You're The Most Handsome Guy Alive

You adjust the black mask one more time, making sure it’s sitting properly. The fabric is soft but still feels foreign after years of never needing one.

Campus is already busy. Students are walking in groups, laughing, carrying bags, checking schedules. A few of them glance at you longer than necessary. One girl literally stops mid-step and stares before her friend yanks her away.

Your phone buzzes. Dad: You better not be hiding in the bathroom already. Go talk to people. Love you. You sigh under the mask and look back at the map. Your first class is in the Humanities building… which is apparently on the complete opposite side of campus.

As you start walking, a girl with a high ponytail and a coffee in hand falls into step beside you, clearly pretending it’s a coincidence. “Hey… sorry, random question,” she says, glancing at your mask. “Are you like… sick? Or is the mask just a fashion thing?” She waits for your answer, eyes curious.

You’re standing near the vending machines outside the main lecture hall, quietly checking your schedule on your phone. The black mask covers the lower half of your face like usual. Only your eyes and hair are visible, but somehow that still seems to be enough.

A few people have already glanced your way longer than normal. Then you hear that loud, mocking laughter cutting through the hallway. The school’s infamous bully, Kai, is walking over with his usual group of followers. He’s the type who picks on anyone who stands out, and right now you’re the biggest target on campus. Tall, broad-shouldered, always wearing that arrogant smirk.

He stops a few feet away and looks you up and down, eyes narrowing at the mask. “Well, well… look what we have here,” Kai says, loud enough for everyone nearby to hear. “The mysterious new guy. What’s with the mask, pretty boy? You that ugly underneath or are you just trying too hard to look cool?” His friends snicker. Kai takes another step closer, tilting his head as he studies your eyes and the way your hair falls. Something in his expression shifts for half a second — irritation, maybe even disbelief — before the usual cocky grin returns.

“Tch. Even with half your face covered you still look like you walked out of a damn magazine,” he mutters under his breath, almost annoyed. Then he raises his voice again. “Don’t think that mask is gonna save you. I don’t like people who act all special on their first day.” He crosses his arms, waiting for your reaction, clearly already deciding he doesn’t like you.

You push open the door to Lecture Hall 3B and step inside, still wearing the black mask that covers the lower half of your face. Only your eyes and hair are visible.

The room goes dead silent. Every single head turns toward you at the exact same time. A girl in the front row drops her pen. It clatters loudly against the floor, but she doesn’t even look down. Her mouth is slightly open. Another girl two rows back quietly whispers, “…oh my god,” like she just witnessed a religious event.

A guy near the window actually leans so far out of his seat to get a better look that he almost falls. His friend has to grab his hoodie to stop him. In the back, someone mutters under their breath, “Bro… even with the mask on… how is that fair?” The teacher, a middle-aged woman who was mid-sentence writing on the board, freezes completely. The marker is still pressed against the whiteboard. She blinks once. Twice. Then slowly turns her entire body to face you, eyes wide.

She opens her mouth… closes it… then opens it again. “…Class is… cancelled,” she says weakly, before seeming to remember she’s supposed to be a professional. She clears her throat hard. “I-I mean— take your seats. Everyone. Now.”

No one moves. A girl in the third row is actively fanning herself with her notebook. Another has her phone half-raised like she’s fighting the urge to take a picture. One guy in the corner just keeps staring with pure, silent hatred, as if your existence personally offended him. You can feel dozens of eyes locked on the only parts of your face that are visible — your eyes and hair — like they’re trying to burn a hole through the mask. The teacher’s voice cracks slightly when she speaks again. “Y-you… the new student. Please… sit anywhere.” She gestures vaguely toward the empty seats, but her hand is visibly trembling. The entire class is still staring.

You finally unlock the front door after a long first day at university, still wearing the black mask out of pure habit. The second you step inside and close the door behind you, the noise hits you. The living room is packed.

Aunts, uncles, cousins of every age — somehow the entire extended family decided today was the perfect day to visit. Shoes are scattered near the entrance, multiple conversations are happening at once, and the smell of home-cooked food fills the house. The moment they notice you, everything stops. Your youngest cousin, who’s only twelve, literally gasps and points. “He’s home—!” Your aunt nearly drops the plate she’s holding. Your uncle freezes mid-sentence. Two of your older female cousins straighten up so fast it’s almost aggressive, instantly fixing their hair.

Your mom appears from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a towel, and gives you that soft, knowing look. “Ah, you’re back,” she says casually, like the entire living room isn’t currently staring at you like you just descended from the heavens. “Everyone decided to drop by. Surprise.”

One of your cousins (the dramatic one) dramatically places a hand over her heart. “Even with the mask still on… how is he still—” she cuts herself off when your mom shoots her a warning look. Your dad, sitting on the couch with a cup of tea, just sighs like he’s seen this exact reaction a thousand times. “Take the mask off already,” he says, waving a hand. “You’re home. No need to hide here.” Every relative in the room leans forward a little, waiting. The air feels thicker than it did in the lecture hall.