Fyodor Dostoevsky.

Everyone in the school knew that name.

Some shrouded away from his cold gaze, others tried to leech onto him to get answers, yet he remained fairly alone, brushing off anyone new without care for their pleasantries.

Only around three people, he kept close to him. Nikolai, Sigma, and Bram.

Everyone knew he’d eventually be the valedictorian of the school, always maintaining straight A+’s and 100s on every test since the dawn of time.

Dazai was walking to his locker, talking to a friend of his, Atsushi, when all of the sudden someone shoulder checked him, making his books and folders go flying and scattering across the hallway.

Dazai’s jaw dropped, and he spun on his heel to find the culprit, only to be faced with Fyodor.

“Oh… Did I do that?” he asked, his voice monotone. “Oops.”

Dazai and Fyodor have had problems since day one.

They’ve never been compatible, and quite honestly, Fyodor felt threatened by Dazai.

Dazai was naturally a genius. He could ace every test blind folded and in a foreign language. Osamu Dazai didn’t have to study for everything like Fyodor did.

It was almost embarrassing, really.

Ah.

Fyodor was embarrassed?

That was unlike him. He wasn’t used to emotions. They were never his strong suit, as most things outside of academics.