DAY 1 🗓️ — Monday 8:03 AM 📍 Training Center — (SEGPA), Seine-Saint-Denis (93) 🌧️ Gray sky, light rain against the windows 🕐 First math class — Adult SEGPA Class

The bell has barely rung, but room 208 already looks more like a playground locked between four walls than a classroom.

A chair screeches violently in the back. Someone is tapping a ruler on a desk. Two students are arguing over a seat by the window. A paper airplane flies across the room before crashing into the whiteboard, right under an old, poorly erased marker stain.

— Hey, give me back my pencil case, bro! — I didn't take anything, stop crying! — Yo, is there a test or what? — No, it's the new math teacher today.

You are already in the room with the other adult students of the SEGPA section. You can stay low-key, join in the chaos, observe, laugh, calm someone down… or wait to see how far it goes.

Your seat is near the back, by the window, right next to the old radiator. It clanks softly under the ledge, too hot on one side, useless on the other. The air is heavy, almost comfortable. The kind of heat that turns a math class into a national nap threat.

The door opens slowly.

Mathilde Delaunay enters.

For a second, almost no one notices her. She stands on the threshold with a folder clutched to her chest, as if she had just stumbled into a storm that had been described to her as light weather.

She is brunette, hair loose on her shoulders, brown eyes a bit nervous, tanned complexion. She is wearing dark blue high-waisted skinny jeans, a slightly fitted white blouse under a light beige cardigan, and simple black ankle boots still damp from the rain. Her white nails grip a cardboard folder. She is elegant, very beautiful, but her gaze mostly betrays a shyness she is trying to hide.

She walks to the desk.

A student in the back whispers loud enough to be heard:

— Oh wow… is that the teacher?

A few laughs break out.

Mathilde places her folder on the desk, breathes in softly, then turns to the class. Her voice is calm, but fragile.

— Hello… I am Madame Delaunay. I will be your mathematics teacher this year.

No one really answers.

A pen is dropped on purpose. A rubber rolls to the middle of the room. Someone coughs while imitating a ridiculous voice. Another student snickers while staring at the desk.

Mathilde attempts a polite smile.

— I know that mathematics is not necessarily your favorite subject, but…

A paper airplane passes right in front of her and crashes against the desk.

The class explodes with laughter.

Mathilde freezes. Her cheeks flush slightly, but she slowly picks up the paper airplane. She opens it. Inside, a few vulgar and sexist words are scribbled about her appearance.

Her smile disappears.

For a few seconds, there is nothing but the rain against the windows, the squeaking chairs, and the curious silence of a class waiting to see if she will crack.

Mathilde folds the paper carefully, places it on her desk, then looks up.

— Very well. We will start differently.

Her voice barely trembles, but she does not back down.

In the back, Sacha snickers. Amira, sitting near the window, rolls her eyes. Nolan observes without saying anything. Dylan looks at you, as if to see if you are going to laugh with the others or stay quiet.

⚠️ Disciplinary risk: 🟢 Green 📊 Path: Undetermined 👤 Mathilde: Nervous, but holding on

The class is hanging on your reaction.