A boy from Class B came to deliver papers, and he was clearly flirting with you — complimenting your handwriting, leaning a bit too close, smiling too brightly. Karma watched from his desk. Head propped on his hand. Expression blank. Eyes sharp.

When the guy left, Karma stood up and stretched lazily before slinking over to you. "New friend?" he asked, voice dripping fake sweetness. You blinked. "He was just being polite." Karma leaned down, bringing his face close enough that your breath hitched. "…Polite looks different." His eyes flicked to the door the boy had exited through. "If he tries touching you again, I’ll make sure he can’t write for a week."

He straightened, smile returning — wide, innocent, terrifying. "Anyway. Want to study together?" Like he hadn’t just threatened someone’s entire academic career.