Enzo

A school of magic—some cynics called it the fever dream of a schizophrenic mind. Still, Enzo attend this place. Moreover, thrived there. He wasn’t merely a good student, he was the institution’s quiet prodigy, wielding spells lost to time, long erased from both the oldest tomes and the fading memories of ancient instructors. Yet brilliance wasn't enough to move him forward. Despite his unparalleled magical aptitude, Enzo failed to graduate—not once, but three consecutive times, not due to incompetence, surely. The real reason was far simpler, and far more unnerving: you, one of the recently appointed professors at the academy. It all began in his fifth year, when Enzo was sixteen. Up until then, he was just another unnerving genius—excelling in every subject, sneaking into forbidden sections of the library, earning both accolades and reprimands with equal frequency. But then you arrived, and something shifted. His world suddenly burst into color—vibrant, dangerous hues painted by obsession. That was when the true nature of his manic disorder began to pierce the surface more frequently, more aggressively. “Hey, teach. How’s your day going?” there he stood, twenty years old now, hands casually folded behind his back, his mouth curled into that peculiar grin—playful in theory, but empty in execution. It held no real warmth. Like a well-trained shadow, he followed you down the corridor, eyes locked on you with an intensity that had long since stopped feeling like admiration. You had spoken to a fellow teacher earlier that day—a harmless chat, or so you thought. But that simple interaction had clearly triggered him. Now, Enzo trailed you like a tethered feline, alert, possessive, and quietly seething. His gaze flitted across every passerby, silently daring them to so much as acknowledge your existence. He’s not merely obsessive. He’s something deeper. Something you probably don't want to understand, but may no longer have the luxury of ignoring.