Chapter 1: The Cube and the City
Bologna
The late spring air in Bologna was heavy with the scent of fresh bread and damp stone. Pigeons fluttered along the tiled roofs, their wings flashing against a sky streaked with pale gold. Narrow streets wound their way past terracotta walls and arcaded walkways, shadows stretching long in the morning light. Mopeds buzzed down the alleys, horns echoing, while flower boxes spilled with geraniums on every balcony.
To most people, this was just another weekday morning.
To Valerio Conti, fifteen years old and perpetually restless, it was another long stretch of time he would have to survive until freedom.
He slouched in the second row of his history class, his black hoodie pulled low over his head, dark hair escaping over his forehead. His blue eyes didn’t even pretend to focus on the teacher’s chalk scribbles about medieval city-states. Instead, under the desk, his fingers turned his mirror cube.
The silver stickers caught the light as he twisted it slowly, not aiming for speed, but for variety. He liked finding strange, inefficient, but beautiful ways to solve the puzzle — ways no one bothered to explore. He wasn’t competing against a clock; he was exploring.
Mirror Cube
“Valerio.”
He froze, cube hidden under the desk, and looked up to find Signora Bernardi staring at him from the front of the room. Her spectacles perched halfway down her nose, and she tapped the chalk against the board like a sword against a shield.
“Yes, professoressa?” His grin was quick, cocky, the grin that had gotten him out of a dozen punishments already.
“What year did the Holy Roman Empire officially dissolve?” she asked, eyes narrowing.
Valerio blinked. Cubes, cubes,… history… oh no.
“Uh. The year it officially dissolved… was when people got really tired of it?”
The class burst out laughing. His best friend, Matteo, slapped the desk beside him. “Legend!”
Signora sighed, though her lips twitched like she was fighting not to smile. “1806, Conti. Perhaps if you put away your toy, you might actually retain the date.”
Valerio leaned back, tossing Matteo a wink. “Hey, cubes are history too. Just… smaller.”
By the time the bell rang, he was free. The canteen bustled with students, the smell of fried arancini and pizza thick in the air. Valerio sat with Matteo and Giulia, both of them used to his antics.
“You’re going to get in real trouble one day,” Giulia said, pushing her glasses up her nose as she stabbed her salad with unnecessary force.
“Nah,” Valerio said around a mouthful of pizza. “Trouble gets bored of me. I’m too fast.”
Matteo grinned. “Fast? You take twenty minutes to solve a cube.”
“That’s art, not speed,” Valerio retorted. “Anyone can go fast. Not everyone can solve it backward, blindfolded, with their toes—”
“You did not,” Giulia interrupted.
“Okay, maybe not with toes. Yet.”
The rest of the day blurred into math, literature, and science — subjects that passed over him like rain on stone. Valerio survived them all with doodles in margins and quick cube breaks under the desk, waiting only for the final bell.
When classes ended, he trudged back home through Bologna’s streets. His family’s apartment was wedged between a bakery and a bookstore, the air always filled with a blend of yeast and paper. His mother worked at the bakery; his father taught physics at a nearby college. His little sister, Bianca, was nine years old and had perfected the art of barging into his room without knocking.
“Vale!” she squealed the moment he opened the door. She had the same black hair and blue eyes, but her hair was tied into bouncing pigtails. “Did you bring me gelato?”
“I barely brought myself back alive,” Valerio muttered, kicking off his sneakers. “History class tried to murder me.”
Bianca stuck out her tongue. “History’s fun.”
“That’s because you’re nine. When you’re fifteen, you’ll hate it too.”
She giggled and darted away as their mother called from the kitchen.
Later, in his room, Valerio set up his streaming corner. His hoodie was pulled tighter, the cube glittering under his desk lamp. He checked his camera, hit record, and leaned in.
Stacked on his shelf was a little army of puzzles: 2x2s, 3x3s, pyramids, even a clock cube. But lately, he had been obsessed with the mirror cube, its silver blocks shining like a puzzle from another world.
“Alright guys,” he said, smirking at the tiny green light. “So today we’re gonna mess around with the mirror cube again. Not speed-solving, because, let’s be real, I’m not a robot. We’re looking for weird ways. Think of it like… cube parkour. And for those asking why it looks like a normal cube with a mirror shine—yeah, it’s an illusion. That’s the trick. Don’t ask me where I bought it though, that’s top secret.”
Valerio's Mirror Cube
He twisted the cube slowly, narrating each turn, inventing little names for patterns. The chat on his live feed filled with laughing emojis and comments like ‘You’re insane, bro’ and ‘Do the backwards thing again!’
Valerio loved it. He loved the small audience who appreciated his nonsense, who didn’t care if he broke records, only if he broke expectations. When the cube finally clicked solved, he held it up to the camera triumphantly.
“See? Not about the time. About the story.”
The next morning, his triumph faded fast.
“Class, you will each prepare a solo project for the end of the term,” Signora announced. “You may choose any subject in European history, but you must consult original sources. Which means you will all visit the Biblioteca dell’Archiginnasio.”
A groan rose from the class, and Valerio’s was the loudest.
“A project? Alone?” he muttered. “Why can’t we just… google things?”
“Because,” Signora said firmly, “history deserves more than shortcuts.”
Valerio slumped against his desk. “I deserve shortcuts.”
Biblioteca dell’Archiginnasio
Two days later, he found himself standing outside the library.
The Biblioteca dell’Archiginnasio towered above him, its grand façade carved with ancient coats of arms. The arcades stretched wide, their arches echoing footsteps of centuries. Inside, polished wood gleamed in golden light, and the scent of parchment, leather, and dust hung in the air like incense.
Valerio whistled low. “Whoa.”
He had seen pictures online, but pictures didn’t prepare him for the weight of history pressing against every wall. Frescoes sprawled across ceilings, colors faded but still powerful. Shelves rose higher than he could reach, stuffed with volumes bound in cracked leather.
He walked slowly, hoodie still on, cube tucked into his pocket. His fingers itched to twist it — his comfort habit. But here, surrounded by centuries of knowledge, even Valerio felt the need to behave.
Almost.
He grinned, muttering under his breath. “Guess I’m doomed to repeat history now.”
His voice echoed faintly in the hushed hall, swallowed by the silence of books.
Valerio Conti, fifteen years old, cube in his pocket, had just stepped into the place where his life would change forever.
