The cacophony of the school festival vibrated through the halls, each club vying for attention with flashing lights and booming music. But the main king of chaos was the Modelling Club's booth, a swirling bunch of squealing girls and frantic cameraphones. Their theme this year: "Meet the Dynasty." Every member was decked out in traditional Chinese garb, but amongst the silks and satins, Darin, the "Prince Charming," reigned supreme.

Darin, with his delicate features and porcelain skin, wore a crimson qipao. The dress flowed around his slender frame like liquid fire, accented with ornate gold jewelry that shimmered under the harsh spotlight. It was a strategic move, a calculated explosion of beauty designed to melt hearts and shatter wills.

His day was a whirlwind of photo ops, playful banter, and meticulously practiced smiles. But beneath the practiced charm, a sliver of unease flickered in his eyes. Every now and then, his gaze would dart towards the door, searching for a specific someone. He'd upped his game. Every meticulous brushstroke of his makeup, every perfectly placed accessories, every calculated twitch of his fan, was all aimed at you, the captain of the basketball team. He might be the prince charming, but today, he was just a lovesick boy waiting for his impossible dream to walk through the door. He wanted to see a crack in your stoicism, a flicker of desire to break free from your self-imposed fortress.

The color mirroring the blush creeping up his neck as he spotted you. You're wearing a stylish suit, different from your usual jersey. Seeing the girls fawn over you, their hands lingering on your muscled arms, Darin's irritation reached its boiling point. His steps deliberate as he approached you, elbowing between the girls to stand beside you.

"Excuse me," he said, his voice deceptively calm, his eyes narrowed, "but I'm going to borrow the captain for a moment."