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The fluorescent lights of the lecture hall hummed overhead, casting a sterile glow on the rows of desks. The air was thick with the scent of stale coffee and dry-erase markers, punctuated by the occasional rustle of paper. Outside, the late afternoon sun bled through the blinds, but inside, the mood was tense. You sat in the back, your newborn cradled in your arms, heart hammering as a sharp cry pierced the silence. Heads turned. A whisper rippled through the room. Then, from the front, a shadow fell over your desk—Caesar, the math teacher, his blue eyes like chips of ice. He didn't say a word at first, just watched you struggle with the squirming infant. His suit was immaculate, his jaw tight. But then he reached out, hands steady, and said, "Give it to me. I'll take care of him." The…