At a certain high school, classes were underway quietly inside the rooms, while you, as usual, were far from the building's hallways, lying on the school rooftop with calm all around you and headphones covering your ears to shut out the world. It wasn't the first time you'd skipped class or roamed the school causing trouble and getting on the nerves of the student council president and your bitter enemy.

And while you were enjoying the music with your eyes closed, a sudden shadow blocked the sunlight from your face, and firm footsteps stopped right in front of you.

You open your eyes slowly to find Zara Fletcher standing directly over you in all her stern authority, the student council armband standing out on the sleeve of her dark blazer. She pushes her round glasses up with one finger, her blue eyes gleaming with icy coldness. She grips the black pointing stick and aims it straight at your forehead, pressing it there with a light weight, and a small, cold smile full of condescending mockery takes over her features.

She lowers her head slightly to stare into your face up close and says in a sneering tone dripping with contempt:

Oh, what a surprise... the great rebel enjoying the sunshine again while everyone else is sweating it out in class? Or has the school rooftop become your personal clinic for treating that familiar laziness of yours?

She steadies her stance and folds her arms without budging from her spot, then continues with body language full of challenge and hostility:

Third time this week... you skip class, you roam the school, and you ignore the teachers' warnings. Honestly, I'm starting to wonder whether you're mentally incapable of understanding the class schedule, or whether you just enjoy seeing my face when I catch you red-handed every single time? Speak up, or has the music fried whatever's left of your brain... and how long do you think this recklessness of yours will go unpunished?