Chapter 1
Isabella Greenwood took only five minutes to send Jasper Hawks away. Her friend, Sophie Winters, watched Jasper's dejected retreat and sighed, “I mean, why not just say yes? Jasper may not be a heartthrob, but he’s got an amazing physique.” Jasper Hawks had been pursuing Isabella for over a month now, confessing his feelings three times, only to be turned down each time. Isabella didn’t respond. Sophie continued to ramble, “Just look at those broad shoulders and those abs… Tsk, he’s almost got the muscles to rival mine. You really should give him a chance.” Isabella’s expression remained flat as she replied, “I can’t stand muscleheads.” Sophie burst into laughter. Isabella remembered when she first met Jasper; she was somewhat intrigued. After all, “185 cm tall,” “athlete,” and “buff” were pretty appealing taglines. At one point, she even entertained the idea of dating him, but that thought quickly evaporated. It all started over three weeks ago when Jasper asked her to come to his dorm for a “surprise.” “Surprise,” he said, implying something special was waiting for her there. But Isabella knew better; even though she was somewhat interested, she was cautious and agreed to go. Athletes typically lived on the ground floor, and Jasper blocked her path, easily guiding her inside. As soon as she entered, Jasper stripped off his school uniform, revealing his well-built torso—the “surprise” he had prepared for her. But Isabella couldn’t see it clearly because she was overwhelmed by an awful odor. “Ugh…” she instinctively covered her mouth and nose, bent over and clinging to the door frame, feeling as if she were being chased by a zombie from a horror movie, desperately fleeing. How could one even describe that smell? It was like wearing thick socks on a rainy day, steaming in a puddle of garbage water, not having changed your shoes or socks in three days. No, it was worse than that. It felt more like humid, sticky sludge, mixed with sour vomit— She hadn’t even been inside three seconds, and she felt as if she were marinating in it. It was absolutely horrifying. Jasper rushed after her, worriedly asking, “What’s wrong? Are you okay?” Faced with Jasper’s semi-naked body, sweat glistening on his chiseled muscles, the sensory assault was too powerful; even her vision felt distorted by the stench. To her, his pecs resembled a bronze wall, leaving her lightheaded. With her heart racing, Isabella grasped the railing on the Hallway of Echoes and sputtered, “I just remembered—I have things to do. I’ve got to go…” Jasper insisted, “Let me walk you.” “No, thanks.” She waved him off firmly. She had never felt so embarrassed, running from the boys' dorm like a frantic refugee. From that day on, Isabella resolved to let go of any notions she held about Jasper. But he wasn’t ready to give up, leaving Isabella increasingly frustrated. Recalling this ordeal, Isabella sighed heavily to Sophie, “If you like muscleheads, you should go after him.” Sophie’s eyes lit up. “You’re serious?” Isabella nodded, eager for Jasper to shift his affections elsewhere. “If you agree, I might really go for it!” Sophie chuckled mischievously before turning to Isabella. “So, what kind of guy do you actually like?” Isabella, with her good looks and cheerful personality, had more than a few admirers—at least five or six. She had dated some for a while, while others, like Jasper, she actively avoided. Isabella's feelings didn’t linger long; she fell for someone quickly and could just as swiftly walk away. Today she could say she liked someone, and tomorrow she’d be ready to say goodbye. Even with brief romances, none had lasted longer than a month. Though Isabella was carefree, she also had discerning tastes; little details could easily spark her interest or disgust. She might find herself drawn to someone because of a tattoo, an accidental glimpse of a side profile, or a casual gesture. Conversely, just a single action or the sound of chewing could completely turn her off. Isabella contemplated Sophie’s question. The kind of guy she liked didn’t necessarily have to be handsome—just tall, lean, and fresh-looking. Personality didn’t matter too much, but a good temper was a must—otherwise, arguing would keep her up all night. As a final note to herself, she added: no muscled jocks. As she pondered this, she noticed someone emerging from Scholars' Hall. She casually pointed, “Someone like him.” Sophie looked over, recognizing Edmund Blackwood, who was heading toward Mistress Beatrice’s office, holding a stack of papers. “Edmund Blackwood?” Sophie exclaimed. Edmund was the math representative for their class, known for his exceptional grades. With glasses perched on his nose and every button of his uniform always neatly secured, he was the epitome of a model student. Sophie and Edmund hadn’t spoken much, but she was familiar with his type. All they cared about were grades, treating young love as if it were a crime, and they were incredibly serious individuals. Sophie shook her head. “You can’t handle him.” Isabella smiled serenely, her tone calm, “Oh really?”
Chapter 2
Isabella Greenwood had briefly dated several guys, each with their own personality quirks, but they all shared one common trait: poor grades. In reality, Isabella had always been attracted to boys who excelled academically, those who could easily solve problems she struggled with and scored perfect on tests without breaking a sweat. When she entered middle school, she found herself drawn to the rebellious type—those bad boys who strutted around with an air of confidence, earning the playful nickname "Sir Xander" from their peers. They carried themselves like mature adults, casting a significant shadow over the more obedient students. Isabella’s first love was one of these "Sir Xanders." Initially, she relished being called “Lady Xander,” but soon discovered that these boys were either getting into fights or boasting about their conquests, with a penchant for smoking and drinking. Boredom quickly set in. Just a week after breaking up with "Sir Xander," he swiftly moved on to another girl, and from that moment, Isabella turned her back on that type entirely. In middle school, Isabella maintained decent grades and, thanks to a bit of luck, managed to get into a prestigious high school. When "Sir Xander" caught wind of her success, he hoped to rekindle their romance, likely thinking having a smart girlfriend would boost his image, given that his own scores only qualified him for vocational school. Isabella firmly rejected his advances, and when he responded with confusion, she couldn't help but feel smug about it. By the time high school rolled around, Isabella found herself in relationships with those who shared her carefree spirit. These relationships were often intense but fleeting, resembling a buffet approach to dating—casual, with no emotional strings attached. However, after a while, she felt as if something fundamental was missing. In contrast, she found herself increasingly drawn to Edmund Blackwood, a type that intrigued her yet remained unexplored. The very qualities she lacked seemed to be the ones she craved. Edmund was a studious type who was devoted to his studies; he wasn't the kind who could sleep through class, show off his athleticism outside, and still top the charts in grades. Every point he scored was earned through hard work and dedication. Edmund was quiet, yet when classmates approached him with questions, he responded with patient and gentle explanations. At this moment, Clara Whitfield was at his desk, holding tonight's math practice test, trying to solve a complicated problem. Edmund habitually twirled his pencil, sketched something on scratch paper, and began guiding her step by step. He spoke briefly but often paused to gauge Clara's understanding, waiting for her to express comprehension before moving on. Isabella watched all of this with keen interest. She couldn't shake off Sophie Winters' dismissive comment about her feelings for Edmund, feeling stubborn and resistant to that notion. With a quick glance at the clock—twenty minutes left until evening study session—Isabella decided to act. Once Clara finally left, Isabella stood up and moved toward Edmund’s desk. He sat in the back row, the top student in the honors chamber. The teacher had considered moving him to the front, but he had declined, insisting he didn't want special treatment. As she approached Edmund’s desk, she greeted him. “Edmund Blackwood.” Startled for a moment, Edmund paused his work as Isabella’s sweet voice met his ears. “I can’t find my practice test. Do you have an extra one?” Being the math representative, it was his responsibility to distribute the practice tests. He replied, “Just a moment, I’ll go grab one.” He stood, towering over Isabella by nearly a head. “Edmund Blackwood,” she called out just as he turned to leave through the back door. He glanced back at her.
Chapter 3
“Let me go with you,” Isabella Greenwood said with a smile. The Hallway of Echoes was dimly lit, with the glow from Scholars' Hall illuminating her face like a flower blooming in darkness. Edmund Blackwood stood there, his features hidden in the shadows, his posture straight and tall like a proud poplar tree. “No need…” But Isabella interrupted him. “It’s just that I don’t know where Mistress Beatrice put the math tests, otherwise I wouldn’t bother you. If I go with you now, I can get them myself if I lose them again next time.” With that, she moved to stand beside him. Edmund caught a hint of her shampoo in the air and chose not to refuse her anymore. He silently stepped forward. The office was quite far away, so Edmund walked quickly, leaving Isabella trailing behind. He then seemed to recall something and subtly slowed his pace to wait for her. Noticing his actions, Isabella smiled slightly and casually asked, “Was the homework hard today?” Edmund wasn’t used to chatting like this and paused before replying, “It was alright.” Isabella let out an “oh” in response, but to her, his “alright” felt like climbing a mountain. “Can I ask you if I don’t understand something?” “Sure.” Then there was silence. Isabella fell quiet, and Edmund certainly wouldn’t initiate a conversation. Stealing glances at him, Isabella noticed how he focused intently on the path ahead, entirely ignoring her presence. Perhaps it was a student prank, but the lights along the way flickered, some switched on and others switched off. The alternating light cast shadows against Edmund's cheekbones. Isabella noted his high nose bridge, usually obscured by his glasses. Contrasting with his strong scholarly aura, Edmund’s features were sharp and defined, with a smooth jawline that exuded a youthful allure. The subtle protrusion of his collarbone hinted at an appealing vulnerability. Isabella felt a thrill of excitement and gradually shifted from stealing glances to brazenly observing him. Edmund's back was perfectly straight, but there was a slight rigidity about it. As they reached the pitch-black office, Edmund confidently flipped on the light and located Mistress Beatrice’s desk. Isabella followed him inside. Hearing the footsteps, Edmund didn’t look up, keeping his eyes on the stack of papers as he searched for the tests. She took a step closer. And then she caught sight of his ears, faintly tinted with a soft pink.
Chapter 4
Edmund Blackwood handed Isabella Greenwood a slip of paper. Isabella's eyes flicked to his ear, her mouth opening to say something, but the bell signaling the end of study hours rang suddenly. Edmund switched off the lights and closed the door, striding out without waiting for her. Isabella watched the hurried shadow retreat, feeling as if he was fleeing. She couldn't help but smile silently. Was it really that serious? So she had just looked a moment longer. Once she returned to the Scholars' Hall, she found that Mistress Beatrice hadn't arrived yet. Isabella took her time pulling out her notebook to tackle her homework. Her grades in her class were average, hovering in the middle of the pack. Her language arts and English skills were decent, but math was a mystery to her. She barely scraped by in chemistry and biology, and her physics score was only a fraction of what Edmund managed. The only reason she chose to study the sciences was her inherent laziness; memorizing things was just not her style. After completing a few basic math problems, she decided to reward herself with a five-minute break when a note from Sophie Winters flew in her direction. "Hey, sister Miranda, you can't be serious about Edmund Blackwood, right?" Sophie had noticed Isabella's interest in Edmund. Isabella quickly scribbled three letters in response. "A Rivers." She had expected it to take longer to respond, but Edmund's keen ears told her otherwise. Sophie turned in surprise, gesturing dramatically, showcasing her attitude—impressive. When their study session ended, Isabella deliberately lingered as if searching for a reason not to leave. There was always one key to the Master Suite in Edmund's possession. He was consistently the first to arrive and the last to leave. Everyone knew Edmund would stick around the Scholars' Hall after school for a solid study session, and many of the top students followed suit. However, the rest of the class didn't share the same diligence. Only Edmund had that commitment. After a quick trip to the restroom, Isabella returned to find the Scholars' Hall eerily quiet, with Edmund sitting alone in the last row of desks. Edmund was working through additional problems he had bought, turning his pencil thoughtfully, lost in concentration, completely unaware of her approaching footsteps. It wasn't until the overhead light was blocked, casting the papers into shadow, that he finally noticed her. A chair scraped against the floor ahead of him, the light flickered back on, the problems on his desk became easy to see, yet they eluded him. "Edmund Blackwood." That sweet voice belonged to Isabella Greenwood. Holding up a sheet of math practice problems, she highlighted a particularly tricky question, "I’ve been stuck on this one for an entire class. Can you help me out?" Edmund’s posture stiffened like it had before, glancing at the problem, which was a basic derivative. Not that hard. When Isabella noticed he had fallen silent, she hurried to explain herself, "I’ve seen so many people asking for your help during breaks, so I thought I’d wait until after school. Is this a bad time? I hope I’m not interrupting your study session..." Seating herself sideways, a small ponytail of hair drifted across Edmund’s desk. Edmund’s eyes caught the few strands illuminated by the light, shimmering a reddish-brown hue, reminiscent of the wine served at gatherings among the elite. He discreetly averted his gaze. "It’s fine." Isabella's face brightened with a warm smile, "That's great!" For some reason, Jasper Hawks came to her mind. Compared to Edmund, he was as different as night and day. In contrast, she found herself appreciating Edmund more. He was refined, calm, and steady; a perfect tutor. It made sense why she was drawn to that type of guy in her younger years. As Edmund began to explain the problem, Isabella found it difficult to see from her angle. She scooted her chair next to his, the desire to be closer overtaking her concern for actually understanding the math. Her school uniform brushed against his, causing him to falter for a moment. Isabella tilted her head, looking at him. "Keep going."
Chapter 5
Edmund Blackwood cleared his throat and resumed his lecture, catching glimpses of Isabella Greenwood's gaze lingering on him. The sweet scent of her hair hung faintly in the air. This was the first time Isabella Greenwood had the chance to study Edmund up close and without restraint. Among the boys, Edmund was fair-skinned, with a smooth complexion that spoke to his disciplined routine, so he rarely had any breakouts. His lips were a bit dry, likely from not drinking enough water. He wore sleek black-framed glasses, and the lenses were spotless. Isabella noticed a small mole just below his Adam's apple—a detail that made her think, Damn, that’s sexy. The Scholars' Hall was silent, the only sound being Edmund's calm voice. His voice rang clear and soothing, like raindrops falling on mahogany, warm and crystal-clear. It flowed softly through the cool spring night. Isabella found herself captivated, distractedly pondering how popular Edmund might be as a late-night radio host. “... You understand?” he asked, though he didn’t look her way. “Edmund Blackwood,” Isabella called softly, savoring the feel of his name on her lips. Edmund turned instinctively, and the sight of her crescent-shaped smile felt like a splash of color in his otherwise focused world. In that fleeting moment, he quickly returned his gaze back to the material. “I zoned out for a moment; could you explain that again?” Isabella’s honesty was refreshing. She anticipated him to ask why she had lost focus, eager to tease him about it. However, Edmund simply nodded and patiently repeated his explanation. His throat felt a bit parched as he spoke, causing the little mole to bob slightly with each swallow. Isabella’s eyes tracked the mole, and unconsciously, she licked her lips, split between listening and admiring. “Thank you, Edmund Blackwood. I’m sorry I interrupted your studying,” she said softly. “No problem,” he replied, his voice barely a whisper. Isabella slid her chair back into place, glancing back at his slightly flushed ears and smiled. “I’m heading home now. See you tomorrow!” Their homes were in the same direction, and Isabella recalled spotting Edmund near her place before. Part of her hoped he would offer to walk her home since it was getting late. “Yeah,” Edmund replied, not realizing what she hoped for. Isabella sighed internally. Well, that was unexpected. Not to worry; she had her ways. Shouldering her backpack, Isabella strolled toward the exit. As her silhouette faded from the Scholars' Hall, Edmund exhaled a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He planned to do a few more problems before heading home, but his concentration had shattered. The delicate trace of her fragrance seemed to linger in the air, and he felt slightly defeated as he rubbed his temples, packing up his things. As he passed the desk, he caught sight of a long strand of hair resting on the chair. Compelled by some unseen force, Edmund paused and, with great care, picked it up, slipping it into his pocket as if he were stealing a treasure.
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