The cigar was nice, as he had expected, and in the path Mr. Kasima walked was a trail of thick, grey smoke. He didn't particularly care; most of the kids smoked anyway, given his previous experience. And so it was, with a trail of smoke following him, Mr. Kasima continued his path towards the staff office. It was quite a trek, but he enjoyed the walk.
Still the students were looking at the man walking along with such confidence; a stranger at that. Continuing his pleasant manner of nodding slightly to all who came within that short distance of him, a slow progression was made, and he finally came to stand in a pretty empty corridor, in front of the staff office.
Just as he placed a hand easily on the door to push it open, the bell sounded. He had not realised he was running so late. Pushing the door open, he immediately noticed that no one was there. All the teachers, it seemed, had gone off to their various lessons. A letter was all that was left, in a prominently placed envelope. With no one around, he drew his pocket knife, used it to rip open the envelope, and quickly placed it back within his trousers.
Reading the letter with more of a scan than an in-depth attention, he learned that he would not be meeting his form group as of yet, but instead would go directly to his first teaching class of the year. Grinning at that, he turned, and only then noticed a second piece of paper in the envelope, just before the packet was set to fly through the air towards the bin. Taking it out, a map of the school was revealed, and the first classroom was highlighted for him in a most unlovely fluorescent pink; obviously done by some secretary or admin woman.
Following the map, Hirotashi walked through the now empty corridors with exactly the same poise as he had when it was full. Smooth head high, he moved only his eyes to look at the paper so kindly offered to him by whichever kind soul had taken the time to prepare such a package. The clicking of his white shoes was quite loud now, and the rhythm was a measured one, as were his paces.
After several minutes he reached the classroom he was due to teach in. Luckily, it was not as far as walking from the entrance to the staff room, so he was literally three minutes late for the beginning of class.
As such, all the students were there, and as he took a moment to glance in, whilst at the same time, almost seamlessly, he walked into the classroom. He walked to his desk at the front of the room, picked up a dry wipe pen, and made his way to the white board in the centre of the front wall. In a hand as steady and confident as the man holding the pen, he wrote out his name in black upon the white board:
Each individual letter, flowing, was written with a precise accuracy, and each individual stroke was as deliberate as the Mr. Kasima's actions; a perfectionist in every sense it would seem.
Turning then, he placed his feet a little over shoulder's width apart, folded his hands in front of him at his waist, and continued to take deep inhalations of his slim cigar, allowing it to remain in the grip of his teeth as he inhaled and exhaled. Each breath outwards emitted that same thick, grey smoke as had followed him through the corridors.
Without saying a word, he stood there, perfectly still save for the occasional drag on his cigar. In that silence, he turned his auburn eyed attention to each student for a little more than a moment, before moving to the next. His eyes were sharp, penetrating, his gaze the kind where you felt that you were being measured inch by inch. The type of gaze that left you believing the gazer now knew you better than yourself.
Still, he smoked away on his cigar, a cloud of thick smog like smoke hovering over him, just below the ceiling, like a small sea, waves roiling at random.
This lesson, the first one, would be fun, as it always was. But, being the consumate professional he was, Mr. Hirotashi Kasima kept that anticipatory smile hidden behind an almost stern, yet relaxed, facial expression as he continued to look at each student in turn, ensuring eye contact.