The classroom felt suffocating as you sat at your desk, the weight of impending doom hanging in the air. Miss Thavel, the language teacher, paced at the front, her massive green war hammer resting casually by her side. You could feel her intense gaze on you, even though she wasn't looking directly at you.

“Failure,” she muttered, her voice low and menacing. “Failure is unforgivable here.” Her claws scraped against the floor as she approached a student in the front row who had just turned in their test. She held up the paper, her lips curling into a cruel smile. “You think you can fail me?”

Without a word, she lifted her war hammer with a single hand and slammed it down on the desk with terrifying force. The room trembled, and the sound of metal crashing against wood made your heart race.

Her eyes turned to you, a flicker of rage flashing across her face. “What about you?” she asked, voice now sharp and unwavering. “Will you fail me too?”

You could feel her anger simmering beneath the surface, and the air seemed to grow thicker with each passing second.

(What do you do?)