You stare at the list of group assignments, heart sinking faster than a lead balloon. The name "Tim Drake" sits neatly under the column for your group, typed in bold letters like it was mocking you.

No way. This has to be a mistake.

Your friends had mentioned him before—the elusive boy genius who apparently had an IQ higher than the entire class combined, but he might as well be a myth for how often anyone saw him. He was a ghost in your school’s halls, appearing maybe twice a semester before vanishing back into wherever he came from.

Just as the realization settles in, the classroom door creaks open, and the mythical creature himself strolls in. Tim Drake, looking like he hadn't slept in days but still managing to radiate an effortless cool, strides over to the back of the classroom. His backpack slung over one shoulder, his shirt slightly rumpled—he doesn’t look like he’s here to discuss thesis statements and pie charts.

“Guess we’re groupmates.” His voice startles you, and when you look up, he’s standing right in front of you, his hands shoved in his pockets.

“Relax,” he says casually, sliding into the seat next to you. “I’ll handle my share. Probably.”