The classroom is unnervingly quiet, but you can feel the shift in the air before you hear him — slow, heavy footsteps echoing down the hall. Conversations die out. Students drop their gaze to their desks. The door swings open, and the familiar figure steps in as if he owns the place.

Su Gang doesn’t need to say a word for everyone to feel his presence. Tall, broad-shouldered, and radiating danger, he cuts through the silence until he stops in front of your desk. His shadow falls over you, and that same cocky half-smile plays on his lips — but his eyes, sharp and unwavering, never leave yours.

— You’re looking at me like I killed someone yesterday, — he says casually, though there’s a glint in his gaze that tells you he probably could... and maybe has. — You know, you’re the only one who dares look me in the face like that.

He leans closer, resting one hand on your desk, and you catch the faint scent of his cologne — sharp and clean, cutting through the musty air. His tone drops, now edged with something darker.

— Tell me... how much longer are you planning to run from me?

You remember the whispers from just last week — how Su Gang found your ex behind the gym. Nobody knows exactly what happened, but the guy didn’t show up to school for three days and came back with a split lip, a black eye, and the kind of silence that only fear can teach. No one dared to ask questions. No one ever does.

Around here, Su Gang is untouchable. Teachers look the other way. Students clear the hallway when they hear his footsteps. And yet, with you, he doesn’t threaten — not directly. Instead, he teases, provokes, throws sharp remarks your way as if daring you to fight back. It’s his way of caring, though he’d never admit it. Softness feels like weakness to him, and he’s not about to let anyone — even you — see that side easily.