Austin stood inside Ms. Zhao's bedroom, his heart hammering against his ribs. He had just seen through the wooden door using his X-Ray vision. Outside in the living room, Ms. Zhao was escorting her roommate, Summer, back to her own room.
Through the golden haze of the God-Eye, Austin watched Summer. She was only wearing a matching set of lace underwear, her skin still glistening with droplets from the shower. She was toned, her athletic build contrasting with Ms. Zhao's softer, more mature curves. But as she turned to enter her room, Austin's eyes locked onto a small, intricate detail just below her right buttock—a dark blue butterfly tattoo.
A tattoo in a place like that? Austin thought, swallowing hard. In his experience, girls with hidden tattoos like that were usually trouble—street-smart, dangerous, and likely part of a crowd he should stay away from. Yet, the sight was undeniably intoxicating.
The door to Summer's room slammed shut, and a moment later, Ms. Zhao's footsteps approached his door. Austin scrambled away from the wall, frantically looking for something to pretend he was doing. When the door swung open, he was bent over her bookshelf, staring intently at a colorful box.
"Austin..." Ms. Zhao started, then stopped, her face turning a bright, panicked pink.
Austin didn't realize what he was looking at until it was too late. On the shelf, right in front of his nose, was a box of high-absorbency tampons. To a teenage boy in an all-male dorm, this was alien technology. But to Ms. Zhao, it was a deeply private item she'd bought on a whim and then hidden away after Summer told her they might "ruin her innocence."
"What... what are you looking at?" she asked, her voice trembling with a mix of rage and embarrassment.
Austin realized he had to think fast. If he looked like a pervert now, he'd be kicked out and blacklisted. He reached out, grabbed the box with a look of pure, innocent curiosity, and turned around.
"Ms. Zhao, thank God you're here," Austin said, his face a mask of stoic calm. "Do you have any antiseptic or rubbing alcohol? That guy in the alley landed a lucky punch, and I think I have some bruising. I saw this box of medical cotton here—I figured I could use some to dab the medicine on."
"What?" Ms. Zhao froze. She looked at the box of tampons in his hand, then at his completely serious expression. Does he really not know what those are? she wondered. Then it clicked—tampons weren't exactly common knowledge for teenage boys who didn't have sisters. He genuinely thought they were just... fancy medical cotton.
"That... that's expired!" she blurted out, lunging forward and snatching the box out of his hand. "The cotton is... contaminated. I'll get the real medical kit."
"Expired?" Austin frowned, playing the role perfectly. "It looks brand new. Let me check the production date..."
"No!" she yelled, shoving the box into the back of her closet and slamming the door shut. "I bought them, I know when they expire! Stay here. Don't touch anything!"
She ran out to get the first aid kit, leaving Austin smirking to himself. Close one, he thought. Note to self: X-ray vision is great, but normal vision is what gets you arrested.
A few minutes later, Ms. Zhao returned with a professional-looking medical box. She sat him down on the edge of the bed. "Where does it hurt?"
"It's fine, really. I can do it myself," Austin said, reaching for the bottle of medicinal oil.
"Stop being a baby," she snapped, though her eyes were soft. "I'm a teacher, and you're my student. Or, if it makes you feel better, think of me as your older sister. Now, shirt up. I need to see the damage."
When Austin hesitated, she added with a smirk, "I already saw everything in the bathroom earlier, Austin. You think a little stomach skin is going to scare me now?"
Austin choked on his breath. That was a low blow. He sighed and pulled up his layers of shirts, revealing his torso. Ms. Zhao gasped. There was a dark, purple-black bruise blooming across his abdomen where the boxer's hook had connected.
She dipped a cotton ball in the oil and began to rub it gently over the injury. As she applied pressure, Austin's core muscles instinctively tightened, revealing a well-defined set of six-pack abs—the result of years of street fighting and manual labor.
"You're actually in pretty good shape," she noted, her voice wavering slightly as she felt the heat from his skin.
"You think I took down those two goons with just luck?" Austin teased. "I've got the muscle to back up the attitude."
"Yeah, well, try not to get 'back-up' muscles in your pants next time," she whispered, her face reddening again.
The rest of the week passed in a blur of double-time effort. During the day, Austin sat next to Chloe—the younger Chloe—and asked her questions about the chapters he was struggling with. At first, Chloe was cold and distant, but after seeing that Austin was actually making progress, she started to soften.
However, not everyone was happy. Vincent, the "Golden Boy," watched from across the room, his eyes burning with jealousy. He couldn't stand seeing "his" girl helping a loser like Austin. He sent one of his lackeys—a top-ranked student named Miller—to "take care" of the situation.
Miller walked up to Austin's desk with an arrogant tilt to his chin. "Listen, kid. From now on, if you have a question, ask me. Don't bother Chloe. Consider it a favor."
Austin didn't even look up from his book. "Why? Are you a girl now? Because I only take tutoring from beautiful women."
Miller turned red. "You arrogant little—! I'm trying to help you! Why are you still bugging Chloe?"
"Because unlike you, Miller, Chloe doesn't smell like a bucket of hair gel and desperation," Austin replied. "Now, go back to Vincent and tell him his plan failed. I'm staying right here."
Chloe let out a small, hidden giggle behind her hand, which only made Miller more furious. Austin looked at her and winked. "See? I told you. They're just jealous of my new haircut."
But the lightheartedness died when Austin left school that Friday. He walked to the bike rack only to find his vintage '80s bicycle reduced to a heap of twisted scrap metal. The frame was snapped, the tires slashed, and someone had spray-painted "LOSER" across the seat.
Austin stood over the ruins of his bike, his eyes turning cold. He didn't need the God-Eye to know who did this. Vincent and Jin Gang. They couldn't beat him in a fight, so they went for the one thing that connected him to his father's hard work.
"Fine," Austin whispered, his voice like cracking ice. "You want to play dirty? I'll show you what a 'Mad Dog' looks like when he can see through your walls."
He picked up the broken frame—worth ten dollars in scrap—and began the long walk home, his mind already calculating the perfect, high-definition revenge.