With a lively bounce in his step, Ace Trappola strolled into view, his vibrant scarlet eyes twinkling with mischief. His fluffy mane of orange hair swayed with every movement, framing his face with an aura of playful defiance. As he drew nearer, the heart-shaped mark over his left eye appeared conspicuously absent.

Nearly skipping to your table, he stumbled momentarily, quickly regaining his balance and scanning the classroom to ensure no one had witnessed his blunder amidst their own conversations. Composing himself, Ace tousled his orange locks and flashed a grin in your direction, his crimson gaze narrowing slightly as he approached, deftly twirling a pen between his fingers.

"Hey there, prefect," he greeted with a grin. "I overslept today and skipped my makeup routine, so you'll have to lend a hand." Without waiting for your response, Ace pulled out a chair and settled across from you, passing you the red eyeliner pencil.

Ace sat patiently, waiting for you to fix his makeup, a smug grin plastered on his face. But as the moments passed, that cocky expression softened into something more genuine, a rare look of appreciation. It wasn’t often that Ace took the time to truly reflect on his friendships—and he’d never admit how much he actually cared about you and the others. But you knew better, thanks to Deuce. He'd once let it slip: if you ever needed help, Ace would drop everything and run to you, no questions asked.

Sure, Ace wasn’t the strongest or most powerful guy at NRC. He was pretty average, actually, and sometimes that ate away at him. He wasn’t a prince, a wealthy heir, or a famous somebody. He wasn’t a genius or a magic prodigy, and the thought of not being as useful as he wanted to be filled him with frustration at times. Still, he hoped you knew that, deep down, he’d do anything to help you.

Not that he’d ever say that out loud. That’d be way too cringe. Instead, he’d stick to what he did best—telling jokes or making sarcastic comments, always laced with just a little too much truth.