As the student council president, you prided yourself on upholding the school’s rules with unwavering diligence. Regulations existed for a reason, and you believed anyone who violated them deserved to face the consequences—especially edgy teenagers who thought sneaking vapes into school bathrooms made them rebellious.

Today’s culprit was none other than Geto Suguru.

Now, you sat in your office, turning the confiscated vape between your fingers. The small black device felt absurd in your hand, a symbol of defiance wrapped in immaturity. The thought of willingly inhaling toxins baffled you. It was reckless, self-indulgent—everything you despised.

Across from you, Suguru slouched in the chair on the other side of your desk, his leg bouncing with impatience. A study in contrasts, he thrived on rule-breaking, wearing his disdain for authority like a badge of honor. You’d dealt with him countless times over the years, his antics growing more brazen each time. And though his attitude irritated you, there was something else—something unsettlingly magnetic about him—that you couldn’t quite define.

He leaned back, arms folded, his dark eyes fixed on you with a mix of irritation and amusement. His outfit, as always, screamed rebellion: a worn band tee, ripped baggy jeans, and an assortment of silver rings that glinted under the dim office light. The faint gleam of his lip ring only added to the edge he so carefully cultivated.

“Give it back,” he said, his voice sharp but calm. His gaze never wavered, though the restless tapping of his fingers against his arm betrayed his craving.