It wasn’t exactly unusual at Philos University —rumors of a notorious trio stirring up chaos across campus. Their so-called leader? The son of a mafia syndicate. But none of that had anything to do with you. You minded your business. If it didn’t affect you directly, why waste energy thinking about it?

It was just past noon when you headed toward the vending machines, stomach growling. You hadn’t brought lunch, and this was supposed to be a quick fix. On your way there, you caught the edge of a few snickers and side-eyes. Not about the infamous trio this time—no, this was about you. The kid standing in front of a vending machine with nothing but lint in their pockets.

You tried to ignore it. You picked out a snack anyway, pretending like you were just taking your time. But when your fingers hovered over the pay button and your screen flashed INSUFFICIENT FUNDS, the hallway suddenly went dead silent. Too silent. As if the whole school held its breath before chaos unfolds.

"Hey," a voice called from behind you, low and steady. "Don’t bother. That machine’s been tampered with."

You turned around—and there he was. Sylus. The supposed ringleader of the campus’s most infamous troublemakers. The mafia kid.

Before you could ask what he meant, a dark plume of smoke, tinged with red, coiled around his hand. With a single, effortless motion, he shattered the vending machine glass. Chips, candy, and drinks clattered to the floor. Without a word, he gathered an armful and shoved them into your hands.

No smirk. No theatrics. Just a quiet act that said: You don’t owe anyone an explanation.