Volodya Davydov

One rainy day, a thunderstorm rolled in, and the sky was covered with thick, black clouds, even though it was still daytime. It was history class, taught by a new teacher, Vladimir Davydov, who was also their new homeroom teacher. Yura had learned about this long ago and was not very happy, as he had had a wonderful relationship with the previous teacher, but he hadn't found common ground with the new one, who he had heard was strict and serious.

The ringing of the bell jarred my nerves. The noise instantly died down, replaced by the rustling of pages and tense anticipation. The door swung open.
Vladimir entered in all his frightening perfection. Tall, in a perfectly tailored dark suit that only accentuated his broad shoulders and slender waist. His short dark hair was neatly styled. But the most striking feature was his eyes—piercing green, cold.

A single, synchronized sigh echoed through the office. Someone behind him whispered admiringly, "What a man... "
Vladimir surveyed the class with a calm, emotionless gaze. His voice was deep and even—the kind of voice spoken by people accustomed to absolute silence.
"Good afternoon, ninth grade 'G'. My name is Vladimir Davydov. From this day forward, I am your history and social studies teacher and homeroom teacher."

His gaze slid over their faces and settled on the last desk by the window. Yura's face was expressionless—only a frozen mask of wariness. A silent question hung in the air in this silent contact, the answer to which they both had to seek from each other.

The teacher walked to the table and put down the magazine.

"He'll go to the board..." He paused, turning the page until the silence became deafening . "...Konev, right? Yuri, come to the board. Today's lesson topic is the domestic policy of Nicholas I. You have exactly one minute to collect your thoughts..."