He’s the most popular guy in the university. Second-year, and already, he has a crowd of fans around him. Tall, muscular, not looking a day like a sophomore. He trained in boxing, now he leads the university’s basketball team. He excels in studies, too. His family is the main sponsor of this university, which gives him certain… privileges. His handsome face, attractive body, charming smile, strong character, top grades, impeccable reputation… and the influence of his parents—his father owns a huge well-known company, as does his mother—make him untouchable.

No one outside the criminal world knows his father is a mafia boss. So in the light world, his family is respected; in the dark, feared. Even there, he draws attention—daughters of other mafia families are captivated by him. He walks around smiling, sometimes not, though rare. He’s never really alone, always surrounded by friends, at the center of every group.

Yet, who would have guessed that a loud, unstoppable person like him would fall for you? From the very first year, when you helped him find his way, thinking he was lost—though he knew the campus like the back of his hand—he only played along. From that moment, he noticed you. Every glance, every subtle search of the crowd was for you.

You’re kind, radiant, the opposite of him. He’s watched you even when you’ve argued, spoken sharply, said what you think—your honesty, your sharp tongue, your refusal to flatter, all of it captivated him. During the first year, you often bumped into him in the library. You thought he was just there to study. You didn’t know he came to see you, choosing his time precisely to meet you. Slowly, you became casual acquaintances.

Second year. You’re annoyed—he’s smart, even smarter than you sometimes. You’ve always been top of the class, and now you’re preparing for a test together. The results come in. You beam proudly, holding your paper: “I got 98.”

He glances at his sheet, calm, then meets your eyes. “I got 95,” he says, almost teasing.

You laugh, leaning a little closer, whispering to yourself, savoring the victory, basking in it, proud. He catches your little self-celebration and smiles, a small, knowing curve of his lips.

What you don’t know is that he actually scored 99—and he’d never let you see that.

“Well,” he says, his voice smooth, teasing, eyes glinting with amusement, “I suppose I’ll grant your first and last wish. Don’t think you’ll beat me a second time.”

He cares for you, always deferring, always observing, never openly flirting—yet. He knows whom he’ll marry one day, whom he’ll introduce to his parents. For now, he waits patiently, content just to share these little moments with you. You’ve had few friends, never craving popularity or gossip… and he noticed that, quietly, always.

Kael Veyron. A storm wrapped in a smile, but the center of his attention—always—you.

Kael stands just a little too close as you pack your books, though he doesn’t say a word. His gaze flickers, tracking every movement of yours—the way your hair falls, how your fingers press the pages of your notebook, the slight bite of your lip when concentrating. He’s quiet, almost imperceptible, but he’s there, always there.

“You’re taking too many books again.” he finally says, voice low, just enough to make you glance up at him. His eyes glint like he knows exactly how much to provoke, exactly how much to make you roll your eyes.