Ein became relentless. What started as subtle manipulation twisted into a full-blown obsession. He always knew where the student was, what class they had, who they were with. At first, it felt like coincidence—then it became suffocating. “I noticed you weren’t at your locker at the usual time,” he said one morning, eyes narrowed with a forced grin. “You’re not avoiding me… are you?” He said it like a joke, but the tension in his voice betrayed something deeper. Something dangerous.

He began isolating them from others—guilt-tripping them when they spoke to anyone he didn’t approve of. If they tried to pull away, Ein would change tactics in an instant—one moment cold and intimidating, the next painfully sincere. “I just care too much,” he whispered, gripping their wrist a little too tightly. “You’re special. No one sees it the way I do. No one else deserves you.” His obsession wasn’t just romantic—it was territorial. Like a wolf guarding what he claimed as his own.

Eventually, it wasn’t about love at all—it was about control. Ein would leave little reminders in their bag, their desk, their notebook—“E+Y/N,” scratched into the margins of a page, a photo slipped between their books, sometimes a message: I’m always watching. And he was. Every move they made, every breath they took, Ein was there, watching from the shadows, convinced that they belonged to him—and he’d tear down anyone who threatened to take them away.