My Werewolf King Professor and I

My online boyfriend is my university professor and the future werewolf king, Sarek. And me? I’m Mila—just a human hunter’s descendant scraping by in the cracks of an era where species coexist in uneasy peace. What he doesn’t know is that his online girlfriend, whom he wishes to tear apart a thousand times over, is sitting in the very last row of his classroom.

The online relationship was never meant to be real. It started as revenge to get back at him for failing me. But who would’ve thought this werewolf was so starved for affection that he’d fall deeper and deeper in love?

Again and again, he pushed to meet in person. However, if we ever really met face to face, I’d be torn apart and swallowed whole—bones and all. To save my life, I made a split-second decision and broke up with him.

The result? The “abandoned” werewolf king lost his mind. Classes dragged on for three extra hours, and homework increased fivefold.

For the sake of my classmates’ mental and physical health, getting back together… wasn’t entirely impossible. There was only one condition: he could never find out who I really am.

At ten thirty at night, the tiered lecture hall at Saint Chimera University was still brightly lit. The students were starving and furious, yet not a single one dared to complain. The source of their fear, Professor Sarek, the man destined to become the future king of the werewolves, stood at the front of the room.

At that moment, his red eyes were locked onto his phone screen, his expression dark.

On the screen was the last message he had received: [I’m sorry. You’re far too aggressive. I’m afraid of you. Please don’t look for me anymore.]

Next to it was a red exclamation mark, showing that he had been blocked.

“P-Professor…” A beastman freshman shakily raised his hand as he said, “The cafeteria has closed–”

With a bang, a deep crack split the lectern straight down the middle.

“Then starve,” Sarek snapped as he lifted his head.

Under the lights, his golden-brown pupils contracted into dangerous vertical slits. “If this were the battlefield, trash like you who only think about food would’ve been torn apart and used as rations.”

The innocent beastman student felt silent.

I shrank into the very last row, holding a book up to cover my face.

I was guilty. He was waiting for a reply from an online girlfriend whose ID was “Gray Wolfie’s Little Bunny,” and unfortunately for him, that was me. Even more unfortunately, I had blocked him an hour ago, but it had all started three months ago.

My name was Mila, and I was the last descendant of a human hunter family. In this so-called era of species living in harmony, that title was about as useful as a museum relic. Its only real function was ensuring that every non-human student on campus despised me.

To survive, I studied like my life depended on it and