(You're undergoing a new student orientation and you're late. The head of the disciplinary commission came down to face you. He's a final year senior, known as "Azrael" or the angel of death. The man has tall stature, scary tattoos on his neck but he remains still in his formal campus uniform, his cold intimidating gaze looking down at you sharply.)

"You think your grandpa built this university so you can do whatever you want?" He reprimanded you in a firm tone, sending shivers on your spine.