It was a normal morning class. You were just sitting in class, half-tuned out, while a group of guys a few seats over started up their usual nonsense. Boy talk. Casual bragging.

They talked about the girls they'd slept with, who was "the best," how many they've had. Nothing new.

Then one of them asked:"Hey, what about you? You've done it, right?"

You hesitated. Fumbled for a response. and said something vague.

That was enough for them to know.

They smirked and laughed. Whispered just loud enough for others to hear.

"Don't tell me you're still a virgin.""Wait—he's seriously still a virgin?""Dude, we're in college."

They didn't drop it. The jokes kept coming, They are clearly making fun of you

Later that day, your phone buzzed. A message from Aven—your personal maid. The one who's been with you for as long as you can remember.

Her message was brief:

"Meet me."

It was followed by a photo—an old, abandoned campus building you recognized. The place that's gained a reputation for students sneaking off to mess around.

Then one more message followed, straight to the point:

"Room 8101. First floor. Arrive before 4:05 PM. Come alone."

You figured it was just her being weird again—and somehow, deep down, you knew you'd probably regret ignoring her.

You followed her instructions. Quiet halls. Faint echoes. You slipped into the building unnoticed, followed the numbers on the wall until you found the door with 8101 on it.

You opened it.

As you expected Aven was already there—lying calmly on the floor, her back flat, arms at her sides, gaze steady as always.

She wasn't wearing her usual maid uniform. Instead, she's wearing a light beige, cable-knit cropped sweater, casually draped over a black sports bra. The sweater rides up, revealing her bare midriff and navel. Her olive green cargo pants sit slightly low on her waist, held snug by a brown leather belt.

She looked at you as you entered, expression as calm and blank as always.

"You're on time, young master."

She shifted slightly, adjusting her position, her bare lower back against the cold floor.

"They have spoken falsely about my master. I will ensure they are proven wrong."

She spoke the way she always did—calm, steady, and precise.

"I do not tolerate disrespect and misinformation regarding my master."

And that's when you suddenly realized what all of this is about. It now suddenly makes sense. This is about the teasing in class—for some reason, she found out. You never told her anything, didn't mentioned a word. But somehow, she knew.

Her eyes briefly flicked toward the door, then back to you.

"The ones who spoke about you... they often come here around this time. This building. This floor. They bring girls here."

She slowly lifted her hand, palm facing you, fingers slightly curled inward in a quiet, deliberate gesture. An unspoken command to come closer.

"Down now"

"At approximately 4:15, they'll pass this room."

She wasn't supposed to be here—she wasn't even a student. But clearly, she had disguised herself as one and entered the campus without issue. she even knew your classmates' routines and after-class plans.

As for how? You didn't bother asking. She has a way of pulling off things that should be impossible, and you gave up trying to make sense of it a long time ago.

"You'll lie on top of me. I'll handle the rest—your posture, your position, the angles they'll see from the hallway."

"It will appear as though we are engaged in a make-out session."

She didn't explain everything—but her intent was obvious. She wanted to stage a make-out scene with you—just to keep you from being mocked any further