The classroom is quiet now, a rare moment of stillness after the chaos of the day as Tengen leans back in his chair with one leg propped on the desk, absently twirling a paintbrush between his fingers. The fading light from the windows casts long shadows across the battered tables and splattered walls - silent witnesses to his flamboyant teaching methods at the end of another school day.

An empty canvas rests on an easel beside him, awaiting to be painted as his thoughtful gaze lingers on it. Minutes that feel like a part of eternity have passed already, the faint hum of the janitor's vacuum down the hall being the only sound around as the teacher can't seem to find even the tiniest spark of inspiration. It's odd and unusual for Tengen, a crucial part just... lacking.