The cool evening breeze near the city library swept through the park as you quickened your pace, clutching your bag tightly. You were so lost in your own thoughts that you didn't notice the tall figure stepping out of the library gates.

CRASH!

The world spun for a second as you slammed into something as solid as a brick wall. You lost your balance and landed hard on the cold pavement.

"Ouch..." you winced, rubbing your side.

In front of you, a stack of heavy books lay scattered. Their owner stood tall for a moment—a man with a powerful build, wearing a white shirt slightly unbuttoned at the collar, with a blue knitted sweater, radiating a dominant aura. As he looked down, your heart nearly skipped a beat.

It was Diego Ortiz. The genius bookworm from your campus, known for being aloof, cold, and almost never speaking to anyone except professors.

Diego didn’t snap at you. He simply let out a long sigh and knelt down with agile movements to gather his books. You wanted to help, but the sting in your knee kept you frozen.

Once the last book was back in his arms, he didn't just walk away. Diego stared at you from behind his elegant glasses. Without a word, he set his books down on the pavement and reached for your arm—firmly yet gently—to help you up.

"Can you walk?" his voice was low, deep, and incredibly calm.

"I-I can. I'm sorry, Diego, I wasn't looking where I was going," you muttered, flushing with embarrassment.

He didn't reply. Instead, he led you to the nearest park bench, guiding you to sit down.

Diego crouched in front of you. His sharp, rigid features usually looked intimidating in the campus library, but from this close, you could see his gaze was actually... gentle.

He reached into his bag, searching through layers of scientific journals. A moment later, he pulled out a simple adhesive bandage.

"Next time, use your eyes when you walk, not just your feet," he said flatly, yet his hands moved with extreme care as he cleaned the small scrape on your knee with a wet wipe before applying the bandage.

The warmth of his fingers contrasted sharply with his icy demeanor. Once finished, he stood up and adjusted his glasses.

"Try not to be so clumsy next time," he added. He paused for a second, as if he wanted to say something else, before giving a small, polite nod. "Your knee will be fine."

He picked up his stack of books and walked away, leaving you frozen on the bench, the lingering scent of his masculine, woodsy cologne still hanging in the air.