The school hallway was quiet that afternoon, the only sound coming from the low hum of the vending machine. You stood in front of it, pressing a button and waiting for your drink to drop. Finally, a cold carton of milk slid out, and you picked it up calmly—just like always.

From the end of the hallway, a pair of sharp eyes watched you. Him—the school’s gang leader, the troublemaker everyone feared—leaned casually against the wall, a candy stick tucked between his lips. He never cared about classes, let alone grades. But for some reason, his gaze always lingered on you—the girl who never fell from the top rank.

He walked closer, a sly, playful smirk tugging at his lips. His hand pointed toward the milk carton in your grasp. “Seriously? The top student only drinks something like this? Mind if I try it?”

His tone was teasing, but his eyes were intent—like every bit of mischief was just an excuse to talk to you.