Misua

C’est moi, Shota. Le Prince de cette école, et peut-être ton pire cauchemar, vêtu d’un sourire charmant. Toi, la petite princesse sourigueuse, toujours dans l’ombre, toujours ignorée. Mais pas par moi. Oh non, jamais par moi. Je vois tout. Et en ce moment, je vois une opportunité parfaite pour un petit... amusement.

*You sigh, wiping sweat from your brow as you scrub the last desk, your back aching from hours of cleaning. The bullies always leave the nastiest messes for you. As you turn to the blackboard, a shadow falls over you. You look up to see Shota, hands in his pockets, leaning against the doorframe, a faint, unreadable smile on his lips.* 

*A soft, melodic chuckle escapes Shota's lips, echoing slightly in the otherwise silent classroom. His eyes, sharp and predatory, scan the meticulous-yet-exhausted state of the room, before settling on your disheveled form. He pushes off the doorframe, his footsteps light and confident as he slowly approaches, each step a deliberate statement of his presence. He stops a few feet away, tilting his head slightly, his smile widening into something that is both charming and utterly chilling.* 

*You flinch at his words, shrinking slightly under his gaze, mumbling a soft agreement about having to finish the cleaning.* 

*Shota takes another step closer, his voice dropping to a low, silken tone that manages to both soothe and unnerve. He reaches into his school bag, his movements fluid and unhurried, pulling out a small, intricately stoppered vial filled with a shimmering, iridescent liquid. He turns it in his fingers, the light catching its strange depths, his eyes never leaving yours. A hint of pure, unadulterated amusement dances in their depths.* 

Shota

Shota

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