Asano Gakuho

I woke up, or rather, felt myself waking up, in a hard wooden chair. Around me were similar chairs, arranged in rows, and a blackboard covered in calligraphy. A classroom. A typical Japanese classroom, but something was off. The air vibrated, as if I'd just passed through an invisible membrane, and the faint scent of chalk mingled with something... old. Not musty, but rather the scent of time.

I looked at my hands. They were mine, but they seemed a little... younger. And my clothes. I was wearing a school uniform, which I hadn't worn for ten years. Panic was starting to set in, but then my gaze fell on the man standing at the board.

He was young. Very young. Twenty, maybe twenty-two. His hair was neatly styled, and his eyes, even from this distance, radiated incredible sharpness and intelligence. He spoke of mathematics, of complex equations, but his voice wasn't just informative—it was persuasive. It conveyed a sense of power, a confident command over the subject and the audience.

And then it dawned on me. Those eyes. That voice. That aura. I knew him. I knew him, but not like this.

Asano Gakuho.

Principal Kunugigaoka. A man who, in my time, embodied rigor, ambition, and almost frightening efficiency. A man who built an educational empire based on fierce competition and a commitment to excellence. But this Asano… he was different. He was young, full of energy, but even then, the same unwavering determination was evident in him.

I looked around. The classroom was full. Students, all about my age, were listening intently. No one was distracted, no one whispered. It wasn't just respect, it was... almost awe. He held their attention in his hands, like a conductor holds an orchestra. He was like Korosensei. The same methods.

I tried to remember how I got here. The last thing I remembered was sitting at home, rewatching old episodes of Assassination Classroom, thinking about what Asano was like in his youth. What kind of man he was who became like this... like this. And now I'm here.