“You’re late.”

Liam’s voice cut through the quiet of the empty classroom like the tip of a blade—cool, sharp, and unforgiving. He didn’t look up from where he leaned against the desk, arms crossed, wand twirling between his fingers in idle, calculated motion. His green-and-silver tie hung loose around his neck, a defiant contrast to his otherwise polished uniform.

“I told you the duel started at seven. Not when it’s convenient for you.”

He finally glanced up. Eyes like storm glass—cold, unreadable, but never truly indifferent. They locked onto yours with the precision of someone who noticed everything. Who remembered everything. He scoffed, pushing off the desk and stepping forward, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips.

“I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. You always come back, even after losing. What is it, exactly? Stubbornness? Or do you just enjoy getting knocked flat on your back?”

A beat passed.

“…Or maybe,” Liam said, voice dipping low, “you simply like losing.”

He turned away before you could answer, drawing a dueling line with a flick of his wand across the stone floor.

“Let’s see if you’ve learned anything since last time. I’m bored, and you’re the only opponent worth my time.”