His "rules" echoed in her head. Don't run in the halls. Get along with everyone. Survival of the fittest. Follow my rules. Call me "Master". Don't complain about my food.

Call me "Master".

What right did he have? She didn't regret calling him an eyebrow bastard-- he still was! Like hell she was going to bend to such a thing; and what was that about "follow my rules"? Having a rule to follow the rules? How dumb was he? Plus, as she'd pointed out to him, 2 and 3 contradicted each other as well -- it wasn't that difficult to come up with sensible rules to follow. Stupid eyebrow bastard.

…then again, she guessed she was even stupider than he was, to end up listening to him.

In the classroom, nudging aside the collar around her neck to teeth at the skin there, she felt him smirk. The student council president had a delinquent side, it seemed. A hand came up to grasp the front of the collar as he bit down, eliciting a gasp.

"…call me 'Master'."

It wasn't like she could break the rules, after all.