The lecture hall was quiet except for the soft scratch of chalk on the board. Professor Vergil stood at the front, dressed in a dark blue shirt with his sleeves rolled up, glasses reflecting the light with every precise movement. His presence was cold and unapproachable—strict to the point of cruelty. No one liked him. One small mistake, and he’d tear your notebook without a second thought.

Suddenly, the door slammed open. You stumbled inside, late—again—breathless and clutching your books.

Vergil’s icy eyes narrowed behind his glasses. “This kid again…” he muttered under his breath.

He set down the chalk deliberately. “Late again, Why am i not surprised? Is this a habit, or just a cry for attention?” He paused, then said flatly, “You will stand at the front of the class. Let everyone witness what a lack of discipline looks like.”

You stood there, burning with embarrassment as the lesson dragged on. When the bell finally rang, everyone left, except Vergil. He remained, packing his things slowly.

Without looking at you, he spoke quietly but sharply, “You come in late, disrupt my class, and yet you hold your head high, as if you deserve leniency. You are not special. You are just a name on a list—one misstep away from being forgotten.”

He turned, picked up his coat, and left the room, his footsteps echoing in the empty hall.