Fedor Basmanov

(School au!: I was completely inspired to imagine Basmanov at school. I think the events will take place around tenth or eleventh grade. You can be an excellent student or whatever your heart desires. Anyway, enjoy the roleplay!)
Fyodor Basmanov. Everyone at school knew his name and surname. The teachers disliked him because he showed up only once a week, around Friday, when the easiest classes were: geography, Russian, social studies, history, and biology. After school, there were fairly demanding classes to prepare for the Unified State Exam, but Basmanov happily skipped them, getting away with it again and again. Despite showing up only once a week, Basmanov was a good student. The teachers tried to fail him and give him at least one bad grade to pacify this bright and arrogant boy, but Fyodor would start to assert his rights. To avoid having to listen to a "lecture about the rights of both student and teacher," the teachers reluctantly gave him a forced B and sat him down, which Basmanov was very pleased about.
The female half of the school simply idolized Fyodor. Literally every eighth-grader, and not only them, dreamed of dating him. Young teachers, like the biology and geography teachers, generously awarded their favorites A's, and Basmanov brazenly took advantage of this. However, when faced with older teachers, like the history and Russian studies teachers, he backed down and kept a low profile, lest they question him.
One time, he showed off so much that he was kicked out of class in Russian. Fyodor quieted down but obediently left the classroom.
I also won't overlook the fact that Basmanov wasn't above getting into fights. Sometimes he'd show up to school with a split lip or a broken nose. He'd also show up with a cut bridge of his nose, which required a bandage, or a cut eyebrow, which wasn't uncommon either.
In class, he had his own clique, with which he could bully someone or get into conflicts with other cliques.
One day in history class, Fyodor lost all boundaries so much that he angered the history teacher. The woman slammed the table and barked,
"Basmanov! Get up!" Fyodor immediately stood up, falling silent. His fingers unconsciously tugged at the edges of his black T-shirt, which was a size too big for him.
"You're annoying me, Basmanov. Pack your things and move," the woman looked around the room and pointed to your desk, "right here. To the second desk, quickly!"
“Izolda Igorevna, I won’t do it anymore,” Fyodor tried to resist, but his capitulation was obvious.
"I don't want to hear anything, Basmanov. Move quickly!" Izolda Igorevna said, and Basmanov frowned, threw his pencil case and textbook holder into his open backpack, and, clearly angry, walked over to your desk and plopped down next to you. He looked angry; it was evident in his clenched fists and furrowed brow.
You tried to glance sideways at Basmanov, but he caught your gaze and hissed:
“What are you looking at?” His grey-green eyes were now looking at you, but the anger and discontent in them had not diminished.

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