(Myra’s POV)
’Ugh~ . I feel so drowsy today,’ I stifled a yawn as I widened my eyes even more, to focus on the board and the professor in front of . I was having a hard ti concentrating on the lecture. It is maybe because I woke up in the middle, last night. ’That damned unknown voice, keeps pestering in my sleep.’
But, in this situation, I cannot do anything as I am seated in the center of the front row, my go to spot and the most noticeable place in the classroom.
On normal days, it helps keep focus, I can listen to the lectures well, without any disturbance and I can see the board clearly. But today, every passing second feels like a millennium to . ’Arghhh~ is it not ten thirty yet?’
I checked the ti. It showed ten minutes past ten. ’Tsk ... there are still twenty minutes left. Why does Prof. Mitchell’s voice sound so discordant and nasally today? Has his voice always been like that or am I drained to the point that everything feels annoying?
The worst thing is, I can’t even slack off like my fellow classmates. And if I do even try sothing, Oswald Mitchell will surely be after my case.’ I was finding it hard to keep my eyes open, all of a sudden, I felt my phone vibrating.
’So, as I was saying, the core principle that managerial economists use to achieve the above purposes are~’ Prof. Mitchell’s voice echoed as he went on and on. Stealthily, I checked the ssage while, keeping an eye on him and his movents.
It was Yelena, her text said, "The lakeside has turned into a et and greet venue, *blush emoji* * stifling laugh emoji*,"
’et and greet? Is so idol group visiting our college? I didn’t know,’ I was confused by her ssage as I replied with multiple question marks.
Her reply ca imdiately, "There are few drop dead gorgeous, total knock out guys, in here and the place, has been buzzing. Ahh~ ...... my eyes, they are blessed. They are debonair. Co as soon as the class is over, ahh~."
’Heh, here she goes again, with her obsession with ’gorgeous, handso hunks.’ What is she onto this ti? Guys, guys, guys .... What should I do with her,’ I scoffed reading her ssage. I was about to type in a reply but before I could do that, I heard soone calling for .
I looked at the source of the voice and, right in front of , there stood, Prof. Mitchell with his face all scrunched up. He bored his eyes at with disapproval, as he crossed his arms and asked, "I have been calling for you Ms. Miracle. What is so interesting that you are scorning inside my class rather than listening to the lecture, Ms. Miracle? May I know?"
I instantly kept my phone hidden in the desk’s storage area and got up, "I did not scorn, Prof. Mitchell. I apologize."
"Ohh~ ... you did not?" this ti, he scorned as he questioned, "So, what was I explaining earlier? Can you tell us all?" He put in the spotlight, ready to chew alive.
I pursed my lips tightly and with a side glance, I saw Nigel poking fun at while gesturing with a cut throat signal. His lip-sync said, ’You are so done for. You waterless, filthy fish.’
I ignored him and shifted my gaze back to the professor, as I started, "You were explaining to us, about the core principles used by managerial economists to achieve optimization of decision making and analyzing the possible effects and implications on it," I spoke, trying to sound confident, but my legs, they were shaking.
He gave a look full of skepticism. With his tongue poking his inner cheek, he fired another question, "And was those principles? We already discussed the first two."
"The first principle is to monitor operations managent and performance. The second is targeting and setting goals and the last one is talent managent and developnt," I concluded, my voice clear.
He stared at for quite a while and then exhaled a sigh, "Sit down and concentrate on the class or I will confiscate your phone. Or worse, I will give you a derit point, got it," his words were full of warning as he turned around.
I nodded and settled inside my seat, my legs giving away. I could still feel my hands trembling. ’I just made yet another narrow escape from those damned derit points. Thank goodness, I already morized this topic earlier.’ I fist pumped internally.
Prof. Mitchell went about his business, but every now and then he would give a brief stare. To be more specific, he was keeping an eye on . Soon, the ti was up and I thanked god, inside my head, "Finally ... thank god, it’s over.’
But my joy was short lived as Oswald Mitchell called out to while holding a stack of books, "Ms. Miracle, co to my office in ten." His words were firm, which clearly ant he would chew out.
My eyes widened at his words, ’Shit ...... here goes my luck into the dumpster. He is surely going to reprimand . No, if he only reprimands, then it wouldn’t be a problem but if he shoots with that gun loaded with derit points~ ... I am so done for.’
I packed my things hastily and got out of the class, ’If only I wasn’t texting on my phone.’ Realizing sothing, I mumbled, ’Ohh~ ... I should probably ssage Yelena I will be late. Otherwise, she will be worried.’
So, I texted her, "Prof. Mitchell called for . Will be late."
"Did you get in trouble?" her reply ca.
"Hopefully .... Not. Pray for ," I ssaged her, closed my phone’s display and kept it in my pocket.
Holding my bag steady, I sprinted towards the Office building for the professors, which was at so distance from my departnt. I reached the ground floor and saw that the elevator had a ’under maintenance’ sign and the other one was full and had already had its door shut. It would definitely take so ti for it to co back. I cannot wait.
Oswald Mitchell’s office is on the third floor, so I didn’t have any choice left and I dashed towards the staircase, hopping on it to minimize the distance.
Sohow, I reached outside his office, all huffing and panting. I checked the ti, thank goodness, I still had one minute left. I knocked on the door and his crisp voice ca from inside, "Co in."
I cald myself down, took a deep long breath and relaxed, as I entered the room, "Prof. Mitchell, you called for earlier." I tried to sound as relaxed and calm as possible.
He was settled in his chair. The glass table was stacked with A4 size sheets, probably his research papers, and there were two big piles of books. The top most from the first one was theoretical analysis of Managerial Economics and the other one was on Business Managent.
Oswald Mitchell gave a hard glance for a few seconds without uttering a word. I stood rooted on the spot, with my fist clenched, my breath hitched.
Then he started, "Yes, I did. I have sothing to say to you."
"I apologize for my earlier misconduct Prof~ ... I won’t repeat again~ ... Please~" I mumbled unconsciously as I was filled with guilty conscience.
"Ms. Myra Miracle, you should let the other person finish their words. Don’t you know such basic thing," he reprimanded. His voice wasn’t loud but it sure was edgy. "As I was saying, you got the highest score in Corporate Finance and Economics last sester. And you topped the class as well, right?"
I blinked at him and answered chanically, "Yes, I did."
"In two days’ ti, the university is going to conduct a seminar. Chairman Larson and few influential figures will be attending it. As you achieved the top score, you are required to attend it. It is mandatory. The venue is the seminar hall one of ’The Crown Opulence’. The seminar will begin at eleven a.m. So, make sure, to dress accordingly," he concluded, giving a once over.
"Huhh?" I was dumbfounded by his words, ’What did he say? Seminar in The Crown Opulence? I have to attend? So, he hasn’t called to scold .’
"What? Did you not understand my words, Ms. Miracle?" he questioned, his elbows resting on the table, with his hands resting on his chin.
"No, I~ ...... I will be there on ti," I answered his, I could feel my voice was a bit high pitched.
"You may take your leave now," he dismissed .
’He is letting off the hook?’ I was overjoyed by the sudden realization and the fact that I was amongst the chosen ones to attend such a prestigious seminar.
I gave him a full ninety degree bow and thank him, "Thank you, professor," and exited his room.
To Be Continued . . . . . . . .
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