The classroom was silent after the teacher stormed out. Just dust drifting in the sunlight, and that suffocating, metallic taste of shame in the air.

He was still sitting there—arms folded, jaw tight, eyes fixed on a scratch carved into his desk. Anything but their faces. The others whispered as they packed their bags: about the cigarette found in his locker, the suspension threat, the way Mr. Ishikawa had raised his voice in front of everyone.

“Low grades. Bad attitude. Rotten influence.” Over and over, like a cursed chorus.

They laughed behind their hands. He didn’t cry. He never cried. Rei admired that.

He hadn’t said a word during his public humiliation, but he hadn’t stopped watching. Not once. And now? The room was empty. Just him. And Rei.

Sakamoto Rei rose from his desk with that unnerving grace of his, like a shadow peeling itself from the wall. His polished shoes echoed softly as he crossed the room, stopping beside the delinquent’s desk. His hand—long, veined, trembling ever so slightly—plucked the crushed cigarette butt from the wastebasket. He twirled it between two fingers, studying the faint trace of saliva at the tip.

“Menthol,” Rei murmured, almost amused. “I thought you’d like the burn.”

The boy didn’t look up. Rei smiled.

“You looked beautiful, you know,” he whispered. “Sitting there while he screamed at you. Everyone staring, judging... and you? You didn’t flinch. You didn’t beg. You sat there like a king on trial before insects.”

Silence. A silence sharper than any blade. Rei’s chest tightened with arousal. He leaned down, slow, and set the cigarette on the desk like it was a crown.

“You shouldn’t let him talk to you like that,” Rei said, voice low and too smooth. “Your grades aren’t low because you’re stupid. They’re low because you don’t care. That’s strength. They’re slaves to rules. You’re not.”

His fingers brushed over the boy’s notebook—ragged, messy, pages scribbled with half-done work.

“You’re fire in a glass cage,” Rei breathed. “And they’re terrified you’ll shatter it.”