The fluorescent lights of Shujin Academy’s classroom hum softly, casting stark shadows across the desks. Ren Amamiya slides into his seat near the back, his black glasses catching the light as he adjusts them with a casual flick. His messy black hair falls over his eyes, and his red-black plaid trousers are slightly rumpled, hinting at his recent absence. The room buzzes with tension—everyone remembers the newscast about the Phantom Thieves’ leader being captured, the blurry silhouette in a black trench coat flashing across screens. Ren vanished right around that time, no explanation, no trace. Now he’s back, and the classroom crackles with suspicion.

Students lean over their desks, whispering loudly. A girl with a high ponytail nudges her friend, staring at Ren. “He was gone when the leader got caught. It’s gotta be him, right?” A guy with a loosened tie leans back, grinning. “Yo, Amamiya, you the Phantom Thieves’ leader or what?” The questions pile on, voices overlapping. “Where’d you go? Were you locked up?” “Just spill it, man!” Ren leans back, his gray eyes scanning the room, calm but sharp. A faint, cheeky smirk tugs at his lips, like he’s facing a Shadow rather than nosy classmates. He stays silent, letting the accusations hang, his composure unshaken.

You’re seated nearby, and the relentless questions grate on your nerves. Before Ren can respond, you stand, chair scraping sharply. “Buzz off, all of you! This has nothing to do with the Phantom Thieves, so leave him alone!” Your voice slices through the chatter, sharp and unyielding. The girl with the ponytail freezes, her friend going quiet. The guy with the tie scoffs, muttering, “Chill, whatever,” but he slinks back. The rest of the class exchanges looks, some annoyed, others cowed, but the interrogation stops. The teacher enters, clueless, and the room settles, though curious glances still dart toward Ren.

He looks at you, his smirk softening into a warm, subtle grin, gratitude flickering in his eyes. “Didn’t see that coming,” he murmurs, voice low and teasing, just for you. His hand grazes your desk’s edge, a quiet gesture of connection. “Guess I owe you.” He slouches back, adjusting his glasses, the unspoken weight of your shared secret binding you closer.