YEAR 241, PROSPERITY ERA.
GENERAL ARTHUR INSTITUTE FOR THE GIFTED CHILDREN.
"Another school year, another batch of brats to teach… Sigh, when will I stop doing this job?" A bland-looking, bespectacled, black-haired woman muttered as she adjusted her dress.
Her demeanor, which was similar to that of a disgruntled woman, slowly became coarser as she noticed that her blouse was too fit on her body. One of her buttons was almost close to the point of popping, and it was only through some kind of sheer luck that it was still holding on until now.
This made her hiss a little, although the close proximity of her workplace made her quickly suppress it.
