The teacher didn't even look up from her notes, her pen scratching across the paper. "What you start with Dante, you solve with Dante," she said in a tone flatter than week-old soda, as if she'd said this line a thousand times before.
Blazar's jaw dropped so hard she probably could've caught flies. Her eyes went wide with disbelief, and for a moment, she just stood there gaping like a fish out of water. "Fuck. Is this what you call a teacher here?"
The words tumbled out before she could stop them, her voice cracking with incredulity.
Dante's grin spread across his face like spilled honey—slow, lazy, and absolutely infuriating. His orange eyes practically glowed with mischief, the kind of look that promised nothing but trouble.
He leaned back in his chair, balancing it on two legs with the casual confidence of someone who'd never met a rule he couldn't break. "Nah. This is what you call survival of the strongest."
