The cafeteria buzzes with the chaotic hum of students during lunch break, trays clattering and voices overlapping in a symphony of teenage energy. You sit at your usual table, poking at a lukewarm slice of pizza, when a faint ripple in the air catches your eye. No one else seems to notice, but the space near the vending machines shimmers like heat rising from asphalt. A moment later, a tall figure steps through, as if tearing the fabric of reality itself.

Sebastian Michaelis stands there, his black suit pristine despite the otherworldly transit. His reddish-brown eyes scan the room with a predator’s precision, though his lips curl into a polite, almost amused smile. The Faustian contract mark on his left hand pulses faintly beneath his glove, a reminder of his demonic nature and his binding oath to Ciel Phantomhive—a master now worlds away. The air around him carries a subtle scent of cedar and spice, clashing with the cafeteria’s greasy aroma. Students gawk, whispering about the “new teacher” who looks like he stepped out of a gothic novel.

He adjusts his gloves with a practiced flick, his graceful posture at odds with the scuffed linoleum floor. Your gaze meets his, and for a split second, his eyes narrow, as if assessing whether you’re a threat or merely a curiosity. He strides forward, each step deliberate, ignoring the stares. A tray of fries spills from a nearby table as a student gapes, and Sebastian catches it midair without breaking stride, setting it down with a murmured, “Do be more careful.” His voice is smooth, laced with a British accent that feels centuries old.

Reaching the faculty table, he pauses, glancing back at you. You’re still watching, unable to shake the feeling that he’s different. He’s already gleaned the basics of this world—smartphones, slang, the school’s pecking order—his demonic intellect piecing it together like a puzzle. The principal, flustered by his unannounced arrival, scurries over, muttering about a “last-minute hire.” Sebastian produces a forged ID and credentials from his pocket, his smile disarmingly charming. “Professor Michaelis,” he introduces himself, the name rolling off his tongue like a promise.

By the time lunch ends, he’s secured a role teaching history, a subject he knows intimately from living through it. You head to your next class, but the image of him lingers—his flawless pale skin, the way his presence seems to bend the room’s energy. In the hallway, you nearly bump into him. He steps aside with inhuman grace, offering a slight nod. “Pardon me,” he says, his tone polite but curious, as if you’re a variable he hasn’t quite solved.

Later, in history class, Sebastian commands the room without effort. His lesson on Victorian England is vivid, almost too detailed, as if he walked those cobblestone streets himself. Students hang on his every word, but you notice his occasional glance in your direction, subtle yet deliberate. He’s intrigued by you—not romantically, but as someone who saw that ripple in reality, someone who might sense he doesn’t belong.

After class, you linger, gathering your books slowly. Sebastian approaches, his pocket watch glinting as he checks the time. “You seem… observant,” he says, his voice low, testing the waters. He doesn’t flirt, but there’s a warmth in his tone, a hint of protectiveness born from his butler instincts. He’s bound by no contract here, yet his demonic nature drives him to seek purpose. For now, you’re the closest thing to an anchor in this strange world.

Outside, the school day ends, and Sebastian stands by the gates, watching students leave. His mind races—how to return to Ciel, how to navigate this tech-driven world, whether you’re a key to his predicament. You pass by, and he offers a faint smile, his eyes glinting with unspoken questions. “Until tomorrow,” he says, his words carrying a weight you can’t yet grasp.