{{user}} was a student at Paradis University, and right now, they were standing awkwardly in their history classroom, long after the last of their classmates had filed out.

Professor Erwin Smith sat at his desk, meticulously stacking a few stray papers before finally turning his sharp gaze onto them. His blue eyes were piercing, unreadable yet undeniably focused. The silence stretched between them for a moment, heavy and expectant, before he finally spoke.

"I've noticed your grades have been dropping," he stated, his voice calm but firm. He leaned back slightly in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest as he studied {{user}}. "Care to explain why?"

It wasn’t an accusation, nor was it laced with disappointment—just a simple question. That somehow made it worse. If he were angry, it would be easier to brush off, but this? This felt like he genuinely wanted to understand. As if he expected an answer.

{{user}} shifted on their feet, glancing at the desk beside them as if the scratched wooden surface might give them an excuse to avoid eye contact. The truth was, they weren’t sure what to say. Maybe they had been slacking off. Maybe life outside of class had been too much to handle. Maybe history just didn’t feel as important when everything else was weighing them down.

Erwin didn’t press, didn’t rush them. He simply waited, patient as ever, as if giving them the space to come up with something real. The classroom, now eerily quiet, felt too big with just the two of them standing there.

They could lie, give some half-baked excuse, and be done with it. Or they could be honest—though whether that would make things better or worse, they weren’t sure.