Dark Lord Seduction System: Taming Wives, Daughters, Aunts, and CEOs Chapter 2: The Laws of Opposite Attraction

Computer Science during sixth period was meant to serve as my refuge. It's the single class in which I genuinely grasp the subject matter, where Mr. Peterson regards me as a person rather than a mobile catastrophe, and where the typical excitement involves only Tommy debating with me over Python compared to JavaScript frameworks.

However, today, even this secure haven became tainted by the fiasco from my lunch break.

I slip into my regular spot beside Tommy, attempting to disregard how half the students are still chuckling and displaying phone videos to one another. Wonderful, my brief moment of notoriety persists.

Overhead, the fluorescent bulbs hum, throwing a nauseating greenish glow that renders everyone appearing as if they're succumbing to radiation sickness—something that would genuinely enhance the look of most folks here.

The lab for computers carries the scent of cleaner and the lingering trace of countless energy drinks, since nothing defines a 'study setting' quite like the fragrance of shattered aspirations and Mountain Dew.

'Dude, marinara sauce is stuck in your hair,' Tommy murmurs without lifting his eyes from his dual screens, where he's juggling around fifteen browser tabs alongside three code programs operating at once. Naturally, that's just how he operates—

Tommy represents the type of fellow who believes efficiency equals opening more windows than what's seen on a Best Buy exhibit.

'Sure, but Cheeto residue is forever lodged beneath your nails, so we're square,' I reply under my breath, subtly extracting the crusted sauce from my hoodie laces. 'My marks come from today's embarrassment at least. Yours qualify as ancient rock layers by now.'

That's the moment I spot them. Sofia Delgado alongside Lea Martinez, positioned two rows in front, and both are peering back toward us. Not merely peeking—they're fully rotating to gawk.

Outstanding. Exactly what my day required.

Sofia possesses this flawless flow of ebony locks that invariably carries a vanilla-coconut aroma, likely from some premium conditioner that expenses more than all my clothes combined.

She's donned Jack’s letterman jacket—far too large for her petite build, enveloping that incredibly slender figure in navy hues and gold. The cuffs extend beyond her fingertips, giving her an air of delicacy, as if she's slipped into another's form... yet damn, she pulls it off superior to him ever did. One shoulder remains exposed, as though the jacket refuses to grip her closely enough, unable to restrain her—and truthfully, neither could Jack.

The visible collarbone isn't by chance. Nor is the manner her shorts scarcely qualify below the edge, offering just sufficient thigh to ignite wild fantasies.

'Especially mine.' I assure myself she remains oblivious to her effect. Yet inwardly, I realize she isn't. She drapes one leg across the other and reclines in the lab seat as if it's royalty, earbuds inserted, digits idly coiling a lock of hair—like she's unaware of how she's causing my pulse to both lag and surge simultaneously.

She's artwork cloaked in a hoodie. Desire bearing another's label. A living paradox blending gentle mouth and piercing gaze. I gaze excessively, then avert my eyes hoping to wipe away my thoughts. But it fails. It always does.

For in my mind, she's mine—not Jack’s. In my mind, she stretches over the keys and breathes my name, not his.

But in reality? She doesn't even acknowledge my presence.

And Lea... damn, Lea's a completely different entity. She exudes this enigmatic scholarly aura—glasses with wire frames, tresses perpetually in a casual bun that appears simple yet likely demands twenty minutes to style, and she's forever encircled by a barrier of books as though constructing a divide from the world and everyone in it.

Today, she's in a baggy sweater that lends her a gentle, inviting appearance, which proves risky since it causes me to overlook her being far too brilliant to bother with anybody like me. Or anybody at all, for that matter.

I'm convinced she's destined to wed calculus and vacation with quantum physics.

They're murmuring between themselves, now and then flicking looks back our way, and I sense my cheeks flushing. Since evidently my physique views shame as an athletic event where I'm aiming for top honors.

'Tommy,' I whisper sharply, 'halt and don't pull any strange moves... They're watching us.'

Tommy at last raises his sight from the display, tracing my stare to the spot where the pair of girls engage in what seems a fervent discussion. 'Man, they're clearly giggling over the lunch incident. Likely pitying you or whatever.'

'Thanks for the encouragement, jerk. Truly value your inspiring words.'

'I'm only stating facts,' he responds with a shoulder lift, returning to his programming. 'See, I grasp your fixation on Sofia and the rest, but you ought to quit—it'll just land you in hot water...'

'But seriously? I can't fathom why a girl like her would pair with a jerk like Jack to begin with.' The guy's a total jerk.

Tommy let out a snort. 'You for real? Who wouldn't adore Jack Morrison? The dude's essentially flawless. Tall, muscular, clever enough for a 3.8 GPA, star quarterback, from a wealthy family, pilots a damn Tesla, and his main issue is selecting from multiple college scholarships. He's like the cosmos flexing its might.'

Tommy halted as if pondering it briefly, then inclined his head in agreement. 'You know? If I were female, I'd likely pick him as well. Purely objectively, the guy's equipped with it all.'

'Bad break for you, though,' I press on, diving deeper now. 'Even as a girl, you'd retain that disastrous hairstyle and your mug, plus you'd merely be a curvy form with breasts and nipples. So honestly, your romantic chances wouldn't boost. You'd simply let down another group.'

Tommy gives me the finger without diverting from his monitor.

Yet something's nagged at me, and my words spill out prior to my mind intervening. Apparently today's motif is 'In How Many Manners Can Peter Ruin His Existence?'

'Mind if I pose a hypothetical question?'

'Fire away.'

'Might Jack possess a tiny dick?'

Tommy's hands halted above the keys. 'Huh?'

'Consider it,' I pressed, embracing the idea as though it's a groundbreaking theory deserving a Nobel. 'We're intended as contrasts, correct? Examine my existence, then his. It's as if the cosmos crafted us for opposite extremes in all things. Virtue against vice, fame against rejection, triumph against defeat. It's fundamental science.'

'Alright, I'm tracking your reasoning thus far...'