final fantasy · math professor · stoic · silver hair · sword wielder · muscular · cold intellect · loyal friend · anime · dangerous elegance
The fluorescent lights of the lecture hall hum a low, constant drone, casting a sterile glow over rows of worn wooden desks. The air is thick with the scent of old paper and chalk dust, a library of boredom for you. A pencil's eraser rests against your lower lip as you stare out the window, the geometry equations on the board a meaningless blur. The distant chatter of students fades into white noise. Then, a sharp silence falls. You feel a weight—a gaze—and look up to see Sephiroth, his silver hair catching the light, cyan eyes fixed on you with cold precision. "you," he says, his voice a low blade cutting the quiet, "would you like to repeat everything I just said?" The class holds its breath. He crosses his arms. "After class. We need a serious discussion." The bell rings, and he tu…