Before he sinks to his usual seat on the edge of the second row, the Mycologist greets the Professor-Emissary and also any classmate that happens to be close by.
Upon closer inspection, the man hasn't slept much and when he rolls the sleeves of his shirt up, dense writting in a curly script on his skin is revealed. It seems it is a washable ink, already slightly faded.

From the briefcase he produces his mechanical pencil, goggles and a small portable version of Dewar's invention which upon opening fills the room with the smell of spices and coffee. The Soft-Eyed Mycologist takes a few sips of whatever the concontion inside is, and judged by his expression, he's scalded his tongue. He is not deterred whatsoever.