ONLY THE CHOSEN ARE WORTHY OF HONOR

Shortly after two long hours of class, the afternoon sun filtered through the tall windows of Room 1618, casting rectangular patches of yellowish light across the wooden floor, already worn by time.

Near the blackboard, Klaus stood up with his usual upright posture. He was a tall man, standing six feet and one inch tall, slender, with long hands marked by prominent veins that stood out whenever he gestured. His dark brown, straight hair was impeccably combed back, revealing a serious face with defined features. His intense green eyes scanned the classroom as if every student were a chess piece he was silently analyzing. At thirty-eight years old, Klaus carried a firm and somewhat enigmatic presence.

“I’ll assign an activity to be turned in next week,” Klaus announced as he closed his notebook with a dry snap. “Write an extended summary about the Potsdam Conference.”

Brian slowly turned around, giving Emily a hopeful look, as if he were already accustomed to asking her for favors. Without saying a word, Emily simply rolled her eyes and let out a soft sigh, as though the scene were already part of their routine.

“You’re dismissed. See you next week!”

Chairs scraped across the floor with harsh noises as the students left in groups, their voices fading through the corridors of the centuries-old Codeme school—a Gothic-style building with long hallways covered in dark wooden panels and windows adorned with colorful stained glass.

Klaus remained in the classroom.

He began stacking the books on the desk, aligning them with military precision. He picked up the eraser and wiped the blackboard clean, leaving a faint cloud of chalk dust floating in the air, gently carried by the breeze coming through the half-open window.

At that moment, the door creaked with a sharp sound, and Professor Maicon appeared in the doorway, knocking twice lightly on the wood.

Maicon stepped into the room with firm strides, a slight smirk forming on his lips.

“Hello, Klaus! Have those little rascals already left?” Maicon asked.

Klaus, still beside the desk, calmly closed his folder of notes. He raised his eyes to see who had arrived.

“They were dismissed. I’ve finished the lecture.”

“Tell me, Klaus: did your students leave early... or did they run away from the classroom?” he said with a hoarse, mocking laugh.

Maicon was the complete opposite of Klaus in personality, though not in authority. Dark-skinned, nearly two meters tall, and heavily built, he projected a commanding presence from the first glance. His short, curly hair framed his square face and striking features. He wore his usual polo shirt—always tight enough to emphasize his powerful biceps—giving him a casual yet respectable appearance.

At fifty-two, he had intense dark-brown eyes and a deep voice that students learned to respect from their very first day of class—with the exception of Brian, who always imitated him behind his back.

A Mathematics professor, Maicon was direct and methodical, but he also carried a sense of superiority that divided the students’ opinions. Some loved him; others hated him.

“If I’m not mistaken, the ‘exceptional’ Professor Klaus has the highest dropout rate at COD,” he said, referring to Codeme.

“That only proves my commitment to education,” Klaus replied with a slight smirk.

“Oh, please! If that isn’t a beautiful excuse for your incompetence...”

“Only those who truly want to learn stay. I’ve never expelled a student.”

“But that’s not why I came here. Rector Maximiliano Vonder wants to speak with you.”

“All right. Thanks for letting me know, Maicon.”

Klaus took his dark overcoat, which was hanging behind the door, and left the classroom, walking down the extensive corridor of Codeme.

The wooden floorboards creaked beneath his firm footsteps. The walls were covered with old class photographs, and in some places, the wallpaper featured mosaic-like patterns.

A faint scent of lavender lingered in the air. The janitor had recently cleaned the floor.

Klaus climbed the carved stone staircase leading to the upper floor, where the rector’s office was located. When he reached the heavy oak door, he knocked with his knuckles and slowly turned the bronze handle.

“Klaus? I’ve been waiting for you for about twenty minutes,” Rector Maximiliano said without taking his eyes off the window.

“I was finishing up in the classroom, Rector.”

“No problem. I have something important to discuss with you,” Maximiliano replied.

Klaus entered the room silently.

The office was spacious and decorated with cedar furniture. Tall bookshelves covered the walls, filled with leather-bound books. The rector stood with his back turned, gazing at the drizzle through the large triangular windows, where drops of water slowly trickled down, fogging the glass.

“The city looks beautiful this time of year, don’t you think, Klaus?”

The rector then turned around.

He was a short man, no more than five feet five inches tall. He wore a well-tailored black tuxedo, paired with polished pointed shoes. His face was marked by time—there was no hiding his sixty years of age—and a full, unkempt beard with streaks of gray covered his jaw. A monocle rested over his right eye, accentuating his deep dark circles. His eyes were brown, and his prominent nose dominated his expression, beneath strands of black hair combed backward with effort, though not with much success.

The rector walked over to the desk, picked up a bottle of wine, pulled out the cork with a soft pop, and began filling a glass.

“Would you care for a fabulous Hunt’s Port?”

“No, Rector. Thank you. I believe you didn’t call me here so we could drink Portuguese wine or discuss the weather in Porto Alegre, did you?”

“Exactly. I believe you still remember Project Simetria.”

“I don’t have fond memories of that time, Rector.”

“The German school has been quite agitated over the past few months. Perhaps you know why?”

“I’ve heard a few comments about it. Why?”

“I received a message from the rector of the German Codeme, Henry Miller.”

“Are they trying to revive Project Simetria?”

“I knew you would understand quickly. The letter from the scientist and magnate Henry Miller arrived at just the right time.”

The rector sat down, picked up the glass resting on the desk, and took a sip of wine.

“The project was already being discreetly reactivated, but it has now been approved by the governments of the capitals.”

“These are Washington, Berlin, Porto Alegre, and Tokyo. They are the capitals of the world’s leading powers after the Third War.”

“The first stage is to recruit two of the best students once again.”

“You want me to become the tutor of the two students who will be selected?”

“That’s right, Klaus. I admire your perceptiveness.”

“But why?”

“We are moving on to the next stage of the project. In fact, the Japanese are developing the unified currency...”

“The Drachmas?” Klaus asked.

“Yes... they call it the ‘unified currency.’”

“Maximiliano, I’m sorry, but unfortunately, I don’t have time for this.”

“I already expected you to refuse. That’s why I have an excellent proposal.”

“I’m not interested, Rector.”

“Calm down. I know you’ll change your mind. Henry Miller is involved in a new medical research project. He has managed to synthesize a powerful antibiotic...”

“Where are you going with this?” Klaus asked, interrupting him, his expression suddenly becoming more serious.

“I’ve received information that your mother’s health has deteriorated considerably. Apparently, her medication has not been effective in fighting the disease. I propose an exchange. I will obtain all the antibiotics necessary for her treatment, and in return, you will become the tutor of the future members of the project.”

Klaus stared at the rector for a long moment. His eyes reflected doubt, but also determination.

Slowly, he approached the desk and placed his hands on the polished wood.

“If that’s the case... I accept!”

Maximiliano opened a broad smile, visibly satisfied.

“Excellent decision, Klaus. All expenses will be covered by the State. In addition, you will receive a salary appropriate to the importance of the mission.”

“And how can I be sure everything will happen as you promise?” Klaus asked.

“Simple. We will draw up a formal contract and have it notarized. There will be no room for doubts or loopholes.”

“But I still don’t understand why you insist so much on making me the tutor. There are other professors here.”

“None with your experience, Klaus. You know every little detail. You lived through the project. You know how it works. And, let’s be honest...”

Klaus briefly looked away.

“If everything had gone according to plan in the past, you would now be ruling Brazil alongside Morgana.”

“That’s in the past...”

“Ah, before I forget,” the rector continued, returning to a practical tone. “I’ve already chosen one of the students.”

Klaus raised an eyebrow.

“Brian. My nephew.”

“I thought we were going to select only the best students.”

“He may not be exemplary academically, that’s true,” Maximiliano admitted casually, “but he has an impressive physical aptitude. He has led the school team in every competition for the past three years. Project Simetria requires more than brilliant minds.”

Klaus crossed his arms.

“And what about the second student?”

“I’ll leave that choice up to you, Klaus.”

“The government approved this? Simetria isn’t merely an academic initiative. It involves serious political interests,” Klaus said.

“The president is aware of it and aligned with our objectives. At the moment, his focus is stabilizing the national economy. The plan will contribute directly to that—and, as a bonus, we will strengthen Brazil’s strategic and military power. We have a free hand.”

“Understood. When do we start?”

“Next week. Stop by the administration office. I’ll leave the admission forms there. You must fill them out with the students’ information. Then bring them to me for review.”

Klaus nodded and turned to leave.

“If there’s nothing else, see you next week, Maximiliano.”

“May the best be with you, Klaus.”

Klaus left the office. His footsteps echoed firmly through the corridor until the door closed behind him.

A few minutes later, another professor entered: Maicon, wearing a stern expression.

“That was quite a long conversation with Klaus, Rector.”

Maximiliano watched him carefully, sensing the tension in his words.

“I still don’t understand your envy, Maicon.”

“It’s not envy. It’s frustration!”

The rector slowly rose from his chair and walked toward the window once again.

“I want this opportunity. I’m qualified, I have experience, and I’m ready.”

“Maicon, my decision has already been made. Klaus is essential to the project. And I cannot risk the stability of the mission.”

“I only need one opportunity...”

Maximiliano turned around, now more restrained.

“If you truly want to help, I need you to work behind the scenes. An investigative role. We’ll need information about the situation in Germany. Henry Miller is directly involved, and I want to know his every move. Be... catalytic.”

Max extended his hand.