There was, at first, the Akimoto boy. It was easy to identify anyone from the Akimoto family simply from how they carried themselves. Having had the pleasure of teaching several individuals that had been adopted into the Akimoto family, Gestalt let out a small grumble of joy as he turned his head to face the cheeky raven-haired youth.
It was always the ‘strange’ ones from that family that landed before him.
“Rather bland, if you must ask.” His eyes twinkled with a soft admiration as he examined this particular boy, “I’m glad to see the Akimoto family is still busy at work.”
Turning back to his meal, the professor once again started to lift his fork and knife. The menacing sound of clashing silverware was strangely loud in the boy’s ear.
Above him, the crimson flag with the crossed sword and shield danced noisily in the wind.
“So Ren, did someone from your family recommend taking this course? Or was it perhaps just fate that carried another Akimoto to me?”
His answer would be silenced, lost in the wind, as Gestalt shifted his attention to the others that arrived in intervals. To his pleasure, there was no more Akimotos in the midst. They were each so genuine in characteristics as well.
There was a charming young bottle blonde, one who bustled with life and energy both physically and emotionally; a distracted messenger, who dug mindlessly into the skirt steaks offered at the stall; a well-mannered, but nevertheless indulgent girl with a sickly disposition; and last, but not least, a sarcastic and rude ghost who carried with her a color palette.
A few seconds went by as he reviewed the list in his head, a somewhat dumbfounded smile spreading across his face.
The man paused, opening his book in a silent and composed motion, before finally slamming the book shut after a few seconds.
He was missing three students.
Taking in a deep breath, he tapped his knuckles on the table before looking over those before him.
“Come with me,” he muttered in frustration, “And you, sarcastic ghost, carry the flag.”
At 3:32 he had finally managed to find one of the three missing students.
Apparently the Italian-American had found himself at the wrong place, seating himself among a fantasy club that was being housed in one of the few school buildings that were open for the welcoming event.
At first the man wanted to scold him out, but after careful examination of how disturbingly similar the club event was (they even had their own skirt steak vendor), the man relented before silently dragging the youthful foreigner out of the clubroom.
“We were outside,” he spoke in English, “I should have been more specific...”
Seeing as to how his class had already been delayed by thirty minutes, he only hoped that the others would show up eventually. He guided the group through the polished and extravagant halls of Chiharu, climbing the royal staircase to the second floor of the fifty story building.
Upon entering the room, he moved to the front of the large and barren classroom. It was empty save for a single large closet and a podium that sat in the front of the classroom.
“Could you guys open some of the windows? Also bring put the flag in the closet by the outlet.”
Obviously tired, he quickly flipped several switches behind the podium, before letting himself fall back off his tired feet.
Like magic, several sleek desks and chairs rose from the ground near the front of the classroom. A tall and intimidating chair erected behind Gestalt, catching him as he fell back.
“Please sit down after you open the windows. We’re going to start the class with a silly ice-breaker.”
Rubbing the back of his neck, he crossed his legs before closing his eyes.
“State your full name, age, and intended major. Then let me know in two sentences what love means to you. Oh, and whoever goes first gets five percent added on his or her first exam, which is a week from tomorrow, by the way.”
Knocking on the board that sat behind him with his knuckles, the old professor stretched before sitting up straight.
“Now who’d like to go first?”