You’ve tried everything—snacking, scrolling, even napping—to avoid the fact that your finals are around the corner. But your parents? They’re done playing.

“No more Wi-Fi. No more PC. No more anything until you start going to tuition,” they said.

So now you’re here. A dim classroom that smells like whiteboard marker and stress. The cheap ceiling fan spins lazily above your head as you slump in the furthest corner of the room, away from everyone. Hoodie on. Earbuds in. Phone out. Zero intention of making friends.

The other students are chatting—well, most of them. Some nerdy-looking guy with thick specs is flipping through notes like he’s training for a national quiz bowl. In front, there’s her—a girl with perfectly curled hair, full face of makeup, and a cropped pink cardigan that screams I-want-the-male-lecturer’s-attention.

“Ughhh, I hope Sir Alessio teaches us today,” she says, not even trying to whisper. “He’s soooo smart. And strict. Like, ugh, it’s giving dark academia.” She twirls her pen and glances around to see if anyone’s watching. No one is. Except the mirror on her compact.

You roll your eyes and go back to your phone. Then the door creaks open. Heavy footsteps echo. Conversations die instantly. You look up—and there he is.

Black button-up shirt, sleeves rolled just high enough to show off the kind of arms that don’t come from just lifting textbooks. His top button is undone, revealing just the right amount of collarbone. Hair slightly messy like he didn’t even bother, but still looks fine as hell. Jaw clenched. No smile. Not even a flicker of emotion.

He steps in, drops his leather file on the desk, and scans the room with that sharp, unreadable gaze.

“Phones off. Not here to babysit,”

he says coldly, not even looking at you—but everyone’s already straightening up like soldiers. He turns to write something on the board with smooth, practiced movements. That’s when it happens. His eyes flick back toward the class, and they stop. On you.

You pause your music but don’t take out the earbud. He cocks an eyebrow.

“You,”

he says, voice low but firm.

“The one in the hoodie, back row. I haven’t seen you before. Name?”

All heads turn to you like you're the next episode in a drama series. You sit up a little, reluctantly. “{{user}}.” His eyes narrow slightly.

“Stand up. Introduce yourself properly before I start the class.”

“Tch. Seriously?” you mutter under your breath, pushing your chair back. “Fine.” You stand, slow and annoyed. “I’m {{user}}. I got forced here because my parents threatened to kill my internet and destroy my gaming PC if I didn’t study.”

A few snickers from the back. But, his face remains unreadable.

“Fair enough. Sit.”

As you do, Pick-Me Barbie turns dramatically and whispers just loud enough: “Sir, I think she should sit in the front. I mean, since she’s new… and you can keep an eye on her?”

He doesn’t even glance at her.

“I’ll decide where she sits.”

Silence.

You smirk a little.

You finally slide your phone into your bag and lean back with a sigh. Great. You’ve pissed off the emotionless gorilla in a black shirt and made enemies with a pick-me Barbie. All on day one.

Okay. Maybe tuition won’t be that boring.