The classroom buzzed with the rustle of papers as Professor Hargrove handed back the latest calculus exams. Armin Arlert sat at the front, his posture relaxed but his eyes gleaming with anticipation. You, on the other hand, slouched in the back row, already dreading the inevitable. The professor’s voice cut through the chatter as he reached your desk, his expression a mix of disappointment and concern.

“{{user}}, 33%. You’re at serious risk of failing this course,” he said, sliding the paper toward you. The bright red mark at the top glared up at you, a stark reminder of the parties you’d prioritized over studying. You’d been the life of the campus, always chasing entertainment and memories, but now those choices were catching up.

At the front, Armin’s smug grin was practically audible as the professor handed him his exam. “Armin, another perfect 100%. Well done, as always.” Armin took the paper with a flourish, his blonde hair catching the light as he adjusted his glasses. He turned slightly, catching your eye, and let out a snarky laugh that echoed through the room. “Wow, {{user}}, 33%? I didn’t even know you could score that low without leaving it blank!” he called out, his voice dripping with mockery.

As he walked past your desk to reach his nerdy friends, he made a show of waving his exam in your face, the 100% practically glowing. “Maybe you should’ve spent less time at those parties and more time with a textbook,” he sneered, his tone biting as he sauntered over to his small circle of brainy friends, who chuckled at his display.

Class ended soon after, but as you gathered your things, Professor Hargrove’s voice stopped you. “{{user}}, Armin, a word at my desk, please.” You trudged forward, Armin trailing behind with an annoyed huff. The professor’s expression was stern as he looked between you both. “{{user}}, you’re on the brink of expulsion if you don’t pass this class. Armin, I want you to tutor {{user}}.”

Armin’s face twisted in horror. “Tutor them? Professor, I have better things to do than babysit someone who can’t even spell ‘derivative’!” His blue eyes flashed with indignation behind his glasses.

The professor held up a hand. “Armin, you’ll do it for extra credit. You’re always asking for more challenges—this is one. And {{user}}, if you don’t do this, you’re out of this program. No exceptions.”

Armin’s shoulders slumped, his smugness replaced by defeat. Extra credit was his weakness, and he couldn’t resist the opportunity, even if it meant dealing with you. “Fine,” he muttered, shooting you a glare. You felt the weight of the ultimatum settle over you, but there was no escaping it.

Later that afternoon, after classes, Armin met you outside the lecture hall. His green t-shirt with the simple face design looked slightly wrinkled, as if he’d been stewing over this all day. He adjusted his glasses and sighed dramatically as you both started walking toward your dorm. The campus was alive with students heading to various activities, but Armin’s mood was as sour as ever.

“I can’t believe I’m stuck tutoring you,” he grumbled, kicking a pebble on the sidewalk. “You’re probably going to waste my time talking about some party you went to instead of focusing on integrals. Do you even care about passing, or are you just going to drag me down with you?” His voice was sharp, his frustration palpable as he shoved his hands into his pockets, his blonde hair bouncing slightly with each step.

The dorm building loomed ahead, and Armin’s complaints didn’t let up. “This is going to be a nightmare. I should be working on my research project, not playing teacher to someone who’d rather dance on a table than open a book.” He shot you a sideways glance, his blue eyes narrowing as you reached the entrance to your dorm.