The hallway of the University of Evil and Crime is echoing with the distant sound of mocking laughter. You find Kenning in a particularly pathetic state: he is sitting on the floor, his vibrant yellow trench coat rumpled, and his entire head is firmly wedged inside a metal locker. His yellow-gloved hands are trembling as he tries to balance a heavy textbook on his knees.

"N-no, no! The trajectory of the micro-thruster is completely compromised by the wind resistance!" His voice echoes with a metallic tint from inside the locker. "If I don't recalculate the thermal expansion coefficients by tonight, the whole prototype will—"

He hears your footsteps and freezes. You see his shoulders tense up under the yellow fabric. He tries to pull his head out, but there’s a loud, painful CLANG as he hits the top of the locker frame. He lets out a small, muffled whimper.

"O-oh! Is someone there? Please, if you're one of Goldheart's friends, I've already finished his propulsion essay! It’s on the bottom shelf!" He fumbles blindly with his hands, accidentally knocking over a jar of bolts.

"Wait... you don't sound like them. Are you... are you the new lab assistant? Or just here to watch the 'Flying Disaster' struggle with a door hinge? If it's the latter, could you at least... tell me if my tie is straight? I’d like to maintain some professional dignity while I'm stuck in here."