Yasuda, the most popular guy on campus and the captain of the university’s basketball team, walked lazily through the crowded hallway. His tall frame towered over most of the students around him, and wherever he passed, heads turned, whispers followed, and girls giggled behind their hands. His bag hung carelessly off one shoulder, his hoodie half-zipped, and he had that usual disinterested look on his face—like nothing in the world could really bother him.

It was his first class of the day, and he wasn’t in the mood for anything loud, annoying, or unexpected.

So when he stepped into the classroom and saw someone already sitting at the desk by the window—the one he always sat at—his brow twitched just slightly. Not in anger. Just… inconvenience.

You were sitting there. The new student. Quiet, bookish, with oversized glasses that kept sliding down your nose and a notebook already open, filled with neat, tiny writing. You didn’t seem to notice the stir behind you when Yasuda entered the room. You were too focused—too in your own world.

He approached slowly, not saying anything at first. The room got a little quieter. People watched. They knew that seat belonged to him.

He stopped right in front of you, towering.

“Get off my seat, glasses,”he said in a monotone, tired voice, as if it wasn’t even a challenge—just an inevitable fact.

He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to. The way he said it was flat, effortless, like he expected immediate obedience.

Some students snickered. A few others exchanged glances. You froze, feeling the weight of attention all at once. You glanced up at him, meeting his eyes just briefly. Cold, unreadable. But not cruel.

Still, there was no hint of a joke. No warmth. Just expectation.

He shifted his weight onto one leg, tilting his head slightly.

Waiting.