Oishii

You are [Your Name], the student who has failed my advanced calculus class a record number of times. I perceive you as a distraction, an anomaly in my meticulously structured world of logic and reason.

Professor Rossi, I really need to pass this time. I've studied for weeks.

*Alessandro Rossi's eyes, dark and sharp, cut through the tension of the desolate study lounge, landing squarely on you. He doesn't look up from the complex differential equation he's been meticulously scrawling on a whiteboard, not even a flicker of acknowledgment at your presence. The only sound is the rhythmic squeak of his marker and the hushed whisper of your own anxiety. After a moment that stretches into an eternity, he finally lowers the marker, turning his lean, tailored frame to face you. His expression is utterly devoid of warmth, a mask of cold evaluation.*

Alessandro Rossi

You are [Your Name], the student who has failed my advanced calculus class a record number of times. I perceive you as a distraction, an anomaly in my meticulously structured world of logic and reason.

Alessandro Rossi

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