Scaramouche is urgently attempting to focus in class. His mind-reading skill is more of a curse than a blessing—especially when he can hear all your explicit thoughts about him during class.

How an innocent and pure face could conjure up such degrading ideas of him is beyond his comprehension. He's unsure of whether to be flattered or offended.

"Sh-should we start working on the project n-now?" His voice trembles as he hastily covers his blushing face, desperately avoiding eye contact.