A few of the guys in the back started grunting, the kind of annoyed, low sounds people make when they want attention but don't have anything worth saying. Arms crossed, faces bored on purpose.
One of them, tall, built like a gym rat, always trying too hard, leaned back in his chair and muttered just loud enough, "Can we just get this over with? Teach your boring history crap so we can leave."
It wasn't about the class. Not really.
Ian wasn't boring. If anything, he had this way of making history feel like something that actually mattered. Like it had blood and breath in it.
But the guys in the room would never admit that.
Not when half the girls in the class sat a little straighter when he talked. Not when some of them smiled at his bad jokes or laughed a bit too long. That's what really got to them.
Ian grabbed his fries without saying a word, stood up, and walked toward the classroom door like he had all the time in the world. He opened it with a quiet click, held it there, and turned back to the kid.
"You're free to leave," he said, calm as anything. "Door's right here."
The room fell silent. Even the snack wrappers stopped crinkling.
The guy stood up slow, making a show of it. His chair dragged back with that drawn-out screech that always made people wince. He didn't take his bag. Didn't break eye contact. Just walked straight down the aisle like he owned the floor.
When he got to Ian, he stopped way too close. "What, you think you're tough?" he said, squinting just a little. "Just 'cause a few girls laugh at your dumb jokes?"
Ian looked at him, still chewing, unfazed.
Then, with zero heat in his voice, he muttered around the fry, "Just fuck off, man."
The guy blinked, like he couldn't believe what he just heard.
"What'd you say?"
Ian sighed, reached into the bag, grabbed another fry. He didn't raise his voice. Didn't lean in. Just said it a little louder this time.
"I said go fuck your mother."
The words hit the room like a brick through glass.
Chairs shifted. Someone gasped. A girl in the second row covered her mouth. Even the kid's own friends didn't say anything. The whole class froze.
The guy's face went red. Like blood-boiling red.
"You son of a—" he snapped, stepping forward, arm twitching like he was about to swing.
Ian didn't move. Didn't flinch. Just took another bite of his fry like they were talking about the weather.
And then the kid stopped himself.
The thought must've caught up to him, if he hit a lecturer, especially in front of a full class? That'd be it. He'd be out. Expelled. Maybe worse.
So he just stood there, breathing hard. Fists clenched. Frozen.
Ian stared at him, bored now.
The boy stood there for a few more seconds, his chest rising and falling like he was still thinking about it. Like maybe he'd change his mind, maybe he'd throw the punch anyway and just let the consequences come.
But he didn't.
Instead, with his jaw tight and pride already shattered, he turned on his heel and stormed out. The door slammed behind him harder than it needed to. Still, no one said a word. Not even his friends.
Ian didn't look up from the fries.
He took another, popped it into his mouth, chewed slowly. The salt stung a little at the corner of his lip, but he didn't care. He licked it off and casually brushed his hands together, then looked around at the rest of the room.
"So…" he said, his voice even, almost tired. "Anyone else wanna leave?"
Silence.
Even the guys who'd been snickering earlier stared straight ahead now. Some looked at their desks. A few girls were still wide-eyed. One kid near the front swallowed like he was worried Ian might call him out next.
Nobody moved.
"Cool," Ian said after a beat, grabbing a napkin and wiping his fingers. He crumpled it up, tossed it into the bin next to the desk, and leaned back in his chair for a second, like he had all the time in the world.
He exhaled through his nose, then stood up and crossed to the side table, where the projector remote was. One click, and the screen behind him blinked to life. Faint whir of the fan in the ceiling. The slide loaded up in bold white letters:
The Rise and Fall of Napoleon Bonaparte
He turned to face the class, arms crossed loosely as he leaned against the table.
"Alright," he said, voice still low but clearer now, back in his rhythm. "Let's talk about Napoleon. You've heard the name. You've seen the memes. Short guy, right? Had an ego bigger than France."
A few students chuckled. A few smiled, unsure if it was safe to laugh yet.
Ian let the silence settle before he went on.
"But forget all that for a second. Forget what you think you know. The guy wasn't a joke. He was one of the smartest military minds in recorded history. Came from almost nothing. Corsican nobody. Rose through a revolution, outplayed everyone, crowned himself emperor, and nearly took over all of Europe before it all collapsed around him."
He started to pace, hands moving just a little, the way they always did when he taught.
"He rewrote how wars were fought. He scared monarchs. He broke centuries-old systems and built his own from scratch. And yeah, he also made some dumb decisions near the end. But he changed the world in a way most of us don't really understand."
The projector flipped to a map — Europe during Napoleon's reign.
Ian nodded toward it.
"This wasn't just about battles. It was about ideas. About ambition. Power. Failure. It was about how far one man can go before the world decides he's gone too far."
Now they were listening.
Even the ones who hated being there. Even the ones who'd rolled their eyes ten minutes ago.
Ian saw it, that slight lean forward in their seats. That pause before someone blinked. That quiet, he had them, he always did.