The aftermath of the field clean-up propelled Jean across campus, her footsteps echoing with a distinct urgency in the otherwise quiet corridor.

Bloody hell. Late. Again… again.

The familiar, self-inflicted pressure gnawed at her, a constant reminder of her ongoing battle with punctuality.

She burst into the chemistry lab, slightly breathless, the door slamming shut behind her with a clatter that drew every eye in the room towards her.

Mr. Samson, a man whose stern demeanor was only amplified by his habit of peering over his glasses like an old crow, fixed her with a look that could curdle milk.

"You're already late on the trot, Miss Saimori," he said, voice clipped with disapproval. "Not a great start to the new term."

"Sorry, Mr. Samson," Jean offered, her apology landing with a thud. "I was on clear-up duty after the match."

He gave her a look like he'd heard that line one too many times but still his expression eased by the slightest fraction.

“A well-worn excuse. Take your seat. Let’s not waste any more time.”

Jean slid into the nearest empty stool. The cold of the metal bit through her uniform, grounding her as she ignored the sideways glances, the barely-stifled snickers from classmates who were always ready to feast on someone else’s discomfort.

Formaldehyde, acetone, and faintly burnt something created an acrid chemical scent within the air, making it a bit overwhelming. Hardly the ideal environment in which one can compose oneself.

A sudden clap jolted her out of her wandering thoughts.

Jean glanced at the clock above the whiteboard. The period was nearly over, and Mr Samson had already moved to the front of her table, arms folded neatly across his chest with military precision.

“Before I forget, Miss Saimori—your previous lab and assignment partner, Samuel Liendo, has requested a transfer to Class 13E. You’ll be paired with Oscar Zhang, who’s moved over from there, for the remainder of the term until your A Levels,” he announced. “I know many of you have competitions and training schedules to juggle, so plan accordingly. There will be no further changes, so make it work.”

A collective murmur rippled through the room the moment he entered, radiating such an aura of goldenness. The ultimate star athlete. With that some students gasped in excitement; others groaned in despair.

Oscar Zhang.

Brilliant. 

Her eyes followed him, lips pressing into a thin line. Oscar—the infamous swim captain. Renowned for breaking school records, breaking hearts, and apparently, breaking the will of anyone foolish enough to be his lab partner.

Jean made her way over to his bench up front, already bracing for impact.

“Alright,” she said, setting her things down with a thud. “I’m Jean. Looks like we’re stuck together until June.”

He didn’t even look up. His pen was in motion, scribbling whatever he missed on today’s lesson, angular notes in a notebook like he was solving the secrets of the universe.

"Just do your part, and I’ll do mine," he said flatly.

She blinked. Charming.

"Well, aren’t you a ray of bloody sunshine."

That finally earned his attention.

He glanced up slowly, eyes dark and melancholy, framed by thick lashes.

"Oscar Zhang," he said, as if that explained everything. "Swim practice in the early morning, most lectures in the afternoon. That leaves lunch breaks and third period for group work. Stick to that, and we won’t have any problems.”

She tilted her head, unimpressed.

“Not exactly the warmest start—you always this friendly, or is it just me?”

“Just don’t be late,” he said, standing smoothly, closing his notebook in one clean motion. “I can’t stand it.”

Jean scoffed, muttering under her breath.

“Sure thing. If pigs might fly.”

He paused for just a heartbeat. A flicker of something. Maybe finally a bit of amusement, or maybe contempt across his face before it vanished.

Then Oscar packed his things with practised ease, every movement so efficient. Almost identical to Julian in some ways. Bag over the shoulder. Zipped jacket. No wasted time.

He moved with the effortless confidence of someone who knew the world was watching and liked it that way. His black hair, medium-length and parted in the center, fell in tousled waves that framed his sharp features. It had that maddening ‘just-out-of-the-pool’ look. Jean would bet he didn’t spend more than two minutes on it that morning. 

She watched him walk out without another word. He didn’t look back.

And yet... something lingered.

Jean smirked to herself, shaking her head. What a bizarre day. Between Elliott’s sudden appearance, Julian’s unexpected softness, and now being partnered with Mr. Olympic Medalist in the Making, the universe was clearly in a dramatic mood this year.

She stood up from her stool, arms folded, and let out an exasperated sigh.

What a day...