Adrien had always known that École Saint Laurent Academy thrived on spectacle.
It disguised itself as refinement—ivy-covered stone walls, century-old oak trees lining the inner courtyard, antique fountains murmuring beneath marble arches—but beneath the polish was something sharper.
Curiosity.
Competition.
And gossip dressed in silk.
The morning sun cast a soft glow over the campus as Adrien crossed the courtyard, leather shoes clicking lightly against cobblestone. Students clustered in small circles, voices blending in a melodic hum of French and English.
He felt eyes on him.
Not new.
But different.
He adjusted his blazer and walked toward the main building, pretending not to notice.
"Adrien!"
Ji-Won's voice cut through the air before she reached him.
He turned just in time to see her weaving through a group of students, dark hair flowing behind her, expression bright and unapologetic.
She wore the academy's uniform effortlessly—navy blazer, pleated skirt, crisp blouse—but there was always something cinematic about her, something that reminded people she wasn't just another student.
She was Ji-Won Han, rising Korean actress and daughter of cultural royalty.
She slid to a stop beside him.
"Tu marches trop vite," she said lightly. (You walk too fast.)
Adrien arched a brow. "Tu es en retard." (You're late.)
She gasped dramatically. "C'est faux." (That's not true.) Then she leaned closer. "Okay, maybe a little."
He shook his head, but the corner of his mouth lifted.
They climbed the front steps together.
A group near the entrance turned toward them immediately.
"Adrien!" called Luc Morel, tall, perfectly styled, heir to a fashion empire. "Alors, monsieur le propriétaire du penthouse!" (So, Mr. Penthouse Owner!)
Adrien sighed internally.
"It's not that dramatic," he replied.
Luc ignored that entirely.
"C'est vrai? Tu vis seul maintenant?" Camille Dufort asked, eyes wide. (Is it true? You live alone now?)
Adrien nodded once. "Oui." (Yes.)
A chorus of impressed murmurs followed.
"Mon Dieu," Camille whispered. (My God.)
Ji-Won nudged Adrien. "Tu vois? Tu es officiellement intéressant." (You see? You're officially interesting.)
"I was interesting before," he muttered.
Luc smirked. "Pas autant." (Not as much.)
They moved toward their first class—Advanced Literature—settling into the polished wooden desks that had probably existed longer than most of their families' fortunes.
The classroom buzzed with energy. Final year always did that.
Adrien pulled out his notebook just as someone behind him leaned forward.
"Adrien," whispered Mathieu, one of the more shameless gossip collectors of the academy. "On a vu la pub." (We saw the ad.)
Adrien didn't turn around.
"Quelle pub?" (Which ad?)
Mathieu made a dramatic sound. "Ne fais pas semblant." (Don't pretend.) "Zane Calloway. Le parfum."
Ji-Won perked up immediately.
"Oh," she said in English, "the perfume one? It was actually really good."
Adrien felt warmth creep into his neck.
"I suppose," he said evenly.
Luc leaned over from the side aisle. "Il était…" He searched for the word. "Intense." (He was intense.)
Camille laughed softly. "Sexy." She didn't even bother translating.
Adrien rolled his eyes.
"C'est une publicité," he said flatly. (It's an advertisement.)
Ji-Won grinned wickedly. "Une très bonne publicité." (A very good advertisement.)
Mathieu tapped his desk. "Et dans deux jours…" (And in two days…)
Luc finished the thought dramatically. "La publicité des boxers. Avec toi." (The boxer advertisement. With you.)
A ripple of excited whispers spread through the row.
Adrien pinched the bridge of his nose.
"Ce n'est pas un événement national." (It's not a national event.)
Luc leaned back in his chair. "Pour nous, si." (For us, it is.)
The teacher entered then, cutting off further commentary.
But Adrien could feel it lingering.
The anticipation.
Between classes, the corridors filled with movement.
Ji-Won looped her arm through Adrien's as they navigated the crowd.
"You know," she said quietly in English, "they're obsessed."
"They're bored," Adrien replied.
She tilted her head. "You watched the perfume commercial more than once, didn't you?"
He didn't answer.
She smiled knowingly.
"Il avait l'air nerveux en français," she added. (He looked nervous in French.)
Adrien chuckled despite himself. "Il l'était." (He was.)
She nudged him. "You like teasing him."
"I do not."
"Tu mens." (You're lying.)
They stepped outside into the courtyard again, settling onto the low stone edge of the fountain where their group often gathered during breaks.
Luc joined them first, followed by Camille and Mathieu.
Mathieu wasted no time.
"Alors," he began dramatically, "vous avez parlé?" (So, have you talked?)
Adrien blinked. "Parlé de quoi?" (Talked about what?)
Camille leaned forward conspiratorially. "Avec Zane." (With Zane.)
Ji-Won let out a laugh.
Adrien glared at her.
Luc crossed his legs elegantly. "Nous voulons des détails." (We want details.)
"There are no details," Adrien replied calmly.
Mathieu squinted at him. "Impossible."
Ji-Won chimed in, voice playful. "Il m'a envoyé une vidéo drôle ce matin." (He sent me a funny video this morning.)
Adrien shot her a look.
Luc's eyes widened. "Une vidéo?" (A video?)
Camille gasped softly. "Mon Dieu."
"It was behind-the-scenes," Adrien clarified quickly. "He kept mispronouncing French."
The group burst into laughter.
"Pauvre garçon," Camille said. (Poor boy.)
Luc shook his head. "He's hot, though."
Adrien coughed lightly.
Ji-Won grinned. "Tu vois?" (You see?)
Adrien rolled his eyes again, though he felt strangely protective.
"He works hard," he said before he could stop himself.
The group quieted for half a second.
Mathieu smirked slowly. "Oh."
Ji-Won's eyes sparkled.
Luc leaned back. "Défensif." (Defensive.)
Adrien stood abruptly. "I have class."
They laughed as he walked away.
Later that afternoon, in Advanced Economics, Adrien found it harder to focus.
His phone lay silent in his bag, but his mind kept drifting.
Zane had a weigh-in today.
Adrien knew enough about competitive fighting to understand what that meant.
Cutting weight.
Starving.
Sweating it out.
The image of Zane layered in hoodies, pushing himself beyond comfort, flashed through his mind unexpectedly.
He frowned.
Why did that bother him?
The bell rang.
Students shuffled out.
Ji-Won caught up to him near the staircase.
"You're quiet," she observed.
"I'm thinking."
"That's dangerous."
He smirked faintly.
She hesitated before speaking again.
"Adrien… are you excited for the boxer shoot?"
He paused.
Two days.
Face-offs.
Publicity.
Standing beside Zane in front of cameras.
"Yes," he admitted quietly.
She nodded once. "Good."
By late afternoon, the academy grounds were golden with sunlight.
Students lingered longer than usual—first day energy refusing to fade.
Adrien stood near the gates waiting for his car.
Luc approached one last time.
"Si tu as besoin d'aide pour la publicité…" he began with a teasing grin. (If you need help with the ad…)
Adrien raised a brow.
Luc continued, "Je peux vérifier si le boxer te va bien." (I can check if the boxer fits you well.)
Adrien stared at him.
Ji-Won burst out laughing.
"Ridicule," Adrien muttered.
Luc winked. "On a hâte." (We can't wait.)
The car arrived.
Adrien slipped inside, finally alone.
He exhaled deeply as the academy gates closed behind him.
His phone buzzed in his pocket.
He pulled it out.
Zane: weigh-in done.
Adrien's heart lifted slightly.
Adrien: and?
A pause.
Then—
Zane: made it.
Adrien smiled.
Adrien: congratulations.
Three dots appeared.
Disappeared.
Then:
Zane: you survived school?
Adrien leaned his head back against the seat.
Adrien: barely. everyone is waiting for the boxer ad.
A longer pause.
Then:
Zane: are you?
Adrien stared at the question.
The city blurred past the window.
He typed slowly.
Adrien: maybe.
He didn't add anything else.
But as the car carried him toward his penthouse, toward independence and expectation and the looming face-off event..
He couldn't deny it anymore.
He was waiting too.