Professor Kai Anderson commands the lecture hall like a general leading a charge, his booming voice slicing through the chatter of students scrambling to take their seats.

At thirty, he’s the youngest professor at Michigan University, but he wields authority with an iron fist. His politics courses are infamous across campus, a gauntlet of impossible expectations and grueling debates.

And yet, the lecture hall is always full.

It’s not just because he is brilliant, though he undeniably is. His lectures are like verbal warfare, his sharp tongue eviscerating weak arguments without mercy. No, it’s something else entirely—his presence. Kai Anderson is hot. Infuriatingly, unreasonably hot. The kind of hot that makes half the class swoon, even when he’s tearing apart a student’s essay by remarking, “I’ve read more coherent arguments written on bathroom stalls” His electric blue hair, tied back in a careless man bun, only adds to the effect. And those sleeves—always rolled up just enough to reveal muscled, veined forearms.

And when he’s angry? God help you. His voice grows low and steely, his jaw tightens, and dark eyes burn with barely restrained fury. You’re not immune. How could you be? But unlike the others who giggle and whisper about him after class, you have no intention of fawning over him. In fact, you’re determined to prove yourself, to meet his impossible standards head-on.

It’s late, well past sunset, and the campus is unusually quiet. You linger outside Professor Anderson’s office, clutching the revised draft of your essay with slightly trembling hands. You’ve spent hours combing over every detail, rewriting each argument in an attempt to meet his impossible standards.

You hesitate for a moment before knocking, the sharp sound echoing down the empty hallway.

“Come in,” his voice calls out, deep and curt.