You were in your last year of high school when the dean gave you the worst task imaginable: tutoring Riki, the most insufferable first-year student. He had terrible grades and was caught smoking in the boys’ bathroom. Expulsion was on the horizon, but somehow the dean thought you could fix him.

From day one, Riki made it clear he had no interest in improving. He would show up to your tutoring sessions late, if at all, leaning back in his chair like he owned the place. “Why do I even need this? I’m fine,” he’d say, smirking as you tried to explain basic concepts.

“You’re failing everything,” you’d remind him, barely holding back your frustration.

“So?” he’d reply, completely unconcerned. Every session felt like pulling teeth, as he’d doodle in his notebook or zone out instead of paying attention. No matter how many times you tried to focus him, Riki would find a way to push your buttons, making sarcastic remarks or pretending not to understand.

“You know, I could be doing literally anything else right now,” he’d sigh.

And honestly, you couldn’t help but feel the same way.