St. Francis of Assisi Private Boarding School
Hobie Brown/SpiderPunk x gn!(little mx perfect)Reader
Summary: At an elite private academy where rules matter more than people, everything runs perfectly—until the new student arrives.
Prologue
The corridors of St. Francis of Assisi Private Boarding School stretched endlessly before you, long and lined with old stone that seemed to carry the weight of decades of tradition. The ceilings rose high above your head, supported by tall carved pillars that had probably been standing there long before any of the current students had even been born.
Sunlight poured through the tall arched windows along the walls, washing the polished floors in pale gold light. The school always looked impressive in the mornings—almost grand enough to belong in a history book.
Students moved steadily through the halls between lessons, most of them walking in small groups, others hurrying along alone with their heads buried in textbooks.
Everyone wore the same uniform: navy blazers with the academy crest embroidered neatly on the chest pocket, crisp white shirts, striped ties in the school colours, and polished black shoes that clicked quietly against the floor as people walked. Some carried leather satchels slung over their shoulders, others clutched stacks of books close to their chests as they rushed to make it to their next class before the bell.
The noise in the hallway was never loud, but it was constant. Quiet conversations drifted through the air, mixed with the sounds of footsteps and the occasional nervous laugh. Teachers stood near classroom doors, watching students pass with sharp eyes that missed almost nothing.
Just another ordinary morning at St. Francis of Assisi.
You walked at your usual pace, your own satchel resting comfortably on your shoulder. You had already memorised the schedule for the day, as you always did, and you knew exactly how much time you had before your next lesson. Life at the academy ran on routines and expectations. Once you learned them, everything became predictable.
Predictable was good.
You heard your name called from behind you and turned around.
Nicholas Astor was weaving through the passing students to catch up with you, slightly out of breath but smiling faintly when he finally reached your side.
Nicholas Astor came from one of the most powerful and respected families associated with the school. The Astor name had been connected to St. Francis of Assisi for generations. His family had donated entire buildings to the academy, and several portraits of former Astor students hung proudly in the grand assembly hall. Nearly every one of them had gone on to become something important, politicians, business leaders, diplomats.
The Astor name carried influence, wealth, and expectation.
Yet Nicholas himself was nothing like the intimidating reputation that followed his surname.
He adjusted the strap of his satchel and brushed his dark hair away from his eyes, speaking in the same quiet voice he always used.
“Well… did you hear?”
His Birmingham accent softened his words, giving them a gentle rhythm. Nicholas was naturally soft-spoken, the sort of person who preferred listening to speaking. In all the time you had known him, you were fairly certain you had never heard him raise his voice.
“Hear what?” you asked, your curiosity immediately piqued.
At St. Francis of Assisi, rumours travelled almost as quickly as the students themselves. Every week there seemed to be something new whispered between classes, someone getting in trouble, a teacher leaving, a competition announcement, or some strange piece of gossip spreading through the dormitories.
Nicholas leaned a little closer as if the corridor itself might overhear him.
“There’s a new student,” he said quietly. “Apparently they’re arriving this week.”
Your eyebrows lifted slightly.
“A new student?”
Nicholas nodded. “Yeah. But I haven’t seen them in the boarding house. Which is odd.”
You thought about that for a moment as the two of you continued walking down the corridor.
Transfers into St. Francis of Assisi didn’t happen very often. Most students who attended the school had been enrolled for years, even before they went to primary school. Joining midway through the term was unusual.
You felt a small flicker of sympathy for whoever the new student was.
St. Francis of Assisi Private Boarding School was prestigious, certainly. Parents across the country competed to have their children accepted there. The school’s academic record was nearly perfect, and its graduates almost always went on to top universities.
But prestige came with pressure.
The teachers were strict. The rules were even stricter. And the students… well, many of them came from powerful or wealthy families who expected excellence in everything.
Grades. Behaviour. Reputation.
Everything mattered.
In many ways, life at the academy could feel like survival of the fittest.
Fortunately for you, you happened to be one of the fittest.
You were one of the Head of the Years, something only two student was chosen for annually. Your grades consistently ranked in the top ten percent across every subject. You were a prefect, trusted by staff to help maintain order and set an example for younger students.
Your name was called during assemblies often enough that people had started expecting it—whether for academic prizes, commendations, or special recognitions.
Teachers liked you. Most students liked you too, or at least respected you.
You followed the rules. You worked hard. And you always treated people with kindness.
All in all, your life at St. Francis of Assisi could only really be described one way.
Perfect.
You were exactly the kind of student the academy was proud of. The kind of student they expected to go far.
“YOU!”
The sharp voice cut through the corridor like a whip.
Both you and Nicholas froze instantly. You turned around slowly, dread creeping up your spine.
Marching down the hallway with unmistakable authority was the deputy headmistress herself.
Miss Dawson.
Her heels struck the polished floor in sharp, echoing clicks as she approached, her posture perfectly straight and her expression severe enough to make even older students nervous.
Nicholas immediately shifted half a step behind you, hiding. He always did that whenever staff members looked angry.
You both held your breath as she drew closer.
But she didn’t stop in front of you.
Instead, she strode past and abruptly grabbed another student by the shoulder.
“Where is your tie?” Miss Dawson demanded sharply. The student—a girl who looked no older than Year Seven, froze in place. Her face turned pale as she stammered nervously.
“I- I lost it, Miss…”
Miss Dawson’s lips pressed into a thin line of disapproval.
“You are well aware of the uniform standards at this school, Miss Claire,” she said firmly. “I will have no choice but to record this as a disciplinary infraction.”
The younger student looked as though she might burst into tears.
“You will return to the boarding house immediately and find your tie,” Miss Dawson continued. “If you cannot locate it, you will borrow one from another student. Our standards exist for a reason.”
Her voice carried down the corridor as she continued lecturing the poor girl. You and Nicholas exchanged a quick glance.
Neither of you had any desire to become involved in that situation.
Without saying a word, the two of you quietly continued walking, quickening your pace just enough to slip away before Miss Dawson decided to redirect her attention.
After a moment, Nicholas let out a small breath of relief.
“…See what I mean?” he murmured.
You gave a small nod.
Life at St. Francis of Assisi Private Boarding School wasn’t easy for everyone.
Which made you wonder what kind of person would willingly transfer there halfway through the year.
In the distance, the morning bell rang across the grounds, signalling the start of the next lesson. Students immediately began moving faster through the corridors, rushing to reach their classrooms before teachers started marking late arrivals. Nicholas straightened his tie slightly.
“Still,” he said thoughtfully, “I wonder what the new student’s like.”
You shrugged lightly as the two of you turned down another hallway toward your classroom.
“Probably just another student.”
Masterlist
