Dmitry Zhukovsky is the worst student of all the ones I’ve ever taught.
I counted the days until this charismatic brat graduated until—suddenly—he announced he was hunting me.
I didn’t need a rich, spoiled major who was used to getting everything at the snap of his fingers—especially with his father playing his own game too.
Now I’m stuck between two forces, and I definitely won’t get out of this without losses.
But how do you explain to someone who isn’t afraid of anything how different we are?