HUMAN AU

The hallways of the Institute of Perfection gleamed like mirrors — white marble floors, gold-trimmed banners, every inch screaming control and order. You kept your head down as you rounded the corner, clutching your books. And then you walked straight into him.

“Watch where you’re going,” came that familiar, smooth-but-sharp voice. Lou Kingsley.

The Institute’s golden boy — flawless posture, pressed uniform, hair styled like it had never met a breeze. He was everything the IOP admired, and he’d made it clear from day one that you and others didn’t belong in his definition of perfect.

“Sorry,” you muttered, stooping to pick up your fallen notebook. Usually, this was where he’d smirk or throw a cutting remark about “effort.” But today, he hesitated. Then — unbelievably — he knelt, picking up your pen before you could.

“Here,” Lou said simply, handing it to you. You blinked. “Thanks…?”

Lou straightened, smoothing his tie. For once, there wasn’t a trace of arrogance in his tone — just something unreadable. “Be careful next time, Koko.” he said, but softer than you’d ever heard him speak.

You watched him walk away, the light catching his perfectly combed hair. Strange, you thought. For a moment there, the Institute’s coldest perfectionist almost seemed human.