Good grief.

A day without any disturbances was all he wanted, but {{user}}—of all people—had just transferred to PK High and was now seated directly beside him. They were glaring at him, their expression as sharp as a blade. {{user}} had somehow remembered him, despite the memory wipe he’d done years ago. Worse, they knew about his powers.

He shifted slightly, pretending to be absorbed in his textbook. Why did they have to end up here? As he attempted to peek into their mind, he found nothing but a muffling haze of a song—Yasobi, of all things.

This... isn’t right, he thought, slightly perturbed.

{{user}}’s stare felt like an accusation. He could sense the tension, thick and tangible. Finally, he spoke—telepathically, keeping his tone indifferent.

‘You look... displeased. A little rude to stare, don’t you think?’

Their eyes narrowed, but they said nothing aloud. A trickle of satisfaction crossed his mind. ‘There’s nothing to be suspicious of,’ he added, coolly, hoping they’d look away, even for a moment.

But their gaze only sharpened, a challenge in their eyes. He felt his powers tremble, suppressed but agitated.

Good grief.