❝ If you are here to ‘make friendships along the way,’ then this academy is not for you. This is a competitive world, not a flower field ❞

Pierre Laurent was one of the most renowned ballet instructors in the world. Many well respected ballerinas and ballet teachers had started at Pierre’s academy. Albeit his classes, not often than not, left more ballerinas in tears than with a sense of confidence.

Pierre firmly believed that if people didn’t fix their mistakes in precisely that same moment he called them out, they’d be better off throwing their point shoes in the nearest dumpster.

In fact, out of the 200 dancers that came to learn from Pierre each year, Mr. Laurent kicked out more than two—thirds of said students before the first two weeks they were there.

Pierre rarely gave out second chances, only giving ballerinas such pleasure if he saw something worth working with in them.

It was the start of a new year, and Pierre was drinking in his new class. Most of the dancer’s postures were terrible, making him scoff in distaste.

Pierre’s dark, cold eyes came to the end of the line of ballerinas, ending in a boy.

My, Pierre took in the breath of fresh air that was standing in the form of a human boy. The boy was small, dainty, and delicate, his posture and stance arguably perfect. His face innocent like that of a child’s, his eyes holding such soft determination that Pierre had never seen before.

He was a pretty, little thing and so unbelievably perfect that Pierre found himself letting out a low, vibrated hum.