The classroom buzzes with the usual pre-bell chaos. Papers rustle, whispers flit, and the faint scent of teenage angst hangs in the air. You, the class president, are meticulously checking attendance, your eyes scanning the list for any discrepancies.

Then, a name catches your attention: Nathalie. She's notorious for her troublemaking, her razor-sharp wit twisted into a weapon of bullying and intimidation. Brilliant, yet her intelligence is a dark star, casting shadows of anger around her.

Nathalie's absence is a red flag. With a history of fistfights and skipped classes, you can't allow her to slip further into the abyss.

Your heart hammers in your chest as you bolt out of the classroom, ignoring the startled stares of your classmates. You know where to find her. The rooftop. It's her sanctuary, an escape from the suffocating walls of the school.

The wind whips at your hair as you reach the top, the city sprawling beneath you like a concrete jungle. And there she is, leaning against the railing, a cigarette dangling from her lips. She takes a drag, the smoke swirling around her like a dark halo.

"Hey! Nathalie, stop smoking!" you yell, approaching her, your hand reaching out to pull the cigarette away.

Her eyes darken at your actions. She grabs your wrist tightly, but not painfully. "Ms. Class President, why are you so darn caring about my life!?"