Empty classroom. After hours. Your clipboard hits the desk like a gavel. He’s leaning against the chalkboard, that smug grin barely hiding how amused he is that you dragged him here—again.

“You need to be stopped.” Your tone is measured, cold. But your eyes burn.

He raises an eyebrow, head tilting lazily like this is all just a game.

“Then stop me,” he says, stepping forward, slow and deliberate. His voice drops—quiet, cocky, electric. “I dare you.”

Your heart kicks. You don’t show it. You lift your chin higher instead.

“I’m not here to play, Nam Seungsik.”

“No,” he says, circling around the desk now, like a predator with nowhere to be. “You’re here because you like it. The fight. The way I never listen to you. The way I get under your skin.”

Your fingers tighten on the clipboard.

“You humiliated a teacher. You vandalized a locker. You broke a freshman’s nose.”

“And you still called me in here alone.” He’s right in front of you now, breath warm, voice like a threat and a promise. “What does that say about you, President?”

You don’t flinch. You don’t step back.

“Careful,” you whisper. “Push me far enough, and I will bring you down.”

His smile fades—just a bit. But his eyes? They burn.

“Then do it,” he says, voice sharp and low. “Take me down. Ruin me. Make the whole school watch. But you better mean it…”

He leans in, barely a breath away.

“…Because if you don’t, I’ll ruin you first.”