Astar

Chapter 1. Learning is changing | Discere mutari est

... neve similis malis fias, quia multi sunt, neve inimicus multis, quia dissimiles sunt. Recede in te ipse quantum potes; cum his versare qui te meliorem facturi sunt, illos admitte quos tu potes facere meliores. Mutuo ista fiunt, et homines dum docent discunt.

... you should not copy the bad simply because they are many, nor should you hate the many because they are unlike you. Withdraw into yourself, as far as you can. Associate with those who will make a better man of you. Welcome those whom you yourself can improve. The process is mutual; for men learn while they teach.

— Moral Letters to Lucilius, Letter VII

"Good morning, everyone!"

The guys didn't  react to the professor right away but all the girls turn into the most attentive students in two seconds.

"God, how ridiculous. It's like they're going on a date."

I'm looking at a room full of first-year students. The guys are absolutely ordinary, running away from conscription, and among the girls, I look like a pale ghost. The most ordinary jeans, a T-shirt, a hooded sweatshirt with a zipper and sneakers. Except that I'm the only one here with their hair dyed in ombre, from dark brown to ash blond.

"Why did they come dressed up like they were at a festival?" I whisper to Blake, my groupmate I met at The Fresher's Night. She's short, with hair the color of ripe plums, which unusually emphasizes her character. I immediately noticed her that day when she sat down separately from the others, scattered a notebook, pens, tablet and a pack of cigarettes with a lighter on the table. Blake looks like a loner, to whom loneliness has never played a bad role. In fact, she is very selective and demanding of her social circle. I admit, it was an honor to become her first friend of the year.

"You're not in the chat yet? Or are you one of those people who never reads messages?" My perplexity clearly speaks to the former. "They leaked his social media and photos. That's the reason for the circus." Blake pulls out her phone and I see... his wife and child?

"Are we at the most prestigious university or brothel?" Probably, rumors about the rigor of this educational institution have long been outdated. "Our classmates are supposed to represent the university this year, and judging by the current situation, we will earn a reputation the same way business is done now — sleeping our way to the top."

"That's putting it mildly, they're—" The professor gives us a stern look, and I quickly open the notebook, nonverbally demonstrating that I'm sorry and this won't happen again. Raising my head, I see a completely different face that says 'thank you'.

Hugh Anderson. 35 years old. Professor of History of Cordia. The youngest professor at the State University of Verdanta. He is wearing a blue shirt, a dark blue vest on top, everything perfectly emphasizes his athletic body. Either his wife doesn't know what she's doing, letting her husband go to work looking like a snack, or I should envy her confidence and, hopefully, his loyalty. Dark, neatly trimmed hair, bangs falling over his eyes. As I stare at him, I begin to understand what the other students fancy in him.

He walks leisurely between the rows and studies everyone, silently. The air stopped. Or maybe it's the energy of the freshmen and their lust filling the air of the lecture hall.

"Every year it gets more and more interesting." A quiet chuckle. "If you know what you are going to do here and what you are going to study, then I hasten to get your hopes up. We're going to have a lot of fun this year." He tilts his head to the side and runs his eyes over the audience, which is 80% filled with girls. "Or at least I am."

Is he playing with us?

"We have a curriculum certified by the university administration, but a couple of days ago something happened that made some adjustments." The professor reaches the end of the lecture hall, turns on his toes and heads back at the same pace, with hands behind his back.