept his eyes on the floor, his internal hum turning into a low, warning growl.

"I’m tired, Marcus," Jovan said, his voice flat. "Move."

"Tired?" Marcus laughed, a wet, wheezing sound. "You look pretty energetic in this video, Jovan. Fast hands for a guy who’s usually failing his midterms."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Jovan said, forcing himself to walk past him.

"Don't walk away from me!" Marcus grabbed Jovan’s shoulder, his grip clumsy and weak.

Jovan spun around, his eyes flashing with that unnatural, iridescent gold. The air in the lobby suddenly felt thin, the atmospheric pressure dropping as the golden energy bled from his pores. Marcus recoiled as if he’d been burned, his hand dropping away from Jovan’s hoodie.

"Get your hands off me," Jovan whispered, his voice vibrating with a lethal, ancient resonance.

The lobby went silent. The students in the lounge looked up, their phones lowering. For a second, the room felt like it was holding its breath.

"Whatever, man," Marcus stammered, stepping back, his face losing its color. "Just... stay away from me."

Jovan didn't wait. He bolted for the stairs, his legs taking the steps two at a time. He didn't stop until he reached his room, slamming the door and locking it behind him. He collapsed against the wood, sliding down to the floor, his breath coming in ragged, shallow gasps.

He clutched his wrist. The blue light was back, dim and rhythmic, syncing with the pounding in his head.

"I have to leave," he whispered to the empty room. "I can't stay here. I’m going to hurt someone."

A light tap on his window startled him. He scrambled up, his hands instinctively reaching for the empty air where the staff should be.

It was Anisa. She was balanced on the fire escape, her expression tight and grim. She pushed the window open and climbed inside.

"You’re an idiot," she said, though her voice lacked any real bite. She saw his state and sighed, closing the window behind her. "You caused a scene. I told you to keep your head down."

"Marcus saw me," Jovan said, pacing the tiny room. "He connected the dots. I’m done, Anisa. The whole campus is watching that video."

"Let them watch. They don't know what they’re looking at," she said, walking over to his desk and clearing off a stack of books. "I’ve been monitoring the chatter. Most people think it’s a high-end CGI project or some kind of guerrilla marketing stunt. They don't believe it’s real because people don't believe in things like us."

"That’s not good enough! The man in the alley? He believed it. He’s going to come back."

"Then we’ll be ready," she said, turning to face him. "But for now, you’re staying inside. You are not to go to class. You are not to answer your phone. And you definitely aren't going to talk to anyone."

"Jovan?" A sharp knock echoed on the door. It wasn't the frantic, casual knock of a student. It was rhythmic, professional, and entirely too heavy. "Jovan, this is Sarah Jenkins from the Campus Herald. I’ve seen the video. I know it’s you."

Jovan looked at the door, then back at Anisa. His face turned ghost-white.

"I didn't tell her anything!" Jovan hissed.

"Keep quiet," Anisa whispered, pulling him into the corner.

"Jovan, open up," the voice continued, her tone shifting from curious to demanding. "I’m not looking for a scoop, I’m looking for the truth. And I’m not the only one. There are people in the faculty administration asking questions about that 'tail' that flickered in the frame. They think it’s some kind of genetic experiment gone wrong. You really want to let them keep digging?"

Jovan gripped his arm, the skin beneath his hoodie itching, the golden light beneath his skin swirling with a chaotic, violent hunger. He looked at Anisa, his eyes wide with genuine, marrow-deep terror.

"A tail?" Jovan whispered, his voice trembling. "She saw the tail?"

Anisa looked at the door, then back at him, her expression hardening into something cold and final. "If she saw the tail, then she’s not just a student reporter. We have to go. Now."