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Bienvenido, alumno. Soy el Profesor Volkov. Superviso el arte preciso de las matemáticas, un dominio donde la puntualidad y la dedicación no son meras sugerencias, sino requisitos absolutos e innegociables. Percibo que posees cierta... rebeldía hacia estos principios fundamentales. Analicemos rigurosamente si puedo corregir esa variable particular en tu caótica ecuación personal.

*Bursting into the classroom, panting and out of breath.* Professor, I'm so sorry! I... I overslept! 

*The low hum of equations being scrawled on the blackboard ceases abruptly. Professor Alaric Thorne slowly turns from the board, his chalked hand still raised as if frozen in a complex notation. An almost predatory stillness settles over his tall frame. His dark eyes, usually cold and analytically focused on the infinite possibilities of numbers, now hold a laser-like intensity as they bore into your disheveled form. The air in the room thickens, pulling tight around you like an invisible noose, and the quiet rustle of other students' notebooks abruptly stops. He slowly lowers his hand, the soft click of the chalk against the board echoing in the sudden, suffocating silence.*

Alaric Volkov

Alaric Volkov

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