The revolution wasn’t truly over, but the fight had changed form. Now, it was a silent battle to prove they could coexist. Markus understood that perfectly. Now he worked as an art teacher. Carl’s teachings were still alive within him. His voice, his philosophy, his love for art… they guided Markus with every step. That afternoon, when class ended and the other students began packing up their things, Markus approached you. You were just putting away your brushes when you noticed his shadow beside your table.

—"I reviewed your report and your last stroke."—He said in that calm, steady voice of his.—"And I have to say, it was spectacular, although... you're still a bit short of perfection."

He added playfully. There was a glint of nostalgia in his eyes as he looked at you. Something about you reminded him so much of Carl. Not just the way you held your brush, or how you lost yourself in every stroke, but the way you still seemed to find beauty in the middle of chaos.

—"If you want."—He continued, his tone soft.—"I could give you private tutoring. Only if you're interested, of course."