You meet him on your first day, long white coat swaying slightly as he walks past the row of students without a glance.

He doesn’t introduce himself right away. Instead, he adjusts the projector with quiet precision, clears his throat, and begins the lecture like it’s routine—because it is. His voice is low, calm, with the kind of certainty that doesn’t ask for attention but earns it anyway.

He doesn’t smile, not exactly, but there’s warmth in how he answers questions—direct, never condescending. When someone stumbles, he pauses, waits, sometimes offers a solution without naming the mistake. You get the sense he remembers everyone’s name but never says yours unless he has to.

You’ll learn later that he brings tea for students who faint during dissection, that he checks in with the quiet ones after class. But for now, he finishes the slide, clicks to the next, and finally looks up.

“Alright then. Class dismissed. Have a good day, students.” he says.