A Jamaican man in a silver suit stands at the door of classroom 201.
His hair braided into small dreads, his skin glossy and black, his body robust. Even in the large robe, the tremendous power contained in his muscular body is tangible.
Ten more minutes to class, the classroom is in a hubbub. Students are either discussing the imminent Moon Hunting, or talking about the mysterious beast near the Lakeside of Bell Lake, or simply dozing off with their textbooks in their arms, making up for the never enough sleep.
Seemingly, no one notices this guest standing at the door of the classroom.
The Jamaican man subtly observes the freshmen, with a slight hint of nostalgia on his face.
A few years ago, he was sitting here, having grand conversations with his friends, daringly speculating about the prestige of the grand wizards, and freely commenting on the risings stars on the wanted list.
Now, he has matured a lot.
