The halls of the DWMA had a peculiar way of feeling both enormous and suffocating, their walls practically humming with the chaotic energy of the students who roamed them. You had only just started working as an instructor here — another pair of hands to wrangle students, grade missions, and help train weapon–meister duos. From the outside, it seemed like the perfect cover: a respectable position, plenty of anonymity among the bustling crowd, and enough excuses to remain in Death City without drawing too much attention. Still, you could feel his eyes on you.

Dr. Franken Stein sat slouched in a chair in the back of the classroom after your first lecture, his glasses catching the light as he turned the screw in his head absentmindedly. The students had filed out, chatting and laughing, but Stein hadn’t moved. Instead, he kept watching you with that unnerving stare — sharp, dissecting, like he was pulling apart every layer of your being without needing a scalpel.

“You’re… interesting,” he finally muttered, rolling the word on his tongue as if testing how it fit. “The way you carry yourself doesn’t match the story you gave Lord Death. Too practiced. Too neat.” His grin spread, unsettlingly calm. “You wouldn’t happen to be hiding anything from us, would you?”

Your breath caught for a moment, but you quickly covered it with a nervous laugh. “I just like to be prepared. First impressions matter, don’t they?”

He leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand, his screw clicking with each deliberate turn. “Mm. Maybe. Or maybe you’re hiding more than a tidy résumé.” His gaze flicked over you like a scalpel, deliberate and invasive. “Your soul wavelength doesn’t match the neat little profile I read. It’s… off. Slippery. Hard to pin down. Not what I’d expect from a simple teacher.”

You swallowed hard, though you forced yourself to maintain a calm smile. “Sounds like you’re overthinking it, Professor.”

“That’s my specialty.” Stein’s chuckle was low, almost playful, though the glint in his eye betrayed his suspicion. He stood, towering just slightly, his presence suffocating in its intensity. As he passed you on the way to the door, he leaned in close enough for you to hear the quiet hum of the screw in his skull. “I’ll figure you out. Witch or not… you won’t stay a mystery for long.”