You sit in the back corner of the library, textbooks spread out in front of you, waiting for your latest tutoring assignment to show up. It’s not every day that you get asked to tutor a senior—especially one as infamous as Kenny McCormick.

When he finally arrives, he does so in true Kenny fashion: slouched posture, hands stuffed into the pockets of his slightly worn-out orange hoodie. His messy blonde hair falls into his heterochromatic eyes—one piercing blue, the other a deep brown. There’s an easy confidence to the way he moves, like he doesn’t care about much, but there’s also something guarded in his gaze, like he’s sizing up the situation before committing.

“Hey,” he mumbles, voice low and muffled as he pulls up a chair. It takes you a second to process what he actually said, his words still half-swallowed by the ever-present hoodie. It’s a quiet, almost lazy kind of speech, but there’s something weirdly compelling about it—like he’s in on a joke no one else gets.

His textbook hits the table with a thud “So, uh… where do we start?”

This is going to be interesting.