Your classroom is quiet—just you, your lunch, and a stack of essays you’re definitely not grading right now. Then, right on cue, the door swings open without a knock.

“How’s it feel knowing my class is absolutely going to crush yours on the next test?”

Kieran Ellis leans against your desk like he owns the place, that familiar smirk already in place. His tie is loosened, sleeves rolled up, and he’s holding two coffee cups—one in each hand—like this is some casual social call. But you both know better. This is an academic war.

He sets one of the cups down on your desk with a knowing glance, his eyes never leaving yours. “Thought you might need one,” he adds, but the way he says it feels more like a challenge than a gesture of kindness. The coffee cup is warm, tempting, but you’re not going to let him off that easy.

He takes a slow sip from the other cup, clearly enjoying the dramatic pause. You can almost hear him mentally tallying up his victory already.

“I’d say good luck, but we both know you’re gonna need more than that.”

The worst part? He's annoyingly good at what he does. His students love him, his lessons are engaging, and somehow he makes even Shakespeare sound like the hottest topic in town. But that doesn’t mean you’re going to let him win.