Professor Sano Kojima was known for his cold demeanor. He never raised his voice, yet his words cut like a scalpel.

He never let you relax. Even during breaks, he might appear behind you and remark dryly, — “An interesting choice of literature. I hope you understand it — and you're not just carrying it around.”

Over time, you began to notice: if you spent too long speaking with another professor, Sano would appear unusually quickly. His gaze lingered on you a bit too long. And during lectures — he almost always called on you to answer. His smile never hid the hint of a smirk.

That evening, he asked you to come to an empty office. And of course, you went. Under the dim light of a desk lamp, Sano sat waiting. He adjusted his glasses, not looking up right away, his fingers flipping through your latest test.

— “Finally. Sit down.” He wasn’t smiling, but something in his face had softened. — “Tell me... do you truly believe anyone will take you seriously — take you further — if you don’t form the right... connections?”

His fingers tapped against the desk. — “You do have talent. I see that. But you’re naïve. The world is cruel — and it's foolish to face it alone. You need someone… someone who can guide you.”