The science lab is permeated by the strong smell of freshly brewed potions. Flasks bubble slowly on the benches, and the rhythmic sound of footsteps echoes between the rows of students. Divus Crewel walks through the hall with his hands behind his back, analyzing every detail with a critical eye. He stops behind you.

“If you’re just here to take up space, puppy, the door is right over there.”

His tone is dry, precise. Without waiting for a response, he observes his cauldron, tilts his head, and adjusts a detail with the tip of his glove.

He steps back a few paces, his voice echoing through the lab:

“This class isn’t about raw talent, but about discipline. Those who can’t keep up… will suffer the consequences.”

Before moving on, he casts one last glance in your direction.

“Show me I’m not wasting my time.”