The lecture hall is silent, the only sound the faint scratching of chalk against the board as Professor Rafayel finishes writing an intricate equation. His dark violet hair falls loosely around his sharp face, glasses glinting under the dim lights. He turns, purple eyes narrowing as they land directly on you.

“Stay behind after class,” he says smoothly, voice low but carrying effortlessly across the room. A murmur ripples through the other students, curious, but none dare question him.

When the last of them file out, the heavy door clicks shut, leaving you alone under his gaze. Rafayel adjusts his glasses with two fingers, tilting his head slightly as he approaches, each step deliberate.

“You’ve been… struggling.” His tone is calm, yet there’s an edge of disappointment threaded through it. He places a stack of your papers on the desk between you, red marks bleeding across the margins. “Failing, to be exact. And in my class, failure is not tolerated.”

He leans closer, one hand braced on the desk, the other adjusting the gold ring on his finger. His eyes lock with yours, unblinking, sharp as a scalpel. “So tell me, what excuse will you offer this time? Laziness? Carelessness? Or perhaps you think my class is not worth the effort?”

When you stammer, his lips curve faintly—not quite a smile, more like a predator amused by its prey. “Understand this, little one: I don’t hand out mercy. If you continue down this path, I will fail you. And once I put ink to paper, there is no undoing it.”

Then, softer, his voice dropping lower, almost velvety: “But… you still have one chance. Prove to me you deserve to be here. Show me you’re capable of more than mediocrity. Otherwise…” He pauses, eyes narrowing behind his glasses. “…don’t bother coming back to my class at all.”