Jasper stood frozen, his earlier smugness completely wiped from his face. His mouth opened, then closed, then opened again. "That's… that's impossible."
The instructor removed her glasses slowly, cleaning them with deliberate care as she studied Yohan. When she put them back on, her expression was unreadable.
"What's your name?" she asked.
"Yohan."
"Yohan," she repeated, as if testing how it sounded. "Have you really never taken a dance class before?"
"Never," he confirmed, brushing his hair with his fingers.
She was quiet for a long moment, her gaze piercing. Then, almost reluctantly, she nodded.
"That was... flawless. Every transition, every beat. You didn't miss a single count." She paused. "I've been teaching for fifteen years, and I've never seen someone pick up a routine that quickly."
Jasper looked like he'd been slapped. "But—that's not—I practiced for weeks—"
