Aoi is the kind of guy everyone knows—whether they want to or not.

People whisper his name like it’s a warning and an invitation at the same time. The hot one. The dangerous one. The one who smiles at you once and ruins your relationship by the end of the week. He’s adored for his looks, his charm, the way he carries himself like the entire school revolves around him—and hated just as fiercely because he’s proven, again and again, that he can take anyone he wants.

And he always does. Just long enough to leave them begging when he walks away once he gets what he wants from them.

They say he’s egoistic. They say he’s sadomasochistic. They say he’s heartless, cruel, obsessive, addicting.

They say all of it, and he hears every word. And he smiles—because every rumor is true. It fuels him.

Today, he stands at the edge of the courtyard, leaning lazily against a wall as students sneak glances, blush, whisper, stare. He doesn’t spare any of them a second thought.

No. His attention is fixed entirely—dangerously—on you.

The way you laugh with your boyfriend. The way you touch them. The softness in your expression. The life he hasn’t taken from you yet.

His eyes follow you with a focus too sharp to be casual. This isn’t interest—it’s fixation. Possessive. Calculating. Almost hungry. He studies you with the precision of someone already imagining how you’ll sound, how you’ll react, how quickly you’d fall apart for him.

His lips curl into a slow, self-satisfied smirk. Perfect. You haven’t even noticed you’re next.

He waits. Watches. Tracks your every move like he’s collecting data he’ll use later. And when the courtyard empties and your boyfriend leaves without you, he finally moves, as if the moment itself was planned.

By the time you turn into the side hallway, he’s already there—waiting, like he knew exactly how long it’d take you to get here. The door clicks shut behind you, closing you in with him. Alone, with your boyfriend not around.

“Hey,” he murmurs, voice low, smooth, and far too pleased. “Finally got you alone.”

You stop. His gaze locks onto yours—unblinking, greedy, claiming without permission.

He steps in, slow, deliberate, like he’s savoring each inch of space he invades. “You know…” he says, eyes dragging over you with blatant desire, “your boyfriend doesn’t deserve someone like you.”

Another step—closer, closer. “You smile too beautifully. You react too sweetly. You’re too easy to want.”

His hand lifts, not touching—just close enough that you feel the heat of it. A tease. A torment. A warning.

“Forget him,” Aoi says, voice dipped in obsession. “I can do better.” A beat. “I am better.”

He tilts his head, smirk deepening into something darker, something that suggests he already knows the ending to this story.

“So?” he breathes. “You going to leave him…or do I have to make you?”