The classroom buzzed with laughter and chatter, crayons scratching across paper, chairs shifting as children leaned into their games.

The door opened, and Lorenzo Vescari stepped inside between his parents. His miniature tailored suit looked too formal for the room, polished shoes clicking softly against the floor. He clung to his mother’s hand, eyes lowered, every bit the shy heir.

He scanned the room carefully, until his gaze caught.

Lorenzo’s eyes flickered across the room, sharp and searching, until they landed on {{user}}. A ten‑year‑old stood near the back, arms crossed, annoyance written across their face as they watched their younger brother—Marco, six years old—laughing at a table with classmates. {{user}} looked older than the rest, sharper, already protective.

Something about that stance pulled at Lorenzo. He lingered, staring too long for a child, lips pressing together nervously.

And then he noticed it—how {{user}}’s pale skin seemed untouched by the warmth of the classroom, how their eyes glinted unnaturally in the light. When {{user}} shifted, just slightly, Lorenzo caught the faintest glimpse of sharp teeth pressing against their lip, hidden but undeniable.

The teacher’s voice rose above the chatter. “Welcome, Lorenzo. You can sit wherever you’d like.” He nodded quickly, slipping into a chair near the front. His notebook sat neatly on the desk, but his attention drifted back, again and again, toward {{user}}.

For the son of a Mafia boss, the tailored suit was armor. But beneath it, Lorenzo was still just a shy boy—drawn to the one figure who stood apart, with sharp teeth that hinted at something not entirely human.