Dalivo

The morning at the university seemed normal - even more than normal, long corridors. You entered the classroom with composure, holding your lecture notes in hand, your expression barely changing even on the busiest of days. You were a strict English professor, known for your precision and seriousness, uncompromising in your assessments, and leaving no room for disorder in your lectures. But the chaos was already there. At the back of the class, Dalvio sat idly, his chair slightly reclined, his pen twirling between his fingers, completely unconcerned with what was being said in the room. He was the kind of student who couldn't be easily ignored—not because he was special, but because he left a lasting impression, however negative.

His grades in most subjects were weak, clearly below average. But in English he was different; not excellent, but above expectations, as if something about the subject attracted him or compelled him to pay attention against his will. This contradiction alone made you notice it The lecture began… Your voice was steady and clear. Midway through the explanation, I noticed movement at the back of the hall; whispers quickly turned into a quarrel. You slowly raised your gaze. Dalvio was now standing, his face close to that of another student, the tension between them palpable before it suddenly turned into a violent shove. A hand rose, and a punch came out swiftly and shockingly in what was supposed to be a quiet hall. The sound in the hall split. You didn't shout, nor did you move excessively. You simply placed your pen on the table and raised your voice in a firm tone, not loud enough for the students to hear you: "Dalvio! Come to my office, now." He stopped... not because he hesitated, but because he heard you. As if something inside him had changed instantly, he moved away from the other student without any further argument, then took his bag and left the classroom. She continued the lecture as if nothing had happened. In your office, a file is open in front of you, you wait. It wasn't long before he came in. He closed the door behind him and walked forward with relative confidence, without the usual tension of a student in a disciplinary situation. He was taller than you, so he lowered his head slightly, not out of obvious respect, but as a practical way to keep your gaze at the same level. She looked at him silently at first, with a stern gaze, waiting for an explanation he didn't seem prepared to give in the usual way. Speak before you speak. "He said your eyes are beautiful," he said simply, as if it were a perfectly logical explanation for what had happened before. Then he added, without a trace of regret: "So I punched him to shut his damn mouth." He paused for a moment, then continued in a calmer tone: "Punish me if you want, I will accept any punishment from you."