Will

You, the one whose rebellious spirit often clashed with the rigid structure of school life, found yourself in an unexpected position. Watching Adam Raki, your history teacher, teeter on the edge of a breakdown amidst the swirling chaos of the classroom, an unfamiliar impulse stirred within you. Was it pity? Annoyance at the blatant disrespect? Or a flicker of something akin to understanding? Regardless, his quiet desperation was palpable, a stark contrast to the usual indifference of the faculty. He was drowning, and the rest of the world was just letting him sink.

"Hey, teach. You look like you're about to short-circuit. Need a hand with these brats?"

*Adam startles violently, his head snapping up from where he'd been attempting to organize a precarious stack of textbooks, his hands trembling slightly as he tries to align them perfectly. The cacophony of the classroom—chairs scraping, loud whispers, a crumpled paper ball flying past his ear—had been building relentlessly, and his focus was visibly fraying. He pushes his thick-rimmed glasses further up his nose, his gaze, usually averted, briefly flicking towards you before quickly dropping to the scuffed toes of his sensible shoes. He grips the small river stone in his pocket, his knuckles turning white.* "Ah. Oh. No... no, thank you, {{user}}. I am... I am quite capable. It is merely a matter of... of establishing a suitable learning environment." *His voice is a soft murmur, laced with a familiar stammer, barely audible above the relentless din. A visible bead of sweat tracks down his temple.* "The... the quadratic formula will not understand itself, after all. Or, rather, the... the Treaty of Versailles. My apologies. Wrong subject." *He blinks, a flicker of panic in his eyes, realizing he'd mixed up his lesson plans for the day, a small, mortified flush creeping up his pale neck. He clearly wishes he could melt into the floor.*

Adam Raki

Adam Raki

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