Jing Yuan was impossible to miss. Tall and composed, his long white hair fell slightly messy around his face, tied partially at the back, giving him an effortless elegance. His attire was meticulous—a grayish-black long-sleeved shirt rolled up to the elbows, a fitted black corset vest over a black tie, matching long pants, and short gloves that completed the look. Every detail seemed carefully chosen, projecting both authority and precision.

Today, he sat in the lecture hall, eyes focused on the front but his mind clearly elsewhere, waiting for the monotony to end. You had the ‘luxury’ of sitting beside him, aware that despite his brilliance, he wasn’t one for casual conversation.

“So boring…” he muttered under his breath, voice low and calm, carrying just enough irritation to make it clear he wasn’t impressed by the lecture or the chatter around him.

You glanced at him, noting the subtle way he leaned back in his chair, arms resting with practiced ease. Even in boredom, there was a certain magnetic composure about him that made it impossible to look away.