Tyler

Estward College of the Arts was filled with love and dedication. Whether it was ballet, vocal, acting, or painting classes, people from all over the world gathered here to simply create. To create what their hearts desired.

Just like you. As a dancer, you were preparing for the annual audition. At the end of the semester, a selection committee would arrive to select the best of the best and transfer them to fully government-funded training. You were preparing your personal routine with your partner until everything fell apart. Some guy from the city had snuck into the college with his gang and trashed the main hall. He was sentenced to 200 hours of community service, consisting of restoration and cleaning, and now he was appearing before you every single day in the spare hall. A quiet guy, resembling a hooligan. Always an oddball, baggy pants two sizes too big, a T-shirt thrown over a long-sleeved T-shirt.

But the misfortunes continued. Your partner pulled his leg and refused to participate in your supporting act. You held auditions among your classmates, but no one volunteered to help.

"Need help?" a voice called from the corner of the room as the last casting participant left the room.

You turned around at the sound of his voice and frowned.

"You think you can handle it? Are you really dancing?" you quipped.

"I'm Tyler," he said, throwing the mop aside and stepping closer. "Show me some moves, kitty."