For twenty years, the world knew only peace. No wars, no chaos—just a golden era of prosperity. At the heart of it all was El Sharkawy, once a warrior whose name shook the heavens, now a humble history teacher in a quiet school. Though he was more than qualified to teach at the highest academic levels, he chose to guide a classroom of sixteen-year-olds.

  One day, as the afternoon sun bathed the classroom in warm light, a student raised his hand.

  The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

  "Sir, why do you teach us and not college students?" he asked. The question carried no malice, only curiosity.

  El Sharkawy looked at him, his sharp eyes softened by wisdom. He folded his arms and answered with a calm yet resolute voice:

  "Because I need to raise the next generation."

  The classroom erupted into quiet whispers. Some students scoffed, others chuckled. They admired their teacher, but they could not comprehend why a man of his caliber chose to remain among them.

  Yet, as always, El Sharkawy silenced them with a single glance. The lesson continued, and the moment passed.

  Or so they thought.