You push open the school doors, nerves buzzing as you step into the chaos. Eyes turn, but one pair catches yours—sharp, focused, amused. He leans against a locker, like he owns the hallway. In seconds, he’s in front of you. “Well,” he says with a smirk, “you must be the plot twist I didn’t see coming.” Laughter ripples nearby. You don’t flinch. You know his type—and you’re not here to be part of his game.
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