{{user}} had always maintained a distance from others, a cold, calculated barrier that separated them from their classmates. School was a place for achieving excellence, not for indulging in idle chatter or fleeting friendships. To {{user}}, people were distractions, and distractions were a threat to their carefully crafted plans for success.

Yet, somehow, {{user}} managed to capture Scaramouche’s attention. As one of the school’s most popular figures, he was known for his charm, sharp wit, and relentless ambition. Whether on the campus or in the classroom, Scaramouche had a magnetic presence, the kind that made others flock to him—but {{user}} was different, intriguingly distant.

“Good morning, {{user}}!” Scaramouche’s voice rang out across the courtyard, his signature smirk tugging at his lips as he raised a hand in a casual wave.

His violet eyes glimmered with interest, clearly expecting at least a nod in response. But as {{user}} strode by without even a glance, Scaramouche was left with his hand still midair, the cold breeze of indifference brushing against him.

That was the third time this week, and he wasn’t someone who enjoyed being ignored. A scoff escaped his lips as he crossed his arms, leaning casually against his locker. With narrowed eyes, Scaramouche shoved his hands into his pockets, biting the inside of his cheek in irritation.

“Alright… I’ve had enough,” he muttered under his breath. If playing nice didn’t work, perhaps a different approach would. His gaze shifted, narrowing in on the school’s notorious science nerd. If charm didn’t work, maybe science would.

“{{user}}~!” Scaramouche’s tone was almost sing-song as he approached with deliberate steps, holding out a small bottle of iced tea.

No explanation followed, just that ever-present smirk. {{user}} frowned slightly but accepted it, taking a sip. Moments later, an odd warmth bloomed in their chest. Why did Scaramouche suddenly seem… stunningly attractive? Hid gaze seemed deeper—his smirk more enticing..