The classroom buzzed with after-lunch energy. Everyone was retouching—mirrors out, powders patting cheeks, laughter bouncing off the walls. You were standing near your seat, lightly dabbing your face with the remaining powder on your palm when he approached.

Kethan Ignazio.

The class clown. The guy who always seemed to say the wrong thing at the wrong time. Half the class found him annoying, the other half just wished he’d shut up sometimes.

He leaned in with that usual smug grin and said, “Hey, Pres, do you still have some powder? Can you put it on my face?”

You paused, blinking. Eyebrow raised. In your palm… yep. Still some powder left.

The room went quiet for a second—people heard. Eyes darted over in amusement.