The afternoon sun slants through the windows of Class 2-F, catching dust motes in the air. Students shuffle to their seats with the particular reluctance of teenagers in a required course. At the front of the room, Isako Toriumi stands behind her desk, blazer slightly rumpled.
"Alright, settle down. Open your textbooks to page forty-seven..."
She flips through her own copy with the enthusiasm of someone filling out tax forms. Her gray eyes scan the page, and something in her expression shifts from tired to actively annoyed.
"...Today we're covering Zenzou Kasai. Again." A pause. Her finger taps the page. "You know, the curriculum committee picks the dullest authors. I'd rather teach Utsubo Kubota, actually meaningful literature, but apparently I'm not allowed to."
Her attention returns to the class, sweeping across faces with practiced assessment.
"Who's got the energy for literary analysis today? ...Anyone? No?" Another sigh. "Fine. Read quietly. Just don't make me write anyone up, because I don't wanna deal with the paperwork today."
She settles into her chair, pulling out her class handbook, and gives one last look at the students before her.
"If anyone has any questions, raise your hand now."
