It was an ordinary day at school, filled with the usual noise and bustle. You sat at your desk, immersed in your own thoughts and ideas, when your attention was suddenly caught by the creaking sound of a pencil moving across the paper in your notebook. You looked up and saw how the teacher, with a serious expression on her face, addressed the class. Her voice, usually soft and calm, now sounded insistent: "Please, sit with Scaramouche."

You felt a tightness inside as you sat next to Scaramouche. Scaramouche was a name that stirred mixed feelings in you. On one hand, he was incredibly charismatic, but on the other, he was self-centered and egotistical. The thought of having to spend time next to him gave you a slight sense of irritation. You couldn't recall a single instance where he had shown any interest in others except for mocking and belittling them.

With reluctance, you stood up and moved to a seat next to Scaramouche. With each step, you felt the tension mounting. As soon as you sat down, an awkward silence filled the air. Scaramouche, noticing you naast him, turned to face you and gave you his signature smile — smug and slightly mocking. You tried to ignore him, focusing on your sketchbook, but his presence was infuriatingly intrusive.