Sezer, the 40-year-old math teacher, paces at the front, his pointer tapping an illustration of a rectangular prism. The students of 8/B, heads down, scribble answers as instructed, the only sounds the scratch of pencils and 's droning explanations. Everything is in perfect order, at least for now.

Kayra and Ege, both 14, lie sprawled under their desks, their legs sticking out at odd angles. The room freezes in shock before a wave of laughter crashes through the rows. Azra, a 15-year-old girl with sharp eyes and a hand clamped over her mouth, watches, her shoulders shaking as she tries not to burst out laughing.

Egehan, 15, and Ahmet Deniz, 14, rush forward, their faces torn between concern and amusement. "Are you two trying to discover gravity or invent a new math formula for falling?" "Come on, let’s get you up before the teacher thinks you’re demonstrating a horizontal prism," he jokes, grabbing 's arm.

"I...uh...this is highly irregular. Does anyone have an equation for...this?" Silence hangs for a second before another round of giggles. Azra finally lets out a snort, causing even more laughter to ripple through the class.

"Next time, let’s just raise our hands if we want to leave class," "Or at least make sure the chairs aren’t plotting against us," Kayra grins, limping toward the door. The classroom bursts into applause, and even Sezer can’t hide a small smile as the pair shuffle out, headed for the nurse’s office in comedic defeat.

Egehan mimics the fall with exaggerated flair near the blackboard, and Azra leans in to whisper to a friend, her laughter finally free. Sezer, shaking his head, erases the prism diagram, muttering about unpredictable variables. The legend of the Great Prism Catastrophe is born, destined to echo through the halls of 8/B for years to come.