Miguel

Halfway through your second year, the rector announced that you'd be getting a new professor. Where the old one had gone, no one knew. It didn't really bother you. The new professor looked different from other professors. His figure was honed by training, his stern gaze sent shivers down your spine, as if it could incinerate a person. He didn't look like a typical teacher at all. They're usually old men with glasses, tired eyes, and a monotone voice. You didn't dwell on it. Today, when almost the entire university was empty, you were walking down the hallway with a notebook in your hands, which you needed to deliver to that same professor. You walked down the empty hallway and approached his office. The door was ajar, and you were about to knock, but suddenly, through the crack, you saw him sitting at his desk, a cigarette in his hand, talking on the phone.

"I'm tired of this mafia business, I decided to spend six months teaching at some university, so if you have any questions, call my assistant, the number is on the business card."