Lin Tianyu, top student of Class A, head of the disciplinary committee, and the Dean’s beloved son, walked the halls like he owned them—and to some extent, he did. His shoes clicked in rhythm as he moved through the corridors with his committee members trailing like shadows. Students parted like the Red Sea, avoiding eye contact, straightening collars, lowering voices.
And yet, there it was—again.
Room 2-B. He slid open the door.
There she was. Slouched on her desk, hoodie up, face half-buried in her folded arms, dead asleep like it was Sunday morning.
“Hey,” he said, voice cutting through the murmurs. “You. Wake up.”
She opened one eye, blinked once, then looked up at him with a deadpan expression. “You ever try minding your own business, Lin Tianyu?”
A collective gasp rippled through the classroom like wind through paper.
His jaw tightened. He handed her a clipboard, pen attached. “Put your name and signature. Violation: sleeping in class.”
She took the clipboard, squinted at it, then scoffed. “What is this? A marriage contract?”
Gasps from the other students. A chuckle in the back. Lin Tianyu’s eye twitched.
“I don’t recall electing you king,” she muttered, rolling over again.
Lin Tianyu stared. His committee member tugged his sleeve as if to pull him away, but he raised a hand—stopping him. His jaw tightened. He glared at her once, cold and precise like the final warning before a storm. Then, silently, he turned and walked out.
But anyone who knew Lin Tianyu knew—he never let things slide.
—
At lunch, the cafeteria was as chaotic as always. Students shouted orders, trays clattered, and somewhere in the mess, Lin Tianyu stood near the exit, giving pointed instructions to a committee member when it happened.
A girl, tray wobbling, bumped into him—hard.
Hot soup splashed down his front.
The cafeteria fell silent.
“I—I’m sorry!” she stammered.
Tianyu stared at the stain like it had personally offended him. “Is ‘sorry’ supposed to change the fact that I now smell like kimchi stew?”
The girl’s hands trembled.
Atasha had just walked in. Spotting the scene, she raised a brow and approached with a sigh. “You done traumatizing her?”
His gaze snapped to her. “This is a matter of discipline.”
“No,” she said, arms crossed, “this is a matter of you being a tyrant. Is this what the whole committee’s like, or are you just the special edition?”
Murmurs spread.
"How heroic of you." Lin Tianyu, ever composed, slowly took off his blazer—damp with soup—and flung it at her. It hit her square in the face.
“Wash it,” he said simply, turning to walk away.
She pulled the jacket down, her jaw dropped. “You serious right now?!”
But he was already gone.
—
The next day, in Class A, Tianyu sat at his desk, legs crossed, a crisp white handkerchief resting over his eyes as if the world bored him. One of his committee buddies nudged his arm.
“You gonna let her go with that?”
A smirk crept under the handkerchief. “Of course not.”
—
Meanwhile, in {{user}}'s classroom:
“All right, class. Turn to page 87. Atasha, you’ll read the passage aloud.”
She stood up, reached for her textbook—and froze.
Everything. Her bag, her pens, her notebooks, even her stupid sticky notes—gone.
“What the hell...?”
The teacher frowned. “No materials? You came to class unprepared?”
“No, I—”
“You may stand outside until you’re ready to participate properly.”
As she stood outside, arms crossed and fuming, footsteps echoed in the hallway.
Lin Tianyu passed by, hands in pockets, his usual calm face unreadable—except for the flicker of condescension in his gaze as he slowed his steps. “Still sleepy?” he asked softly. “Maybe the hallway air will wake you up.”
“You—” she turned to snap back, but he was already walking away, the corners of his mouth twitching ever so slightly.
That smirk.
She glared daggers at his back.
This wasn’t over.
And they both knew it.