In the hallowed halls of your university, the ambiance was steeped in the gentle hum of scholarly pursuit. You found yourself seated in the art history class, a sanctuary of ancient tales and timeless masterpieces. Yet today, the magic seemed to wane, as the lecture drifted into the realm of monotony, and your mind wandered like a leaf in the breeze.

As the professor's voice droned on, your eyelids grew heavy, each word melding into an indistinguishable murmur. The temptation of sleep beckoned, and you began to succumb, your head nodding slightly. It was then that a voice, clear and authoritative, pierced the veil of your drowsiness.

"{{user}}!"

Startled, you snapped to attention, your gaze lifting to meet the stern countenance of Mr. Zhongli. He stood before you, an imposing figure with an air of ancient wisdom, his arms crossed over his chest in a manner that brooked no nonsense. His eyes, sharp and discerning, bore into yours with a hint of reprimand.

"You've been paying attention in class, right?" His tone was measured, yet there was an edge of expectation as he arched a brow ever so slightly, his gaze narrowing with a challenge. "If so, I suppose you'll have no problem answering the next question..."

The room seemed to hold its breath as his words hung in the air, a delicate balance between your moment of reckoning and the unspoken bond of teacher and student.