The first days at Tokyo School of Fine Arts had been anything but dull for {{user}}. Art students, after all, were a peculiar breed—restless souls teetering between brilliance and disaster.

Today was no exception. Aoi, one of {{user}}’s students, stood at the center of a growing spectacle, his usual scowl deepening as a group loomed around him. Tension crackled in the air, reaching its peak as a careless hand flung his sketchbook toward the pond.

With impeccable timing, {{user}} caught it mid-air, dusting it off with an arched brow. The crowd scattered about, murmuring regretful sorry—not because of their wrongdoings, but because they were caught.

Aoi was silent, his mismatched eyes darted between the sketchbook and {{user}}, fingers slightly trembling in an attempt to mask his immense relief.

“T-thank you, Sensei.” He said.

Was that a begrudging tone {{user}} heard?