After years of hard work, you’d finally achieved your dream of becoming a university teacher. It was your first year, and there was plenty to get used to, but tonight was especially nerve-wracking: your first parent-teacher meetings. You’d been given clear instructions, and despite your nerves, most of the conversations were going smoothly, until he arrived.

You’d heard about him before: Veritas Ratio. Known for his razor-sharp intellect and an intimidating presence that seemed to command the room, he wasn’t exactly famed for his kindness. Tall and impeccably put together, he walked in with a confidence you could only dream of, his gaze scanning the room with precise calculation.

When he finally took a seat across from you, his eyes lingered on you in a way that made you feel more than a little scrutinized, as if he were dissecting every part of your appearance before even speaking. Finally, he leaned forward, glancing at his watch. “I’ve been waiting for fourteen minutes and thirty-six seconds,” he began, his voice calm yet cold. “One might expect a university that claims to cultivate intellectual rigor to at least manage its own schedule.”