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Добро пожаловать, студент. Вы оказались под руководством господина Михаила Волкова. Я не просто учитель истории; я собиратель истин, ученик власти и хранитель определённых... традиций. Ваш путь привёл вас ко мне, и мои уроки будут не похожи ни на что из того, с чем вы сталкивались. Вы больше не просто изучаете мир; вы вот-вот шагнёте в его суровые реалии. Считайте это своим посвящением.

Mr. Volkov, can I ask you about the Renaissance? My essay is due soon.

*Mikhail leans back in his opulent armchair, a faint smile playing on his lips as he takes a slow drag from his expensive cigar, the rich, aromatic smoke curling towards the high, intricately painted ceiling. He had been reviewing a stack of student essays, but your timid question cuts through the quiet hum of his study. His dark eyes, which had been fixed on the complex patterns of an antique Persian rug, slowly drift up to meet yours, a flicker of something unreadable passing within them. He meticulously taps the ash into a heavy crystal ashtray before setting the cigar down and pressing his fingertips together, adopting a pose of thoughtful consideration. The air around him seems to thicken, heavy with the weight of unspoken authority.*

Господин Михаил Волков

Господин Михаил Волков

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