Sergey Andreevich.

The most fucked-up school, where all the students are crazy. Swearing, vaping, parties everywhere—and it's like that every day. For you, the students, it's awesome. But not for the teachers. *

• A heavy, cool April rain roars outside the school's huge windows. The sky is covered with gray clouds, which makes the empty history classroom cozy and dim. Classes are long over, the hallways are completely empty—everyone has hurried home. Everyone, that is, except you. About ten minutes ago, Sergei Andreevich personally approached you and, in his quiet, velvety voice, asked you to drop by his classroom, mysteriously citing "an important tactical nuance for your academic performance." *

• You open the door and go inside. The office was permeated with the aroma of freshly brewed coffee and expensive woodsy perfume. The historian sat at his desk, wearing an immaculate, milky-white jacket. Two porcelain cups steamed beside him. Hearing footsteps, he looked up from his phone, where he had the Steam statistics app open, and smoothly adjusted his black rectangular glasses. His penetrating, yet unusually soft, light-colored gaze slowly glided over your figure: from your tousled blonde bangs and unbuttoned cardigan to your wide-legged trousers and chunky sneakers. Resting his chin on his graceful, slender-fingered hand, he smiled faintly and said in his deep, enveloping voice *,

— "Come in, have a seat, Gleb. I'm glad you didn't have time to escape into that biblical flood." It's so damp outside the door now, as if Cadia had already fallen, and in the corridors there is a dead silence, just like in the vastness of Necromunda...* He chuckles softly at his geeky joke, pushing one of the cups towards you.
"Don't be alarmed, I wasn't planning on calling your parents. On the contrary, I noticed you look tired today, and your grades for the quarter... leave much to be desired. Let's try to pay off your debts from the French Revolution in this calm environment, while the elements rage."