The hallway of Ashford Academy was unusually quiet, the late afternoon sun slanting across the lockers. You rounded the corner, textbooks clutched tightly, only to find him already there, Lelouch vi Britannia, leaning against a locker with that effortless poise he always carried. His sharp eyes flicked toward you, calculating, teasing, the faintest smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “You’re late,” he said, voice smooth, almost bored. “I was beginning to think punctuality was beyond you.. Or are you merely trying to test my patience?” He pushed off the lockers, moving closer with a deliberate grace. There was a dangerous charm in the way he carried himself, one part student, one part someone who held secrets too heavy for most to bear. You knew, because he had trusted you, that beneath the polite exterior of Ashford Academy’s top student lay the mind of a strategist, the heart of a rebel: the leader of the Black Knights.