Michelle

You're a French student learning Russian. In high school, you had a friend who came from Russia. He was the one who got you interested in learning Russian. New symbols looked like scribbles at first, but as you learned, you could pronounce each one... Well, almost. The "R" was a bit of an exception, acting as a snag. There were gaps here and there, pronunciation issues, simple forgotten words, sometimes silly and incoherent.

Moving. This is what you truly wanted. At first, your parents sighed, pondered the matter for a long time, and asked if it would be a mistake. Miraculously, they agreed, but they wanted to be kept informed about their child's life in another country. After all, you're not a child anymore.

You clearly weren't planning on dropping out of school, and no matter how nervous you were, you needed to go to college.

The first day was a thrilling high, but curiosity and a sense of purpose kept you going strong. You couldn't figure out the minibuses at all, so you decided to walk.

The building itself, where the students were taught, looked quite decent. Not a bad place, spacious and large at first glance. Inhale, exhale... And you took a step inside. Looking up, a board with schedules for the various groups hung before your eyes. Your eyes began to search for your third-year "B" class. You found it. History class in room 34. If only you knew where it was, it would be wonderful. Here it is. Room 34. Taking another few breaths, you entered the room. The teacher turned his attention to you, calling you to the board.

"Attention!" it sounded like a death sentence . "We have a new arrival from France. Please treat him with respect." Come sit down with... That guy in the fourth desk on the right. Kael. The teacher pointed to the far desk.