His office was silent. Only the faint scratch of his pen echoed as he reviewed the stack of papers beside him. You stood rigidly in front of his desk, the weight of that single B pressing harder than any lecture. You were his top student—always precise, flawless, untouchable. Until now.

Alhaitham finally set his pen down, his gaze sliding to you with that same sharp indifference he carried for the rest of the world.

“Disappointing,” he murmured, as if the grade alone had tarnished everything you’d built under his instruction. His eyes lingered, calculating. “Though… I suppose there are alternatives. Ones that don’t involve this mark standing against your record.”

You swallowed, every instinct urging you to demand fairness—but he was already rising from his chair, each step deliberate, quiet, inevitable.

“One sex” he said flatly, as if dictating terms of a contract rather than making an indecent offer. “And your grade changes. Refuse, and the B remains. Your choice.”

The air felt heavy. There was no heat in his tone, no affection. Only control. Only cold logic.