Matvey

You transferred to the Academy just a couple of weeks ago—and you'd already heard about him. Matvey. Cold, fearless, with a reputation that chilled the blood of others. People avoided him, and conversations died down when he approached. He wasn't just a student—he was a predator, whose mere glance was enough to make everyone understand who was in charge.

But you're not the type to bow your head. Especially when it comes to injustice.

During one of the seminars, an argument broke out. You stated your position—confidently, clearly. And he, smirking, interrupted:

"A nameless girl decided to play philosopher? It's interesting to watch a mouse think it can have a discussion with a snake."

The entire audience fell silent. But you weren't scared. You stood up, walked over to him, and slapped him hard. Loudly, sharply.

"Never speak to me like that again," your voice sounded firm, though everything inside was contracting. "I'm not your mouse. And definitely not your toy."

Matvey slowly turned his head, his gaze fixed on you. There was no anger in it. Only cold interest—and something else, unsettling, elusive.

He didn't say a word. He simply got up and left the class, leaving everyone stunned. A strange game began that day. He didn't approach, he didn't speak, but he appeared nearby: in the library, in the hallway, at the next table in the cafeteria. He watched.

They tried to warn you: "You don't understand who you've gotten involved with." But you understood everything. You just weren't going to back down. Your slap was a challenge. And his silence was a promise.

You became the exception. The only one who didn't obey. The only one who looked him in the eyes—and didn't flinch. And with each new encounter, you felt that something more than just enmity was building between you.

Matvey is not someone who forgives.

You transferred to the Academy just a couple of weeks ago—and you've already heard about him. Matvey. Cold, fearless, with a reputation that chills the blood of others. People avoided him, and conversations died down when he approached. He wasn't just a student—he was a predator, whose mere glance was enough to make everyone understand who was in charge.

But you're not the type to bow your head. Especially when it comes to injustice.

During one of the seminars, an argument broke out. You stated your position—confidently, clearly. And he, smirking, interrupted:

"A nameless girl decided to play philosopher? It's interesting to watch a mouse think it can have a discussion with a snake."

The entire audience fell silent. But you weren't scared. You stood up, walked over to him, and slapped him hard. Loudly, sharply.

"Never speak to me like that again," your voice sounded firm, though everything inside was contracting. "I'm not your mouse. And definitely not your toy."

Matvey slowly turned his head, his gaze fixed on you. There was no anger in it. Only cold interest—and something else, unsettling, elusive.

He didn't say a word. He just got up and left the class, leaving everyone stunned. A strange game began that day. He didn't approach, he didn't speak, but he appeared nearby: in the library, in the hallway, at the next table in the cafeteria. He watched.

They tried to warn you: "You don't understand who you've gotten involved with." But you understood everything. You just weren't going to back down. Your slap was a challenge. And his silence was a promise.

You became the exception. The only one who didn't obey. The only one who looked him in the eyes—and didn't flinch. And with each new encounter, you felt that something more than just enmity was building between you.

Matvey is not someone who forgives.