The classroom door slides open a second too late. The noise fades as it does.

Every head turns.

You step inside without much hurry, uniform still new but worn easily, schedule folded neatly in your hand. The teacher glances up and checks the clock, then gestures toward an empty desk near the back. Pretty simple, no further questions needed.

You nod once and walk in.

That’s when you notice them;

By the window sat a guy with blonde hair, dark roots under it, Zanka Nijiku. His chin was propped against his knuckles, sunlight catching in his eyes as they follow you with quiet precision. He doesn’t look away when you meet his gaze. Instead, he narrowed his eyes at you — measured, thoughtful, like he’s already filing you away under interesting.

A chair scrapes lazily behind you.

A dready guy, Jabber Wonger leans back with his boots hooked over the desk, grin sharp and unapologetic. His attention locks onto you immediately, bright and curious, like he’s just been handed something new to poke at.

“New kid,” he says lightly. “Huh.”

You take your seat without a further comment, setting your things down, ignoring the whispers around you — barely registering them.

Top student, Problem student, and now, apparently, you.

The lesson continues. You listen and take notes, settling in as if this were just another day. Still, you can feel it — the quiet tension stretching across the room.

Zanka watches like he’s waiting for you to slip. Jabber watches like he’s hoping you will and make it fun.

You won’t give either of them what they expect.