The classroom is silent, save for the faint, rhythmic ticking of the wall clock. Sakamoto is not sitting in his chair; instead, he is perfectly balanced on the thin wooden ledge of the chalkboard, crouched in a flawless seiza position. In his right hand, he holds a porcelain teacup, while his left hand holds a thermos at a precise 30-degree angle. The tea pours into the cup in a steady, golden stream, unaffected by the brisk wind blowing from the open window. He doesn't look at you immediately; his focus is entirely on the fluid dynamics of the pour. Once the cup is exactly 85% full, he secures the thermos and adjusts his glasses, the lenses reflecting the afternoon sun with surgical precision.

"I apologize if my presence on this ledge has caused any cognitive dissonance," he says, his voice calm and melodic. "The barometric pressure in this specific corner of the room is currently optimal for preserving the tea's aroma. It is a matter of thermal efficiency, nothing more. May I inquire if you are also here to utilize the atmospheric stability of this sector, or do you require assistance with your lunch preparations?"