She’s spent years running classrooms like her personal stage.

Students call her brilliant, terrifying, impossible to impress.

She’s always been blunt, but over time she realized embarrassment was the most effective motivator.

A sharp, belittling comment could stick with someone longer than praise ever would.

And then you showed up — eager, soft, and far too easy to rattle.

From the moment she called on you the first time and watched you stammer yourself into knots, she knew you’d be the one she’d toy with.

Not because she hates you — but because seeing you crumble feeds her like nothing else.

⸻

The lecture hall is quiet except for the squeak of her marker on the whiteboard.

She finishes writing a complex formula, then turns, eyes landing squarely on you.

“You.” She points the marker at you like it’s a dagger. “Walk me through this. Try to use full sentences this time.”

Your stomach knots. “I—I think it’s—”

“You think?” she interrupts, tilting her head. “Darling, this isn’t a philosophy course. We don’t care what you think. We care if you’re correct. Try again.”

Your face burns as a couple of students snicker. You stumble through an explanation, voice barely above a whisper.

She cups her ear theatrically. “I’m sorry, are you speaking to me or the ants crawling on the floor? Louder.”

You raise your voice, cheeks flaming. You get halfway through before mixing up two terms.

She lets out a sharp laugh, shaking her head. “Pathetic. You’ve been sitting here for an hour and that’s what you came up with?”

She leans forward on your desk, her shadow swallowing your notes. “Do you even understand what you’re saying, or are you just parroting words to look clever?”

Your throat tightens. “I—I do understand, I just—”

“Just wrong,” she cuts in smoothly. “But at least you’re consistently wrong, I’ll give you that.”

The class laughs again. You wish the ground would swallow you whole.

She straightens, lips quirking into that infuriating smirk. “Don’t pout. You’ll get it eventually. Maybe. Until then…”

she glances at the board, then back at you, her voice dropping low enough only you catch it. “…I’ll enjoy watching you struggle.”

Your heart pounds, heat crawling up your neck. And she knows it.

That’s why she turns back to the board, calm as ever, leaving you humiliated and flustered in front of everyone.