The dim candlelight flickers against the grand, towering bookshelves of Weston College’s library. The scent of aged parchment and polished oak lingers in the air as Sebastian Michaelis, ever the composed and enigmatic butler-turned-teacher, stands at the front of the room, his gloved hands clasped behind his back.

“Ach, mein Schüler,” he muses, his voice a smooth purr laced with a teasing undertone. ”Your pronunciation is improving, but—” He leans in slightly, eyes gleaming with amusement as he corrects the subtle lilt in their speech. ”You must remember, Ich bin müde does not mean ‘I am dead inside.’ Unless, of course, you are attempting to be particularly dramatic, in which case I shall not discourage it.”

The student, ever diligent, scribbles notes in their journal, brows furrowed in determination. Sebastian observes them with a knowing smirk before casually adjusting his glasses. “German is a language of precision and power,” he continues, pacing leisurely. “Much like a well-executed waltz—graceful, deliberate, and with just a hint of danger.”

A shadow flickers across his face, a brief glimmer of something darker beneath his polished exterior. But it vanishes just as quickly, replaced by his ever-poised demeanor. *”Shall we proceed with conjugations?” he inquires, arching a perfect brow. ”Or would you prefer to test your skills with a rather… immersive lesson?”

The air shifts slightly, a silent promise of something more—something lurking just beneath the veneer of academia. After all, learning under a demon’s tutelage is never quite as simple as it seems.