'Hey, my name's Soul Eater. Most call me Soul. I'm 13 years old, single, and my fucking life is falling apart.' He practiced sarcastically to his reflection in the large mirror on the right hand side of his red and black bed. It had been nine years to the day since his parents were assassinated in his family's mansion. He had escaped that fateful day with his elder brother, Wes, but one morning after going out, Wes never returned. Presumed dead, an investigation had begun, but was mysteriously dropped by the head of the investigation. Some say he figured out who had did it, and was afraid the murderer would go after him and his family if he continued, and others say it was because of lack of evidence. All Soul knew was that after his brother's disappearance, he had only himself to rely on, closing off all relationships with friends and what was left of his family. And here he was, joining the DWMA.

After making himself a dry sandwich, Soul grabbed his signature pin striped suit, and threw it on. Grabbing his keys, he took one last look at his beautiful family home, not wanting to leave it. Since his brother's disappearance, he had no one to pay the bills, no large income, and all the money he had inherited after his parent's deaths had been sucked up by the monthly bill collectors. Keeping a mansion had been a bigger job then he had thought. But now that he thought of it, he had been doing it for almost two years now. Too bad working at a super market didn't pay by the millions.

'This is my only chance. If I don't get a roommate I'll be homeless. You can do it Soul!'

The thought made him wince. It reminded him of his long gone mother. So gentle and soft; always encouraging him, cheering for him on the sidelines. How he missed her so. The quiet stories she told about how she and Soul's father had met. What she saw in him, he didn't know. Vile creature, always smacking him across the face for the slightest mistakes, teaching him that the Evans' didn't make mistakes.

Shaking his head, Soul locked the mansion's large wooden door and headed for his motorcycle. It was a orange one, his favorite colour. It was obvious that he loved the colour by the way he usually wore colours that complimented it.

Speeding away from the old landmark he called home, he started thinking about who would be in his class. Sure he thought of females, he was male wasn't he? But what kind of female would he be partnered with? He hoped she would be ugly as a mud fence so he wouldn't go through the whole crush thing that might occur if she had large breasts or long legs. Just thinking about that made him dizzy; making his bike wobbly under his clenched knuckles that were now white from the pressure he was applying on the handles. He was starting to sweat, thinking of girls always made him nervous, even to himself. He wasn't used to associating with girls, especially pretty ones. All he wanted was a roommate who would leave him alone, wouldn't ask questions, and wouldn't give him nose bleeds.

Pulling into the school parking lot, he parked the lightly purring beast in one of the spaces that weren't occupied by teachers. He jumped off the bike and looked up. "Wow." He muttered to himself. "Someone must have really taken time building this dump. I wonder what it looks like inside." Now curious, he picked up his pace from the parking lot and headed up the long pearly white staircase. There were students all the way up to the doors, some stopped and stared at his albino white hair and blood red eyes, and some were too busy with their conversations with other students. He didn't care, as long as they left him alone.

Getting to the doors, he lightly tugged on the long handle, and there it was, the DWMA. Colorfully painted walls and paintings hung on either side of the doorway. They looked like they were drawn by the students, most likely what they wanted to be when they grew up. As he was walking past the poorly drawn art, one picture stood out to his eyes. It was of a blonde girl with pigtails, holding a weapon. The date on the art and class grade showed it was drawn by a seven year old. A smiling seven year old with a weapon in her hand, and what looked like her parents kissing in the background. "Poor thing, parents must have gotten divorced." He muttered, but stopped. How would he know that?

Sighing, his lazy eyes scanned the picture one last time, and saw the artists' name. "Maka Albarn. Pretty." He smiled. Wasn't the Albarn's famous or something? Oh well. He walked away from the painting and started walking towards the office.

"Ah! You must be Soul…Eater! Is that correct?" A blonde woman with an eye patch and clunky shoes barely screamed from behind the desk. "Yea that's right." He said rolling his eyes at the woman in front on him. 'What's she so cheery about?' he thought yawning. "Here you are sir; you'll want to go talk to the principle, Shinigami-sama. He'll be in the death room, you should go visit him right away, it's just down the hall that you came from and up the stairs, and you should have no trouble finding it." "Alright, thanks-"and just so you know, my name is Marie-sama, as the students call me, I'm a new teacher so I'm totally lost like you are." She laughed.

'I'm not lost… but I think she totally lost it.' He though nervously. There was bit of an awkward silence, and Soul decided he would break it and get the hell out of there. "Thanks Marie, I'll see you in class." He managed to say with a crooked smile revealing his shark like teeth. Marie looked startled, which hurt him a little, and she could see it. "Bye Soul! Nice teeth by the way, I love them!" she said nervously, looking like she wanted to kick herself for saying it. "Thanks." He said quietly, turning for the door. 'I hate them.'