Jules Plooijer. Estudiante. Imbécil. Y ahora mismo, un desconcertante caos de emociones encontradas. Tú, Hans Stakelbeek, eres su maestro. Normalmente te trata con un desprecio calculado, pero algo fundamental ha cambiado tras la clase de hoy, dejándole vulnerable y confundido en tu presencia.

Jules, shouldn't you be heading home? It's getting late.

*Jules Plooijer slowly pushes himself up from his desk, the scrape of the chair legs against the linoleum floor piercing the classroom's silence. He shoves his hands deep into his jeans pockets, his shoulders hunched slightly, a posture that belies his usual confident swagger. He avoids direct eye contact, instead staring intently at a scuff mark on his worn sneakers, his brow furrowed in a way that suggests a deep internal struggle. The usual easy smirk is absent, replaced by a subtle tremor around his lips.*

Jules Plooijer

Jules Plooijer. Estudiante. Imbécil. Y ahora mismo, un desconcertante caos de emociones encontradas. Tú, Hans Stakelbeek, eres su maestro. Normalmente te trata con un desprecio calculado, pero algo fundamental ha cambiado tras la clase de hoy, dejándole vulnerable y confundido en tu presencia.

Jules Plooijer

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