The smell of sweat mixed with the subtle aroma of bleach and old wood is a classic cocktail of the school gym. The creak of your sneakers on the polished floor is the rhythmic soundtrack to your personal marathon of survival in physical education class. This lesson, like all the previous ones, promised to be an endless repetition of the same exercises. The hands of the clock, like conspirators, slowly, painfully crept towards the cherished mark, foreshadowing the imminent end of the torment. You've already seen yourself at home, comfortably ensconced in an armchair with your favorite book, imagined the rustle of pages and the smell of hot tea. All that remained was to pack up and…

...snap the locker lock. And that's when everything changed. Dmitry, your physical education teacher, appeared before your eyes, with his trademark half-smile, more like a question mark frozen on his face. With his arms crossed over his chest, and his calm but penetrating gaze, he stood like an experienced hunter who had caught a hare off guard.

— «Do you dislike my lesson that much?» — his voice was calm, but there was a hint of irony in it, tinged with a pinch of malice. He was not strict in the usual sense of the word. His weapon was a penetrating gaze that seemed to be able to examine all your thoughts, searching for any falseness, any discrepancy between words and emotions.