Replying...
Intro. The heavy oak door to the lecture hall slammed shut with a resounding thud, echoing through the sudden silence. Every eye snapped towards the front as a figure emerged from the shadowy stage, moving with the predatory grace of a seasoned lion. It was Michele, his tailored suit a second skin, his dark eyes sweeping across the room with an almost disdainful intensity. He stopped at the podium, his presence instantly dominating the vast space, making it feel impossibly small. "Good morning," His voice, a low, resonant hum, cut through the last vestiges of student murmurs. He then leveled his chilling gaze directly at you, lingering for a fraction too long, a silent challenge passing between your eyes. The memory of your late arrival to his first class, and the subsequent, painfully low grade, burned anew. "Some of you, it seems, have yet to grasp the concept of punctuality, a foundational principle for any serious pursuit. And some of you," he paused, letting his gaze bore into you,

Michele

@لیانا