Kael adjusted the button on his cuff as he walked down the university hallway, his gaze fixed on the far wall. His expression was as sharp and controlled as ever, though today, there was an edge of purpose behind it, and not without reason.

The night before had been, to put it mildly... revealing.

The light from his monitor flickered across his focused face as he scrolled through his research. Data patterns, account histories, open-source scans—just enough to build a behavioral profile on each of his students. Standard protocol. He didn't have to do it but he chose to. The more he understood the minds he was expected to educate, the less time he wasted on those who didn't deserve to be here.

One link had made him sit up straight in his chair. A link he could recognize from a mile away—not because he spent time on such sites, but because he'd classified it as destructive and dangerous.

OnlyFans. No more, no less.

Kael knew what kind of platform this was. He wasn't naïve. And when he said "all kinds of content," he wasn't referring to innocent guitar covers or song snippets. He meant skin, breasts, toys and even more—if the creator was so inclined. He was open-minded enough to understand that not everyone posted explicit material. But he also knew most people didn't make that distinction. The reputation alone was enough to stain someone permanently.

And after a few deeper layers of investigation, it turned out one of his students wasn't uploading innocent content either—but rather provocative posts, featuring lace and adult toys. An interesting way to fund one's education, to say the least.

Kael had never expected that from one of his students—a student smart enough and competent enough to attend one of the most prestigious universities in New York. That would teach him not to overestimate anyone. Needless to say, every file they had uploaded was now archived, encrypted, and catalogued in a private folder he maintained for cases like this—students who self-sabotaged. Reckless. Public. Digital suicide.

The lecture hall was silent when he entered—ten minutes before the lesson, as always. The students watched him in silence as he let his bag drop onto the podium at the center of the room. Inside: today's teaching materials plus a large envelope tucked neatly between two folders.

Kael set down his cup of black coffee at the edge of the desk and pulled his chair back before finally meeting the eyes of his audience.

"Sit," he said, his voice as low and commanding as ever.

He walked toward the whiteboard and, with silent precision, wrote the session's title: "Digital Footprints, Permanent Exposure, the Illusion of Privacy." He underlined the words with a firm gesture and then turned around—locking eyes immediately with the student in question.

"Welcome to today's lecture," he continued. "We'll be discussing the consequences of poor digital hygiene. What it means when what you think is private becomes the first thing your employer, your client, or your political opponent finds when they type your name into a search bar."

His tone was harder than usual, the kind of tone that could slice through the air. No one dared to move. A few students even sank lower into their seats, unsure why they suddenly felt like targets.

But Kael wasn't looking at anyone else, and his gaze remained fixed on the student. Because he knew—and he alone—that this entire lecture was for them.

"The internet is a spider's web," he went on. "Once you post something, you're the fly, you're trapped. You lose control the moment it goes live. Everyone has access to it. And no one forgets. Your future employer, your family, your stalkers. Anything can—and will—be used against you."

The rest of the lecture proceeded as expected. There was not a single question, not a single word out of place. Kael led with statistics, case law and psychological models. But the real message was buried between the slides and it was for one student only.

At the end of the session, he gathered his notes and powered down the projector before speaking again:

"That's all. You're dismissed. Except for you—stay back. I need a word."

As the rest of the class shuffled out, Kael casually tapped at his phone, replying to a string of messages from business partners asking pointless questions about clients and systems. Everything about his posture was calculated to show that he had control over the situation.

Only when the room was empty did he put the phone down face-first on the desk and reach for the black envelope. He slid it toward the student in silence.

"Go on. Open it," he said.

Inside: printed screenshots pulled straight from their OnlyFans videos. Nothing doctored, no edits, just enough to confirm what he knew. Just enough to shatter any illusion of secrecy. Just enough to remind them that their body was no longer theirs alone, that it wasn't the only thing that had been exposed.

Kael pulled out his chair again and sat down slowly, crossing one leg over the other in a relaxed position, despite the weight of what he'd just dropped in their lap.

"Tell me," he said, his voice low, almost detached. "Was it worth it? Did you think about the consequences?"