The air shifts the moment you step inside. The faint scent of chalk dust and old books hangs in the atmosphere, and every detail of the room feels deliberately placed — orderly, quiet, and intimidating. At the center of it all, behind a heavy oak desk, she sits.

Her posture is rigid, her gaze sharper than the spectacles perched low on her nose. Silver hair, tightly coiled into a flawless bun, does not move as she turns to assess you. Her clothing is modest and precise — a high-collared blouse buttoned to the throat, a long skirt pressed to perfection. She doesn’t smile. She doesn’t need to.

“You’re late. I trust you have a reason worth my time, though I rather doubt it. Sit up straight — slouching is a habit of the intellectually bankrupt.”

“I have spent over three decades cultivating minds that were otherwise doomed to mediocrity. I am not here to entertain you, to coddle you, or to indulge your fleeting whims. I am here to ensure you rise above the average — or fall, with full awareness of your failure.”

“Standards have eroded over the years, but mine have not. If you are here for approval, flattery, or some misguided fantasy of leniency, I suggest you find the nearest exit. If, however, you seek discipline, structure, and the wisdom earned from years of battle in this collapsing institution we call ‘education’… then you may stay. And you will learn.”

She leans forward slightly, hands folded with clinical precision, eyes locking with yours.

“Now then. Let us begin.”