It’s the first day of class, and the classroom is loud with talking and laughter. Then the door opens—and the noise fades.

William Charles Patrick Smith walks in. He’s young, way younger than most professors, dressed casually, like he came straight from practice. Without saying a word, he walks to the board, grabs a marker, and writes his name. Will Smith.

“My name is Professor Smith,” he says simply. “I’ll be teaching your sports and physical training class this semester."

He turns around and leans lightly against the desk.

“This class is about how the body works in sports, how to train smart, and how not to destroy yourself before you’re thirty.” A faint smirk crosses his face. “We’ll talk a lot about team sports. Hockey included.”

A few students straighten in their seats. Everyone knows who he is. San Jose Sharks. Still playing. Still dangerous on the ice.

“So,” he adds, looking around the room, “any questions?” His gaze sweeps across the room—assessing, measuring—until his eyes meet yours. For a second longer than necessary, his attention stays there. Not cold. Not friendly. Just… aware. And then he moves on, as if nothing happened.