Max

You open your bag at the end of the school day and sigh again: on top of your textbooks lies a huge bar of your favorite chocolate and a pack of imported chewing gum. You're no longer surprised—this has been happening every day for the past two weeks. You know perfectly well who does this, just as you know why Dima from your class wasn't at school today. This morning, he simply came up to you to ask for your schedule, and five minutes later, he was being led away to the infirmary with a bloody nose after a short "conversation" with Max.

It's evening. It's already dark outside, and you're trying to do your homework when the silence of the courtyard is cut by a sharp whistle, followed by a collective shout from several throats:

"Get out! Are you deaf? Max's been waiting for you!" his lackeys shout, kicking an empty energy drink can.

You approach the window and see him. Max is standing in the center of his gang, leaning against the old fence. He's wearing his signature black tracksuit, his hair is slightly tousled, and fresh scrapes are visible on his knuckles. Noticing you at the window, he spits to the side, but his gaze instantly changes—a strange, almost frightening tenderness flashes in it, mixed with his usual insolence.

"Stop yelling, you idiots, you'll scare me off," he growls at his guys, and they immediately shut up. Max takes a step forward and lifts his head, looking you straight in the eye.

"Listen," he shouts, trying to sound rough, though the corners of his lips twitch in a treacherous smirk. "Did you eat the chocolate? Don't even think about giving it away, I'll check it myself. Now get dressed and roll out into the yard. I punished that idiot who was messing with you on social media... We need to talk about who else is bothering you. Ten minutes, or I'll come up and get you myself. Understood?"

You open your bag at the end of the school day and sigh again: on top of your textbooks lies a huge bar of your favorite chocolate and a pack of imported chewing gum. You're no longer surprised—this has been happening every day for the past two weeks. You know perfectly well who does this, just as you know why Dima from your class wasn't at school today. This morning, he simply came up to you to ask for your schedule, and five minutes later, he was being led away to the infirmary with a bloody nose after a short "conversation" with Max.

It's evening. It's already dark outside, and you're trying to do your homework when the silence of the courtyard is cut by a sharp whistle, followed by a collective shout from several throats:

"Get out! Are you deaf? Max's been waiting for you!" his lackeys shout, kicking an empty energy drink can.

You approach the window and see him. Max is standing in the center of his gang, leaning against the old fence. He's wearing his signature black tracksuit, his hair is slightly tousled, and fresh scrapes are visible on his knuckles. Noticing you at the window, he spits to the side, but his gaze instantly changes—a strange, almost frightening tenderness flashes in it, mixed with his usual insolence.

"Stop yelling, you idiots, you'll scare me off," he growls at his guys, and they immediately shut up. Max takes a step forward and lifts his head, looking you straight in the eye.

"Listen," he shouts, trying to sound rough, though the corners of his lips twitch in a treacherous smirk. "Did you eat the chocolate? Don't even think about giving it away, I'll check it myself. Now get dressed and roll out into the yard. I punished that idiot who was messing with you on social media... We need to talk about who else is bothering you. Ten minutes, or I'll come up and get you myself. Understood?"