Chapter Text
You storm down the hallway with a deep scowl carved into your face, the carton of orange juice crumpling slightly in your clenched grip. Every stomp of your foot lands like a warning shot—jarring, unforgiving, and loud enough to make heads turn. The soles of your shoes strike the polished tile with harsh, staccato rhythm, the echo bouncing off the walls like gunfire.
Your glare could cut glass. No—scratch that—it could incinerate it. The air around you practically warps with the sheer heat of your fury.
If looks could kill, this school would already be cordoned off with crime scene tape.
Your jaw is tight. Every muscle in your body hums with frustration. Only one person in the world could piss you off this much, this quickly—
Michael fucking Kaiser.
That cocky bastard had the balls to smirk at you during class, spouting off in German at a pace no one could possibly keep up with—especially not someone who just transferred here yesterday.
You're still fumbling with sentence structure, trying to remember verb placement, and that arrogant prick acts like it's your fault you don't understand his rapid-fire nonsense.
Just because you're not fluent doesn't mean you're stupid. But to him? You may as well be invisible. Or worse—entertainment.
You grit your teeth as you pass rows of lockers, students parting for you like the Red Sea. Good. They should be afraid. They should feel your wrath radiating off you like a furnace.
“Hey, Süße. Du erschreckst alle mit diesem hässlichen Gesichtsausdruck!” a teasing voice calls from behind.
Your foot nearly slips from the force of how hard you stop.
Laughter ripples through the hallway like a creeping tide, snickering behind hands and under breath. Your eye twitches. The rage you've been swallowing since first period boils to the surface like lava.
You turn your head—slowly, deliberately. Like something out of a horror movie—except you're the monster.
And there he is.
Michael Kaiser.
His stupid, smug face framed by that ridiculous mullet—platinum blonde with blue streaks that look like they were added as an afterthought. His red eyeliner is smeared just enough to make it look like he tried, but not hard.
And those tattoos.
God, those pretentious blue rose tattoos curling down his neck, twisting around his arm like some overgrown weed, ending in that idiotic crown with a keyhole on his hand. What does that even mean? That he's some kind of king?
He's leaning against a locker now, arms crossed, lips curled in that infuriating smirk. Like he owns the whole damn school. Like you're just another name he won't bother remembering.
You take a drawn-out sip of your orange juice just to keep from hurling it at him.
Your eyes narrow. “Potangina, gago ka. Layuan mo nga ako.” you hiss.
You roll your eyes and begin to turn away, trying—truly trying—to be the bigger person.
He laughs.
He laughs.
“Ooh, what's that? Damn, I must've really gotten under your skin. What'd you say, huh? Something sweet? Something dirty?” He pushes off the locker, sauntering casually up beside you. “Come on, Süße. Don't be like that. I thought we were bonding.”
You resist the crushing urge to slap him. Just one slap. Right across that smug, eyeliner-rimmed face. You know it would feel good. Too good.
Instead, you take another deep breath, your shoulders tense. “If you don't get out of my face right now, I swear I'll choke you with this juice box.”
Kaiser whistles low, clearly amused. “Kinky. I like that in a woman.”
You clench your fists. Your vision goes red at the edges.
It's official. Your new life in Germany?
Is a goddamn nightmare.
Lunch break is worse.
You don't even get two bites into your meal before he plops down across from you—Michael Kaiser, grinning. His elbow rests on the table, chin cradled in his palm, blue eyes locked onto you like you're a particularly amusing painting he hasn't gotten bored of yet.
You glare at him, fork suspended midair. “Do you want me to stab you with this—”
“Kaiser, lass uns zu Mittag essen. Es ist schon spät.” someone interrupts before you can finish.
You glance sideways.
It's Alexis Ness.
The magenta-haired boy stands just behind Kaiser. His large, bright eyes flick from you to him. You've seen him with Kaiser countless times—trailing after him like a loyal shadow, carrying his books, laughing at his jokes, picking up his trash without so much as a sigh.
Honestly? Ness deserves better.
But Kaiser doesn't even glance at him.
“Du kannst alleine essen gehen, Ness,” he says with a slow drawl, the words practically purring out of his mouth. “Ich bin immer noch damit beschäftigt, dieses hübsche Mädchen vor mir anzustarren.”
His tone is teasing, but his gaze remains fixed on you—steady, unblinking.
Ness blinks, eyes going slightly wide. His gaze darts to you, then halts, as if realizing he just walked in on something personal.
You don't even acknowledge him. Your attention is razor-focused on the idiot in front of you.
“You're so annoying, damn you.” you mutter through clenched teeth.
Kaiser raises an eyebrow, the picture of faux innocence. “Was? Ich mache gar nichts. Warum bist du wütend?”
His smirk deepens when he says it. As if he knows exactly why you're angry and is just poking the bear anyway.
You glare harder, if that's even possible. “Really? Yeah, screw you.”
He laughs—breezy, delighted—and reaches out, lightly patting your cheek as if you're a pet throwing a tantrum. “Es ist erst Ihr zweiter Tag hier. Beruhige dich, Süße.”
Your breath hitches.
The audacity.
You slap his hand away with a force that echoes faintly in the cafeteria air, rising from your seat in one quick, heated motion.
Your chair scrapes harshly against the floor. “Go find a new hobby, Kaiser. Staring at me like a creep is pathetic.” you spit, eyes flashing. “Get a life.”
You don't give him the satisfaction of a final look and walk out. Behind you, Kaiser blinks once, then laughs loud and unbothered.
Ness sighs, dragging a hand down his face.
Months pass.
You still hate him.
But now you hate him in German.
You've been studying obsessively—flashcards tucked into your notebooks, grammar books dog-eared and annotated, audio clips replayed until your ears ache. Every quiz, every sentence you translate, you imagine Kaiser's stupid face—and the triumphant look you'll wear when you finally hurl a perfect, venomous insult in his mother tongue.
You even highlight the swear words.
Especially the swear words.
Your fingers twitch with anticipation every time you master a new one. You can already see his shocked expression, mouth slightly open, confidence cracked just enough to make it satisfying. The thought alone makes you chuckle darkly in the quiet hallway.
You're on your way to the bookstore now, determined to grab a few more German-to-English translation books, when you stop dead in your tracks.
You freeze.
Up ahead, walking just a few paces in front of you, is the walking plague himself—Michael Kaiser. He's strolling toward the exact same bookstore, talking animatedly.
Next to him is Ness, nodding along politely as Kaiser goes on about... something. You can't hear it. You don't want to.
You grit your teeth. Of course he'd be here. Of course he'd ruin this too.
You shut your eyes tightly and exhale through your nose. Once. Twice. Three times. In. Out. In. Out.
You're trying to stay calm.
You're trying so hard.
But your fingers are already curling into fists.
If the universe doesn't want you to commit murder, it better give you one good reason not to follow through.