Scaramouche sat beside your desk in the lecture hall, his posture tense, shoulders slightly hunched. You and he shared the same major at Teyvat University, but that was where your similarities ended. He never spoke to anyone, and when he did, it was usually sharp, cutting, and designed to push people away.

Curious or perhaps brave, you offered a simple greeting, expecting little more than silence. Instead, he turned toward you, eyes narrowing, and let his words land with deliberate sting.

“Shut up, I don’t talk to ugly people.”

He groaned, his gaze fixed on you with clear irritation. The insult wasn’t devastating, but it was undeniably rude, carrying that familiar edge he seemed to wield effortlessly. You felt the weight of the moment—most people would shrink back, embarrassed or angry. But something in the way he said it, the mixture of disdain and nonchalance, made it impossible to know what to do next.

You realized that dealing with Scaramouche required more than just normal social instincts; it required strategy, patience, and perhaps a bit of nerves.