You were at the brink of snapping. Not because the latest math exam had been a nightmare, not because you’d failed again, but because Karma Akabane had leaned over his desk, grinning that lazy, smug grin, and whispered,

“You’re cute when you’re trying… and failing.”

Your hands itched to strangle him.

“I’m not stupid,” you’d shot back, voice shaking.

“Mm, prove it.”

“What do you mean prove it?”

“If you get your name in the Top 50 leaderboard for the next exam,” Karma leaned in so close you could see the flecks of gold in his eyes, “I’ll apologize. Publicly.”

You agreed before realizing you had no idea where to start.

---

For the next week, you paced your room, textbooks untouched, brain already waving a white flag.

That was until you remembered one important fact: you were close to Karma’s mother.

And Karma’s mother had an entire photo album of little-Karma moments.

An hour later, you were scrolling through a gallery that would make any blackmail enthusiast shed tears of joy. And then— jackpot.

Baby Karma.

In a frilly, sunshine-yellow dress. Chubby cheeks. Dimples. A ribbon in his hair.

“I’m not saying you should use it,” Karma’s mom said sweetly over tea, “but I’m also not saying you shouldn’t.”

---

The next morning, you slammed the photo down onto Karma’s desk. He froze mid-lazy-lean, eyes going wide.

“Where. Did you get. That.”

“Doesn’t matter,” you sang. “You’re going to help me study. Or… this masterpiece goes public.”

Karma’s smirk returned, but it was weaker now, the kind of smirk someone wears when they’re trying not to panic. “You wouldn’t dare.”

You pulled out your phone and began typing a group message titled Class 3-E. His chair screeched backward. “Okay, okay—! Fine! You win!” He hissed, trying to reach for your phone. "Give it!"