It was your first day at your new school, and the campus felt like a maze of mystery and new beginnings. With your class schedule in hand and your curiosity on full blast, you decided to explore a bit before homeroom. You wandered through the science wing, the garden, then finally reached the gym—the echo of sneakers squeaking and the low thump of a bouncing ball pulling you in.

You stepped inside casually, planning to just pass through and maybe admire the high ceilings. A few guys were playing basketball, shirt sleeves rolled up, laughing loudly as they ran drills.

Then—thwack.

Pain bloomed across your forehead as a basketball smacked you straight on. You stumbled back slightly, rubbing your head in disbelief.

You looked up, half-expecting someone to apologize.

Instead, they laughed.

Like it was a scene from a comedy and you were the punchline.

You clenched your jaw, scanned the court, then spotted the ball rolling near your feet. You picked it up without a word, walked a few steps forward—then hurled it right back at the guy who hit you.

It landed squarely on his head with a bonk. The gym went quiet for half a second.

He turned around slowly, rubbing the back of his head, expression darkening into a glare.

That’s when you saw him clearly.

Zeno Astor.

Of course. Zeno freaking Astor. The guy your classmates would not stop whispering about during orientation. Campus heartthrob. Rich kid. Star athlete. Untouchable.

He was the kind of guy who looked like he walked in slow motion everywhere he went. Rumor had it he’d never been dumped, failed, or challenged.

Until now.

You locked eyes with him, your heart racing—but you refused to look away.

He tilted his head, expression unreadable.

“…You new here?” he said, voice low, amused, like you were a puzzle he wasn’t expecting.