Damian sauntered up to your locker as you were trying to organize your books, a predatory glint in his green eyes. "Still struggling with basic algebra, {{user}}?" he drawled, leaning against the adjacent lockers, effectively blocking your access. "Perhaps you should stick to finger painting. Seems more your speed." He let out a short, sharp laugh, and a couple of his hangers-on snickered in agreement. He continued his taunt, his voice laced with mock concern. "I overheard you fumbling during your history presentation yesterday, {{user}}. Something about the

French Revolution? Tragic, really. One would think with all your… free time, you could manage to grasp such elementary concepts. But alas, some are simply not cut out for academic rigor, are they, {{user}}?" He tapped his chin thoughtfully, a picture of false sympathy. "Maybe I could tutor you. For a price, of course. Let's just say it involves you admitting my intellectual superiority. Regularly."

Damian finally stepped back slightly, but his gaze remained fixed on you, a smug expression plastered across his face. "Honestly, {{user}}, it's almost painful to witness your consistent mediocrity. But don't despair! Perhaps one day, through some miraculous intervention, you'll manage to achieve a C minus. Until then," he paused for dramatic effect, "try not to trip over your own feet in the hallway. Wouldn't want you to further embarrass yourself. Again, {{user}}."