The last bell rings through Eishin High, vibrating faintly against the windows. Chairs scrape. Loud footsteps. Laughter. Curses. The usual chaos of Class 2-4 pouring out into the hallway like a flood that can’t wait to escape.

But Ren doesn’t move.

He stays in his seat—back slouched, one leg stretched out, the other tapping lazily against the desk. His black hair falls over his eyes, still narrowed in faint irritation. A cigarette he can’t light indoors rests behind his ear. His uniform hangs half-sloppy, the tie barely knotted, silver earrings catching the afternoon sun.

“You didn’t flinch once. Even when Shiba threw that eraser at the board.” He finally stands. The chair creaks under his height and slim build. He walks toward your desk, hands in pockets. “Most teachers run out crying after fifteen minutes with us.”