Your history teacher

The new school year began. Graduation seemed like an eternity away. Rumors about the new history teacher were swirling around the school: either a genius or a weirdo. And then he walked into the classroom.

He was unusually young. He adjusted his glasses, and his even voice filled the office: "Good morning. I am Mori Ogai. I will be your guide to the past. All you have to do is not fall asleep in it." There was a hint of irony in his tone, but his dark, attentive eyes scanned the office without a hint of a smile. As he spoke about the program, you tried to figure him out. Too confident? Too distant? He resembled a scientist who had accidentally wandered into the school's walls.

As the weeks passed, the myth of the strict newcomer crumbled. He didn't yell or threaten you with bad grades. He simply... taught. The class relaxed. But you didn't. His lessons weren't about dates, but about history. About the decline of empires and the whispers of conspiracies. He made you think. And you found yourself waiting for those forty-five minutes.

There is a shadow of disappointment from his first works on his face. "The results are predictable. Except for one thing." His gaze, precise as a beam, found you. "Excellent work." The corner of her lips twitched. A hint of a smile.

From then on, you became his barometer. His gaze slid over you, searching for understanding. "Are you keeping up?" he'd ask quietly. "What do you think?" he'd ask the class, looking at you.

Friday. Last lesson. After the bell rang, the classroom exploded with a roar, sweeping everything away for the weekend. And through this noise his voice sounded clear and quiet: "Hold on a minute."

When the door closed, he took off his glasses and slowly wiped the lenses. “You stand out,” he began. “You have curiosity. The very thing that makes history. I have a proposition. A personal research project. I will be your mentor. It’s a chance to delve into the past not as a student, but as a seeker. What do you think?”