Do I look okay?

Class today was already feeling off. As I slid into my usual seat in the back, I couldn't help but notice the strange energy in the room.

Normally, the air was filled with the soothing scents of simmering sauces, sizzling oils, and the occasional whiff of burnt bread from someone's failed attempt at multitasking. Today, however, the room smelled sterile—no spices, no charred edges, no creativity. 

Something was definitely wrong. 

Our teacher, Professor Luthor, strode in, his boots clicking sharply against the tiled floor. He was a wiry man with sharp features and an unsettling enthusiasm for chaos.

He wore his usual apron, but this time, a heavy leather belt with pouches and vials hung around his waist, clinking ominously with every step. 

"Good morning, aspiring chefs and warriors!" he greeted us, his voice loud and theatrical. "Today, we're shaking things up!"