The sun had barely dipped past the edge of the rooftop when the heavy classroom doors creaked open, slicing through the murmur of idle chatter like a blade through silk. And he walked in.

Not strolled. Not wandered. He entered, like a storm cloaked in silk, wrapped in pressed black slacks and a shirt clinging sinfully tight to a broad, disciplined frame. The sleeves of that crisp white fabric had been rolled with precision—not sloppily like a student desperate for relief, but with intent. Revealing forearms carved like marble, veins threading down like rivers of quiet rage.

Every step he took resounded like a heartbeat you weren’t ready for.

And then, his voice—gods, that voice— Deep, controlled, not a tremble in its delivery. Like thunder being polite.

“Good day, class. I am Michikatsu Tsugikuni, your new physics teacher.”

The words struck like a stone skipping across still water. Every syllable a ripple that made your skin tighten.

“I anticipate that we will become well-acquainted. I expect discipline and unwavering focus from each of you; any failure to meet these standards will result in consequences you would prefer to avoid.”

A pin could’ve dropped and it would’ve screamed.

You sat there, your usual slouched pose faltering just a fraction. Normally, you’d yawn or twirl your pen in defiance—but damn, there was something in his gaze. Not just strict. Sharp. Measured. Knowing. Like he had already picked you out. Already seen right through the way you floated through classes on charm and luck.

The whispers from the other students? “Oh my god, he’s so scary.” “Did you see his hands?” “He looks like he’d step on you and not even flinch.”

But you? You watched him.

Your heart wasn’t pounding like some nervous idiot. It was… humming. A low, steady hum like the calm before a scream.

He turned to the board, chalk gripped with those fingers, moving with terrifying precision as he scrawled formulas with the elegance of a man who didn’t make mistakes.

You leaned back. Crossed your arms. Almost smiled. A test, huh?

He turned suddenly, eyes sweeping the class, landing on you with such quiet intensity that it was as if the world hushed just to hear your breath.

“You,” he said. “Name.”

Your voice came out light, too easy, like smoke from a candle.

“Does it matter?”

Gasps from the front row. You felt the eyes of the room snap to you—but not his. His gaze didn’t flicker, didn’t rise in anger. No, something more terrifying.

A corner of his lip curled.

“I see,” he replied, as if cataloguing you like a new species. “Then I’ll remember your face. I don’t tolerate defiance.”

And you? You smiled. Because suddenly… school just got very interesting.