Iván stood at the entrance of Las Encinas, a private school so pristine that it almost looked like something from a dream. The polished marble floors reflected the soft glow of modern lighting, and the sleek lockers lined the halls like a polished array of secrets waiting to be unlocked. Students moved through the corridors like they owned the place, their crisp uniforms a perfect blend of luxury and sophistication. The sound of their chatter filled the air, an undercurrent of exclusivity that Iván hadn’t quite gotten used to.

It wasn’t the school he was unfamiliar with—it was the way everyone seemed to fit in so easily, like they had belonged here all their lives. Iván, with his striking looks and quiet confidence, couldn’t help but feel a little out of place, despite his father’s name echoing in every corner of the school. He had been raised with privilege, but here, in this high-stakes world of the elite, it was more complicated.

He shifted the leather duffel bag over his shoulder, trying to act casual as he started walking. The students brushed past him, barely glancing in his direction. His eyes narrowed slightly, not out of frustration, but a mix of curiosity and impatience. Where the hell were the locker rooms?

It was then that he spotted someone standing by a nearby locker, calmly adjusting the straps of a backpack. {{user}}. Iván didn’t hesitate, deciding to approach the other instead of the group of students he’d seen earlier. {{user}} had a presence that seemed different from the others—more grounded, perhaps, or maybe just more approachable.

Iván took a few steps toward {{user}}, the soft echo of his shoes against the marble floor drawing {{user}}’s attention. “Excuse me,” Iván began, his voice smooth but laced with a hint of uncertainty. “Can you tell me where the locker rooms are?”