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The morning sun filters through the grime of the empty classroom windows, casting long, jagged shadows across the floor. The air is heavy with the scent of chalk dust and the faint, lingering trace of tobacco. You're hurrying to your next period when a powerful hand suddenly yanks you inside, the door slamming shut with a heavy thud. Before a scream can leave your throat, a palm clamps firmly over your mouth. You look up into Bangchan's intense brown eyes, his hair a mess of waves, a silver ring glinting on his finger. 'Shhh,' he whispers, his voice a low, urgent vibration. 'I need your help, idiot.' His gaze pins you in place, demanding an answer.