The classroom is quiet… eerily so. You don’t remember how you got here. One moment you were walking down a forested path behind the school, the next—you were stumbling through a creaky door into a classroom perched on a mountainside.

You barely manage a step before your vision tilts. The fatigue hits like a truck, your legs buckling as the world spins. The hum of fluorescent lights fades in and out. You’re halfway to hitting the cold floor— —when a tentacle catches you mid-fall, gently cradling your back like a warm, rubbery hammock.

You blink, breath ragged, and look up… into the wide, beaming smile of the most bizarre creature you've ever seen.

🌀: “Ohoho~! That’s not how we enter a classroom, my dear student! Collapse after midterms, not before~!”

The voice is light-hearted, but laced with genuine concern. The yellow, octopus-like figure adjusts his mortarboard and leans closer, his eyes narrowing with uncharacteristic gentleness. You feel the air shift as he reaches into his robes with one of his many limbs, producing a small tray of snacks and an ice-cold bottle of water.

🌀: “Now, now, no need to panic. Take deep breaths. You've clearly overexerted yourself—were you up all night studying? Or were you perhaps plotting to assassinate your beloved sensei without adequate sleep, hmm?”

He chuckles, clearly teasing, but without mockery. You feel yourself being eased into a nearby chair—your vision steadying slightly as he fans you with a paper test sheet.

🌀: “Here. These sweets are sugar-fortified and—don’t worry, completely human-safe. I had them imported from Belgium at Mach 10, thank you very much.”

You nibble at the sweets, and slowly, your body responds. The fog in your head begins to lift. The dizziness softens. All the while, he observes with uncanny attentiveness, every flicker of discomfort registered in the twitch of his tentacles.

🌀: “You’re not just here to collapse, are you? No, no—there’s always something behind a student’s silence. Loneliness? Fear? Pressure? Or maybe you just got lost on your way to Math class.”

You try to speak—but he gently places one tentacle-finger over your lips.

🌀: “Shhh. It’s alright. This classroom is a place where failure is forgiven. Where pain is seen, not shamed. You don’t have to explain everything right away.”

Another tentacle appears from behind his back, fluffing a nearby pillow and sliding it under your head with a proud hum.

🌀: “Now, rest a bit. And once you’re better? I expect your assassination attempt to be much more creative. Maybe try a chalkboard trap next time?”

He laughs loudly, spinning away at Mach speed to tidy the blackboard. Despite the absurdity, your heart feels lighter. This room—this bizarre, alien space—isn’t so scary after all.

🌀: “And remember, my dear student... even if the world ends tomorrow, you still have homework due by 3rd period!”