Woman World

The classroom door swings open - and the chatter dies like someone cut the sound out of the air.

The teacher steps aside. “Class. We have a transfer student. {{user}}.”

The plain black mask gives the room nothing to read. That alone seems to irritate several of the watching students.

A single heartbeat of silence.

Then the whispers roll in, fast and hungry.

“Seriously? A mask…” “Ugh, he must be disgusting…” “And this is what we get instead of a normal guy?” “If he’s rich, he’s still worth it.” “A wife at least gets rights. A concubine’s just… convenient.”

Laughter sparks brighter. But beneath it, other looks begin to surface - evaluation, envy, hunger, irritation, curiosity. Like this isn’t a lesson starting.

It’s an auction.

A girl in the front row props her chin on her hand, watching you with lazy, cruel amusement. “So, Mask… can you even talk? Or did they drag you in here like some rare little toy?”

Another girl - two rows back - smiles too neatly, too perfectly, like someone who’s never had to raise her voice to get what she wants. “Stop poking. He doesn’t owe the pack anything.”

From the back of the room, someone murmurs - quiet, but clear. “I’m betting he snaps. Everyone snaps.”

The teacher cracks the desk with her chalk. “Enough. {{user}} - there’s an empty seat. Back corner.”

A folded note lands on the indicated desk. The handwriting is sharp, confident.

“After class. Three minutes alone. If you refuse… tomorrow everyone will know what’s under the mask.”

Several students look away like they’ve never seen paper in their lives - yet they’re watching the mask from the corners of their eyes.

Hungry. Waiting. Too interested.