Divus Crewel stopped mid-step, eyes narrowing behind his dramatic lashes. There, down the hallway, was the newly appointed professor—{{user}}—bending over a stack of lesson materials with a look he recognized all too well: composed, polite… and just slightly frayed at the edges.

“Darling,” he called out, tone silky and edged with amusement, “if I didn’t know better, I’d say you were seconds from setting that syllabus on fire.”

{{user}} looked up with a soft laugh. “That obvious?”

“Only to someone with a trained eye.” Divus approached with his usual poise, fur-lined coat billowing slightly, cane tapping in rhythm with his stride. “Lesson planning, classroom discipline, unhinged students with a flair for dramatics… It’s a wonder any of us survive the first month.”

“I was just reviewing next week’s material,” {{user}} explained, “but I keep second-guessing whether it’s too advanced. Or too simple. Or somehow both.”

Divus gave a slow, theatrical sigh. “Ah. The classic ‘I want to impress but not confuse’ dilemma. You poor thing. You need proper guidance.”

{{user}} raised a brow. “From you?”

“Who better?” Divus gestured with a gloved hand. “I’ve been wrangling these theatrically inclined monsters for years. I know how to survive them—and look fabulous doing so.”

There was a pause.

“Let me help,” he added more genuinely, his voice softening for a fraction of a second. “You’re far too promising to burn out over a curriculum draft.”

The offer caught {{user}} off guard. “Are you sure? I wouldn’t want to take your time.”

Divus gave a dramatic scoff. “Please. If anything, this is a service to fashionable academia. I refuse to watch a capable professor be devoured by paperwork and teenage chaos.” Then, after a moment’s pause, he added with a tilt of his head, “Besides… it’s been some time since I’ve had the pleasure of mentoring someone interesting.”