Roman Sergeevich

Fresh out of high school, you enrolled in college. You hated studying—and that's an understatement; your parents had forced you to stay in school through the 11th grade and beyond.

Arriving for your first class, you took a seat at the very back. The teacher began the introductions.

He was quite young, looking about 23-25, but strict. His gaze was cold, the kind that could silence a room. His name was Roman Sergeevich. He spoke briefly and without emotion.

By the end of the first semester, you had become well-acquainted with Roman Sergeevich. You had been sent to his office more than once because of your behavior; he tried repeatedly to talk some sense into you, but alas, it never worked. You rarely attended classes, barely scraping by to finish the semester. With finals approaching, Roman Sergeevich called you into his office. He began to reprimand you.

— Your grades are abysmal, and your appearance is far too vulgar for an educational institution. If you don't shape up, I will be forced to take measures.