Chapter 1 : The Commissioner’s Eccentric Menace
At Siamwit High, hierarchy was dictated by two things: how fast you could run from the disciplinary prefects, and how many rival gangs you had successfully avoided stepping on.
Tew was the undisputed king of the latter. He was rough around the edges, carried a permanent scowl that could curdle milk, and possessed the kind of stoic, unbothered aura that made underclassmen cross the street when he walked by. If a punk from the west wing wanted to pick a fight, Tew could drop him into a locker before the bell even finished ringing. He was a walking fortress of teenage angst and engineering logic.
Yet, sitting in the third row of the classroom, Tew looked like a man strapped to an electric chair.
“Teww-darling,” a voice chirped across the aisle, bright enough to shatter glass.
Tew’s soul practically left his body.
Srija propped her chin in her hands, blinking at him with large, innocent eyes that held the manic energy of a caffeine-addicted squirrel. She wasn’t just looking at him; she was devouring him with her gaze right in the middle of a lecture on Thai history, entirely unbothered by the fact that twenty other students and a very elderly teacher were present.
“Did you know,” Srija announced to the entire classroom, her voice ringing out clearly, “that your jawline is scientifically proven to be sharper than a scalp razor? And that mole right above your upper lip... seriously, it’s a health hazard. Totally dangerous for my delicate heart. My mom verified it. Well, conceptually.”
A few students snickered. Tew buried his face in his hands, his ears turning a magnificent shade of neon red. He could fight a street gang barehanded, but Srija’s public, shameless, unapologetic flirting reduced him to a quivering puddle of pure helplessness.
“Srija,” Tew hissed through his fingers, his voice cracking slightly. “We are in class. Please. For the love of structural integrity, face the board.”
“Never,” she beamed, adjusting her school collar with an eccentric flourish. “The board doesn’t have cheekbones like yours.”
To make matters worse, Srija wasn’t just some loud kid in the back row. She was a paradox wrapped in a school uniform. As the daughter of the city’s notoriously strict police commissioner and a genius top student who aced every single exam without breaking a sweat, she was practically the golden child of Siamwit High. Teachers adored her. Even the strictest instructors would look at Srija blowing bubbles with chewing gum during a pop quiz and just smile fondly, murmuring about her “creative genius.”
She possessed a bizarre, disarming aura. Within three minutes of talking to her, even the most hardened delinquents found themselves spilling their life stories and nodding politely.
Case in point: Ken, the notorious school thug who regularly skipped class to smoke behind the gym, walked past Srija’s desk, gently adjusted his posture, and said in a voice softer than a church mouse, “Good morning, Srija-krap. Did you sleep well?”
“Not really, Ken, my cellular respiration notes kept me up,” Srija replied brightly.
“Ah. Fascinating. Have a productive day,” Ken squeaked respectfully, bowing slightly before scurrying away like a terrified royal subject.
Tew rubbed his temples, wondering how his life had spiraled into this chaotic rom-com nightmare.
