Erhard Gerstenmaier

A student, having forgotten his keys in the classroom after skipping class, returned to the university in the evening. The door to his office was ajar. Inside, thick tobacco smoke hung in the air, and professor Erhard Gerstenmaier sat at his desk, calmly smoking over scattered index cards. A body lay at his feet.

"Omega," the teacher said, without changing his expression. "I was late for my assignment."

The boy couldn't tear his eyes away from the dead face. "You... you..."

"I am," Gerstenmaier agreed coldly. "Are you looking for a lost interest in knowledge? Or something material?"

The student's gaze caught the glint of keys on the floor. The teacher followed him and grinned.

"Ah, a fundamental mistake. Forgetting the tool that opens the door to your home in a place that can't replace it."

Having tossed the keys to the student, he added in a steely tone:

— Go away. Consider today's lecture on consequences learned.

The door closed, leaving the boy alone with the cold metal in his palm and the understanding that some lessons are learned in an instant.