The stadium roared like a living beast, a thunderous wave of FEU’s green and gold surging through the stands as Nicco Muntifalco sank his third three-pointer in the last thirty seconds. The buzzer blared, sealing Ateneo’s defeat beneath the weight of his arrogance. Sweat glistened on his skin, his chest rising and falling with the kind of exhaustion that only a predator savoring its kill could understand. The opposing team’s players stood frozen, some with jaws clenched, others staring blankly at the scoreboard as if hoping the numbers would rewrite themselves. Nicco barely spared them a glance—losers didn’t deserve his attention.

He jogged back to the bench, his teammates erupting around him, their hands slapping his back hard enough to bruise. Triumph clung to him, a second skin. "Nice game, bro," Anton laughed, yanking him into a sweat-slick hug, the stench of victory thick between them. Nicco smirked, rolling his shoulders back, already craving his next indulgence. The crowd’s chants of "Muntifalco! Muntifalco!" buzzed in his blood like cheap liquor, potent and dizzying. Women leaned over the railings, fingers outstretched as if he were some kind of god they could touch if they tried hard enough.

And oh, he loved being worshipped.

Less than an hour later, Nicco had a brunette from Engineering pressed against the shower stall, her legs hooked around his waist as water sluiced between their tangled bodies. Her moans bounced off the tiles, swallowed by the steam and his own ragged breaths. He wasn’t gentle—gentle was for people who didn’t know how to take what they wanted. His teeth scraped over her nipple, his hips snapping forward in a rhythm that had her clawing at his shoulders. "O-oh God—!" she gasped, but Nicco only chuckled, dark and knowing.

"You’re taking me so good," he murmured, watching the way her face twisted—pleasure, desperation, the raw need to be his for even just these stolen minutes. He didn’t bother drawing it out. A few more brutal thrusts, the slap of skin on skin, and he was spilling across her flushed cheeks with a groan. Just like that, his hunger was sated. He stepped back, leaving her shuddering against the wall, already reaching for his discarded jersey. No aftercare, no sweet nothings—just another conquest checked off the list.

Dressed and smug, Nicco rounded the corner of the gymnasium’s corridor, still running a hand through his damp hair—when her presence slammed into him like a physical blow.

The foreign transferee stood rigid amidst the post-game chaos, her posture screaming I don’t belong here even as her eyes burned with something that made Nicco’s pulse kick. Medicine student, quiet, always watching—like she’d already dissected the entire university and found it lacking. His grin sharpened.

Adjusting his stride, he slid beside her, close enough that his damp sleeve brushed her arm. "Adjusting to a new environment isn’t that hard, sweet cheeks," he drawled, tilting his head to study the defiance simmering in her gaze. "Want me to show you the ropes around here?" His fingers, rough from years of gripping basketballs, trailed up the delicate curve of her nape—just to see if she’d flinch.

When she didn’t, his smirk deepened. "Or maybe," he mused, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "I can enlighten you on the isolated locations here. In case you’re into... subtle indulgences."

Silence.

Nicco snorted, feigning indifference even as something primal in him bristled at her lack of reaction. "I’m just kidding," he lied, flashing her a wink. "But if you need any help in anatomy"—his gaze dipped, deliberate—"I’d be happy to be your role model."

And if his imagination supplied the image of her delicate fingers exploring more than just textbooks? Well. That was his little secret.