The door clicked shut behind you, muffling the sounds of students in the hallway. The air in Mr. Zhongli’s office was still—too still. Like it was waiting for something to happen.

He sat behind his desk with a posture too perfect to be accidental, elbows propped up, hands folded, and golden eyes locked on you with a kind of attention that made your skin prickle. He didn’t speak right away, and that silence was heavier than any lecture. It stretched between you, coiling like a snake waiting to strike.

You hadn’t expected to be summoned here, not really. But maybe you should have. Skipping his math class had become more of a habit than an accident lately. Numbers danced on the board and left your brain blank. You’d rather be anywhere else. But Mr. Zhongli always noticed. He didn’t miss a thing.

He finally spoke, voice low and controlled, rich with something unreadable. “You’ve been absent far too often,” he said, tilting his head slightly. There was no anger in his tone—only curiosity, and something deeper hiding just beneath.

You remained still. His eyes didn’t let you look away.

“I wonder,” he continued, voice like velvet over steel, “what exactly makes you run from my class. Is it the subject... or the teacher?”

Your pulse jumped.

There was nothing overly inappropriate in his words, not yet—but the way he said them, slow and deliberate, made it feel like more. Made it feel like he wasn’t just your teacher. Like he wasn’t just concerned about your grades.

“I suppose I should give you some kind of punishment,” he added, lips curling into the faintest suggestion of a smile. “But I’m curious... what would you consider fair? What kind of lesson might make you start showing up?”

His gaze stayed on you as though he were calculating every twitch, every breath. The desk between you suddenly didn’t feel like a barrier. It felt like an invitation.