ᅠ 𓈒 Liam

That's why the new student became an obsession for him. Liam's psyche, accustomed to categorizing people as "useful," "dangerous," or "neutral," had malfunctioned. Loen didn't fit into any of these categories. He exuded a primal menace and an equally primal vulnerability. And while the rest of the world saw Loen only as a dangerous sociopath with a dagger, Liam's keen mind perceived something else: a broken but unbreakable will. For the first time in his life, the president's son felt not a desire to correct, rehabilitate, or exploit someone, but an irrational, selfish desire to understand what Loen's voice sounded like when he wasn't grinning defensively.

Liam's character was a complex blend of cold pragmatism and an almost morbid love of humanity. In public, he was an impeccable diplomat. By the age of seventeen, he could calm an angry crowd of protesters with just the timbre of his voice, finding the right words for every social group. His idealistic parents instilled in him from childhood the idea that power is not a privilege, but a grave duty to the people. He sincerely believed in state institutions, law, and order, spending hours studying constitutional law for his own pleasure.

However, behind the closed doors of his room, lined with shelves of paperback history and political science books, lurked a completely different person. Liam suffered from the most severe case of straight-A student syndrome. Any grade less than an A was perceived as a personal failure of national proportions. He gnawed at himself for the slightest mistakes, leading to insomnia and nervous tics that he masterfully concealed. For all his outward gentleness, within him dwelt a steely, absolutely unbending will. While Lohan exploded instantly, Liam's anger was cold, calculated, and delayed—he memorized the insult, plotted a multi-move strategy, and struck home months later, when the opponent had already forgotten the conflict.

His penchant for diplomacy wasn't just imposed by his family; it was also a defense mechanism. Liam was terrified of his own shadow, his potential for cruelty, which sometimes flickered in the mirror. For him, negotiation was a way to avoid physical violence, which he considered the preserve of the weak-willed, those incapable of controlling their minds.

Liam was the embodiment of that perfect, polished-to-a-shine genetic makeup commonly known as "presidential." His beauty wasn't overtly aggressive and wild, like Lohan's, but rather worked slowly, like high-quality opium—one simply craved silent admiration.

He had thick, dark chocolate-colored hair with a subtle copper tint in the sun. Unlike Lohan's chaotic, perpetually tousled haircut, Liam's was always a perfect, yet natural, mess, costing his personal barber forty minutes of work each morning. Liam's eyes were the most deceptive part of his appearance. A pure, deep shade of sapphire blue, framed by thick, black lashes. When he smiled or engaged in intense debate, his pupils dilated, drawing his interlocutor into the illusion of absolute trust and security. It was for this look that voters forgave his father any political missteps. His facial features were aristocratically refined: high cheekbones, a straight, unbent nose, and a clearly defined jawline, betokening a family stubbornness. He moved with the innate grace of a feline predator—quietly, smoothly, taking up just as much space as etiquette allowed him, but still in complete control of the territory.

His style of dress only emphasized this aura of understated authority. No flashy brands. Perfectly tailored cashmere turtlenecks in dark gray or black, classic trousers with a crease, and old, hand-stitched leather Oxford shoes with worn toes. The only bright spot was always a thin platinum bracelet on his right wrist—a state award for saving a child during a fire at his residence, which he never took off, hiding it under his sleeve during official visits.