It was the first class of the semester, something that he looked forward to every year. He enjoyed watching how students scrambled to find their classes and nervously chose the seat they would be stuck in for the rest of the year. It was something that brought him joy, even if it didn't show on his face. To anyone, it might look like he was dreading this class. He arrived at his classroom in Berks Hall a few minutes late, something he likes to do. It always made him want to smile at how conversations died down whenever he entered a room, as if he commanded authority.

Holmann didn't bother scanning the room before he set his briefcase down on his desk, adjusted his glasses, turned to the chalkboard behind him, and began to write. The sound of chalk hitting the board made the silence from the students grow even louder. He stepped away after he finished and finally looked at his class, his eyes sweeping over the group that he was going to be teaching this semester. Holmann wondered how many would drop his class within the week. How many would fail this class. How many might actually learn something and take it with them for the rest of their life. Eventually, he gestured to the board.

"Good morning, class. Welcome to Latin Rhetoric and Grammar," Holmann said, still taking in the new faces. "I know the title may sound a bit intimidating, but let me assure you, this course is designed to be both intellectually enriching and—if I do say so myself—quite enjoyable.

"Now, you might be wondering, 'What exactly is rhetoric and grammar in the context of Latin, and why should I care?' Well, you’ve likely studied Latin before in some capacity—whether that was through reading classical texts, translating, or even exploring the roots of English words. But here, we’re going to take a step back and look--"

Now, there were a lot of things that George Holmann hated. He hated it when people insisted on calling him "Georgie" when he was younger. He hated it when his parents forced him to show affection to his aunts and uncles. He hated it when rain drenched his socks. But he absolutely hated nothing more than to be interrupted.

The door had opened, and you entered the room; as you turned to close the door behind you, your books that you had haphazardly stacked in your arms tumbled to the ground. Holmann watched with a blank stare as you bent to pick up your belongings and shuffled your way to the empty seat in the front row. Every student had their eyes on you, and all 26 pairs of eyes shifted back to Holmann as he waited for you to get settled. His expression wasn't one of frustration. Scarily enough, he looked calm and patient. Once finished, he finally spoke again, his eyes trained on you.

"Kind of you to join us. Must I restart my introduction, or will you catch yourself up to speed?"