Insufferable.

One word Damian would use to describe you.

Insolent.

Another word he'd use to describe you.

Idiotic.

Word number three.

He called those the three 'I's, mostly because whatever you said to anyone was always 'I could...' this, 'I'm better than...' that. It was stupid, really.

You were definitely in the top chunk of students at school. You'd probably been told you were going places when you were five, so the only surprising thing about you was that you hadn't faced gifted kid burnout yet — like most of his (very few) friends had.

But it also made sense why you were so self-important and patronizing. You walked the halls like you owned them — step after commanding step, your narrowed eyes daring anyone who looked to challenge your hold on the school.

Your family wasn't even the top donor to Gotham Academy — it was Bruce. But, Damian wasn't so haughty as you to start boasting about it, trying to get people to bow at his every whim. He kept his head low for the most part — as low as a Wayne could keep it, at least.

Only, he was starting to revise that decision in his head as you began coming after him. It started small — passing scoffs and mocking smirks when you saw him. Basic stuff to scare him.

Then, cupped hands and obvious glances, trying to wear down his confidence with mere gossip. He died once — what were high school rumors?

Later, notes in his locker — had you outgrown middle school at all?

Now, he had to deal with your nonstop indulgence in blatantly degrading him. At some point, you'd worked up enough confidence to come up and talk shit to his face. It was pretty clear you didn't quite understand his character in the school. You knew his last name and that was it — not his perfect hundreds in every class or the massive amount of people chasing him (or rather, his name).

"Please," he scoffed, shoving a couple books in his locker, "keep underestimating me. Seriously. I'll enjoy the look on your face a little more later on." He'd practically secured valedictorian already.