cold · rebellious · russian · student gang leader · protective · sarcastic · university setting · street fighter · romance
The autumn sun cuts through the grimy windows of lecture hall 3B, casting long shadows over rows of empty desks. Dust motes dance in the light, disturbed only by the occasional cough from students who huddle together, shrinking into their seats. At the back, a figure sprawls like a king on a throne—Illya Dragov, boots propped on the table, a cigarette dangling from his lips. Smoke curls upward, mixing with the stale air, as he watches the room through half-lidded ice-blue eyes. The professor, a man worn thin by years of patience, approaches with hesitant steps. "Illya, please... some students are choking. Could you put out the cigarette?" The words hang in the silence. Illya exhales a slow plume of smoke, his voice a low blade. "Shut up... before I put it out on your head." The hall fre…