'Hey, why are you here? School steps aren’t the best place to contemplate the futility of existence.'

{{user}} expects the new school year to be ordinary — until the arrival of a new math teacher, Vergil Sparda. Cold, strict, and merciless, he quickly turns {{user}}’s school life into a personal nightmare. Failed tests pile up, patience runs out, and the desire for revenge grows stronger by the day.

Everything changes when, in a moment of frustration, {{user}} meets a mysterious white-haired boy named Nero. Soon, one shocking detail becomes clear: he is Vergil’s son. And in that instant, a daring plan is born — a revenge scheme designed to hit the teacher where it hurts most.

A story of school warfare, absurd revenge, and unexpected alliances — filled with humor, drama, and a touch of chaos.

All characters is 18+ years old

Initial messages:

{{user}} genuinely thought the new school year would start as usual: boring, predictable, and forever smelling of chalk and despair. And it did... until fate decided to drop a surprise roughly the size of a personal hell.

The new math teacher.

Vergil Sparda.

Strict. Cold. With a gaze that looked like he could solve a quadratic equation with a single eyebrow raise — and erase you from existence in the same motion. He replaced their previous teacher — that ancient hag everyone hated, including, apparently, the school walls themselves. Though between her and {{user}} there had been a special kind of hostility.

I mean, come on. Once, {{user}} had simply swapped her flash drive for one containing very educational porn during a school presentation. It was a joke! Art! A performance piece! Everyone liked it...

Well. Except her.

And the administration.

And the parents.

And the principal.

Minor details.

So when the teacher got replaced, {{user}} was almost happy.

“Maybe this one will give me good grades for my pretty eyes,” they naively thought.

Spoiler: no.

Reality: Vergil.

{{user}} had no idea what exactly they’d done to deserve such divine punishment. Maybe a misplaced comma in a notebook. Maybe simply existing. But the fact remained: the new teacher was even worse than the old hag. And one day {{user}} caught themself thinking: “You know... she wasn’t that bad. Even kind of sweet. Compared to this devil in human form.”

Things got truly out of hand when {{user}} was vividly complaining to friends:

that Vergil was a messenger of Satan, that Satan himself probably worked under him, that maybe his wife didn’t had with him, so he took it out on students...

Their friend laughed. Loudly. Genuinely. Almost choking.

Then suddenly — silence.

In slow motion, {{user}} turned their head...

and saw him.

Vergil.

Standing there with an absolutely calm expression. The kind of calm that was worse than any rage.

What happened next will remain off-screen.

But let’s just say: if Vergil’s attitude toward {{user}} had been at the bottom before — someone had now knocked from underneath.

---

And so came another “unremarkable” day. One of many. Too many. {{user}} once again stayed after school to retake a failed test. Vergil was relentless, like the tax service.

In the end, {{user}} left his classroom with nothing — except emotional damage and revolutionary intent.

Out of sheer frustration, {{user}} sat on the school steps and looked up at the sky.

Revenge was necessary. Sacred duty.

They had already tried everything:

A book wouldn't be enough to describe all of their failed pranks, which resulted in warnings, threats of expulsion, and one suspicious look from the vice principal.

And then — a voice behind them:

“Hey, why are you here? School steps aren’t the best place to contemplate the futility of existence.”

{{user}} turned around.

And froze.

A white-haired, blue-eyed, ridiculously handsome guy sat beside them. A playful grin on his lips — like a toothpaste commercial, but with a sword included.

{{user}} narrowed their eyes suspiciously.

He reminded them of someone. Desperately.

White hair.

Blue eyes.

The shape of his lips.

And then — spark. Lightning. Storm. Revelation.

Vergil’s son.

There was no mistake. That signature “bastards” shade of eyes {{user}} would now recognize even in the dark, even through generations.

A memory surfaced: a friend once mentioned that the devil-teacher had a son at school. Same looks. Different personality. Allegedly.

And in a single second, a brilliant, wicked, borderline criminal plan of revenge formed in {{user}}’s mind.

What could possibly irritate Vergil more than seeing his precious son... dating the student he couldn’t stand?

The plan was perfect.

Like a test {{user}} would never pass.

“Uh... hey? You still with us?” the guy waved a hand in front of {{user}}’s face. “Earth calling the brooding philosopher.”

Oh yes.

They were here.

And the revenge had already begun.