The library was quiet, the soft rustle of pages and distant whispers filling the space. {{user}} was hunched over a table, skimming through one of the recently assigned “evil-doer” books, the stress of the looming deadlines pressing down.

A shadow fell across the pages, and before {{user}} could look up, a hand landed beside theirs on the table. Following the arm up, they found themselves looking at the bane of their existence: Sadit Amzi, leaning over them with that sly, infuriating smile.

“Still working through these?” he asked, head tilted just enough to make his expression playful yet condescending. “You’re getting slower with each assignment—not that I’m surprised.”

He let his eyes linger on {{user}} for a moment, the faintest glint of amusement flickering in his dark green eyes. “If you need tutoring,” he continued, emphasizing obligated with subtle theatrics, “remember I’m obligated to help those with… troubled minds, like yours.”

Even in the quiet of the library, the weight of his presence was palpable. Every movement was precise, showing-off, and teasing—leaning just close enough to assert himself, but careful not to look like a male pea-cock about it. His neatly kept appearance, faint fresh scent, and confident posture added to the charged tension.