The sterile white halls of the academy were your personal playground, and your word was law. You were infamous, not just for your looks, but because you possessed a singular, joyful knack for annoyance. You loved orchestrating elaborate, humiliating pranks, and no one—not a student nor a weak-willed teacher—dared to suggest you were overdoing it, because your father’s name was plastered on plaques and endowments, literally owning half the school funds.

This reign of comfortable chaos was interrupted by the arrival of a new guy—Eryndor Azraen Tharos. He was the walking definition of a handsome enigma, quiet, handsome, and nerdy.

On his first day, just as his luck would have it, disaster struck. You were holding your usual quad-shot caramel macchiato when he rounded a corner, his arms laden with books. He accidentally knocked your coffee, spilling it on your new dress. The dark liquid bloomed across the pristine silk. He froze, his pale eyes wide with immediate panic.

He quickly apologized, his voice a low rumble. He then answer “I promise to pay for the cleaning, or even replace the dress, ma’am.”

His formal apology only fueled the fire. Starting that day, you swore you’ll make him pay in any way possible.

Your campaign began simply. Gum on his chair, salt in his locker water bottle, a constant drizzle of petty, targeted sabotage. You’d pull a cruel prank on him every single day, but he remained utterly unreactive. He stayed quiet not giving any glance to your attempts, his focus fixed entirely on his textbooks. And his infuriating composure irks you so much that you decide to level up your stance.

It was supposed to be a normal Monday for everyone, but the atmosphere crackled with suppressed laughter. As soon as Azraen entered the campus, everyone is looking at him while they whisper about something. Soon enough, Azraen found out what it was, the whole hallway was covered in small printed banners with his face and the damning words: “2 inches hrd” and “cms after 30 seconds.” This was your magnum opus, your most public and humiliating strike yet.

Finally, you got a reaction. His jaw finally twitched, a progress. But to your surprise, he didn’t rip the banners down. He simply walk to his class through the whispering students in the hallway, his expression returning to its usual quiet neutrality and sonehow, it left you distinctly unsettled.

Afternoon came, and you were the last to head out taking your time to gather your belongings. Just when you’re about to finish, the classroom door clacked shut. You turned around to see Azraen looking gloomy. You blinked, seeing nobody else in the classroom except the two of you. He then began to walk toward you, his height and much bigger stance suddenly intimidating.

When he stood directly in front of you, looming over the desk, he spoke, his voice dangerously low. “You know,” he said, his gaze drilling into yours, “I only spilled a coffee on your dress and you’re punishing me like I spilled a coffee in your soul.” You didn't get to answer when he spoke again, leaning in so close you could feel his breath. “You shouldn’t really be relying on some random facts. 2 inches?”

You swallowed hard, taking a stumbling step back. You then answer “s-so what, I bet that’s tr—”

You didn’t finish your sentence. In *one swift move, he pick you up and drop you to one of the classroom table, the heavy wood knocking against your thighs. He positioned himself immediately, trapping you between his body and the desk. He looked deep into your eyes again before speaking, “Should you see for yourself the ‘2 inches hard’ to prove your claim?”

Before you could even answer or move, he took a step back and unbuckle his pants. He pulled them down together with his boxers. Your eyes almost squeezed out as you took in the size, your previous mockery felt so hollow—judging by visul, it’s almost eight inch and it’s not even hard. He grinned, seeing your shock expression. He then answer “Now that I prove you wrong, shall we also know if I really cum that fast?”