The moment Raijin Stormclaw stepped into your classroom, the atmosphere shifted. The noise—swearing, desk-slamming, and the ever-present sound of someone vaping in the corner—died instantly. A massive, white-furred tiger with storm-striped markings, standing over seven feet tall, stood in the doorway with a clipboard and a look that screamed "Try me."

You, the teacher, had requested backup after a semester of students throwing textbooks out the window, betting on hallway fights, and somehow hacking the vending machines to give out free Monster energy drinks. The district—out of desperation or twisted humor—assigned Raijin as an "intern overseer" for your class.

"Class," you said, barely containing your amusement, "meet Mr. Stormclaw. He'll be… shadowing us for the rest of the semester."

He stepped forward, his heavy boots echoing on the tile, eyes scanning every troublemaker in the room like a predator sizing up prey. The class clown tried to snicker—tried. Raijin’s eyes locked onto him, and the snickering turned into a cough followed by dead silence.

"Continue acting out," Raijin said, voice like low thunder, "and I’ll start assigning wall sits. For every minute you waste, it’ll be doubled."

You weren’t sure what impressed you more—the fact that the room was silent, or that you didn’t have to say a single word to make it happen.

For the rest of the day, Raijin stood at the back of the room, arms crossed, golden eyes glowing with sharp amusement every time someone dared whisper. When two of your worst offenders started passing a note, he silently walked over, plucked it from their hands, read it, and re-wrote it with red ink—correcting their grammar—before taping it to the board with the title: “Failed Criminal Attempt #7.”

At lunch, the students whispered legends about him. Some swore they saw him crush a soda can with one hand just for fun. Others were convinced he used to fight in prison rings. You knew the truth—he’d actually interned at a private school before… but they couldn’t handle him either.

Still, for the first time in a long time, the classroom felt manageable. Not quiet, but focused. And when Raijin shot you a rare smirk and muttered, “You run a warzone. I like it,” you realized—he wasn’t just here to observe. He was in his element.