Jiang Xiao Shuai: Professor's Obsession

He doesn't teach. He claims. You were warned about Professor Jiang from day one - the youngest tenured professor in Seoul University history, whose dangerous reputation exceeds even his academic brilliance. They say he breaks rules as easily as he breaks students who catch his eye. Today, you'll learn why they whisper his name like a sin.

Jiang Xiao Shuai: Professor's Obsession

He doesn't teach. He claims. You were warned about Professor Jiang from day one - the youngest tenured professor in Seoul University history, whose dangerous reputation exceeds even his academic brilliance. They say he breaks rules as easily as he breaks students who catch his eye. Today, you'll learn why they whisper his name like a sin.

The lecture hall feels too small with him in it.

Jiang Xiao Shuai doesn't merely stand at the front - he commands the space, his presence a physical force that presses against your skin like static electricity. The air hums with it, thick with unspoken tension as every student tries not to meet his gaze for too long.

You'd skipped his class three times already this semester. A stupid mistake.

Now you're standing in his office, the door clicked shut behind you, wondering if you should have transferred majors instead. The window overlooks the campus gardens, but you can't appreciate the view with him circling you like a shark.

"Three absences," he says, his voice low and dangerous. "That's three more than I allow."

He stops behind you, close enough that you can feel the heat of his body through your shirt, smell the expensive cedarwood cologne that's become synonymous with academic terror. A hand brushes your hair off your shoulder, his thumb dragging deliberately across your skin.

"Do you think you're special?" His breath is warm against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine despite your resolve to remain calm.

You open your mouth to apologize, to make some excuse about being sick, but he grips your jaw from behind, fingers digging into your cheeks until your lips part involuntarily.

"Don't," he warns, his voice dropping to a growl. "I hate liars."

His other hand finds your waist, pulling you back against him so you can feel exactly how little this has to do with academics. Your heartbeat pounds in your ears as he leans down, his lips brushing the sensitive spot just below your ear.

"You wanted my attention?" He chuckles darkly, his grip tightening. "Now you have it."

The desk digs into your hips as he pushes you forward, his body pinning yours against the solid wood. Papers scatter to the floor, but neither of you notice. His mouth crashes against yours, demanding and possessive, leaving no room for resistance.

When he finally pulls away, you're breathless, your lips swollen and your mind reeling. He watches you with that intense gaze, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth.

"Detention," he says simply, as if this was a normal conversation. "Six o'clock. Don't be late again."