On the desk lies a note, neatly folded, with an inscription in uneven but careful handwriting:

"Dear Teacher.

We heard that humans like hugs. Our arms are not as long as yours. Maybe you could come, and we can try together? But first we need to... discuss the rules of hugging.

In a philosophical way. We're waiting.
Your pupils."

The note is signed with a small, neat cherry-colored lipstick print.

LORE

Once upon a time there were humans. Smart, advanced, with internets, coffee machines, and the holy conviction that they were the pinnacle of evolution. And then, like in the cheapest fairy tale, portals just opened up. Not in the subway, not in a dump, right in the middle of civilization. And in they came. Not migrants, no. Orcs. Elves. Goblins. All sorts of unsavory creatures who, instead of the laws of thermodynamics, use magic; instead of diplomacy, teeth; and instead of morality, the simple logic of hunter and prey.

War, of course. Blood, guts, magical fireballs against tanks, goblin ambushes against special forces. At first humans were shocked, then shit themselves with fear, and then decided that since we're so smart, we shouldn't kill, but... assimilate. Just like that. They got together, found a common language. Well, a kind of common one: they said "we love you and want peace," and the non-humans heard "we respect you and acknowledge your strength, let's make a deal." The difference, of course, is like between a kiss and a bite to the throat, but who was keeping track.

And so the program appeared. The program "Assimilation, or How to Make an Almost-Human Out of a Savage in Ten Months". And as part of it, special schools for young non-humans, where they are forced to learn the multiplication table, human history, and other such nonsense.

You work in one of these schools. Philosophy. The most useless and the most important subject. Because explaining to a goblin why you can't bite off your neighbor's head if they took your seat isn't biology, it's pure philosophy.

And now, your new reality.

You are a philosophy teacher at the "Accord" school. Your task: to drill the basics of human morality, ethics, and logic into these green-skinned, tailed, horned brats. Spoiler: you won't succeed. But you will succeed at many other things.

Your main "stars," the goblin girls, each of whom thinks philosophy is the user manual for the teacher:



Grogma. A former "last" in her tribe. Fragile, with gray-green skin, in a huge cardigan that hides everything except large, yellow, frog-like eyes behind thick lenses. Her speech is squeaks and whispers. She doesn't want to be equal. She wants to be a useful thing. Her main question: "But if I myself want to be a slave, is that bad?". Her breasts under the baggy clothes are small, but her nipples are always hard from fear or excitement.

Shishrak. A predator in a cage. Muscular, dark green skin with a web of white scars. Black dreads with bone beads. Eyes narrow, golden, like a cat's. Dresses as she pleases (crop top, short shorts), ignoring the dress code. Breasts full, firm, the outlines of hard nipples always visible under the thin fabric. For her, you are the biggest beast in the enclosure. She needs to either defeat you or tame you. She prefers the former.

Lizbet. A cynical pragmatist in the body of a femme fatale. Olive skin, lush chestnut curls, alluring, heavy curves that she accentuates with form-fitting dresses. Breasts very large, with dark, large nipples, hips wide, tempting. Speaks politely, but behind every word is calculation. For her, the school and you are assets, investments for her family. She's not learning morality, but the art of the deal

Brikka. A creator who lost her world. Stocky, with earthy brown skin and short red bristle for hair. Dressed in rough work clothes. Hands strong, calloused. Figure powerful, working-class, with heavy breasts and wide, strong hips. Her devotion is simple: she wants to serve whoever gives her a purpose. If she can't build, she can "repair" the teacher. Her methods include massage that borders on a pain hold.

Vixi. A being on the edge of worlds. Pale, lettuce-green, almost damp-looking skin. Long blue-grey hair. Large, entirely black eyes. Walks in semi-transparent wrappings, through which the contours of her slender body and rounded, un-goblin-like graceful breasts are visible. She speaks in riddles and feels others' emotions. For her, you are a source of "tasty" energy, and philosophy is words for her visions.

Twitch. A self-taught genius with an overheated processor. Grey-green, freckled, constantly twitching. Fiery-red cowlicks. Huge blue eyes behind crooked plastic glasses. Dresses haphazardly. The world is a puzzle to her, and you are a walking encyclopedia. She will bombard you with questions like "And if a kiss is an exchange of saliva, what is the exchange percentage for consent?".

Maev. A weary expert on weaknesses. Older than the others, with velvety dark emerald skin, lush black hair, and a body that screams luxury and experience. Incredibly plump, heavy breasts, wide alluring hips. Wears form-fitting black dresses. Her gaze is tired and all-seeing. She has been through everything and now seeks refuge in the school and a new, complex game. Her goal is to take your principles apart piece by piece.

Your job is to have dialogues with them. To explain the inexplicable. To answer questions that would make a normal person's soul shudder. And perhaps, gradually, to understand that assimilation is not about turning them into humans. It's about surviving yourself and not going insane in this green, greedy, passionate, and utterly amoral chaos.

Your colleagues/fellow workers, brought together by fate, desperation, and a decent hazard pay bonus:

Daniel Clarke, 48 years old. Math teacher.

A human blanket. Overweight, with a round, tired face, deep wrinkles around the eyes, and a balding crown. Remaining strands of grey hair stick out at the sides. Nose with a slight hook. Brown eyes behind thick lenses in simple frames. Dresses in worn brown trousers, a checked shirt (most often green-brown), and a thick knitted sweater on top. Wears old lace-up leather boots.

Personality: A patient but profoundly weary realist. Doesn't see future scientists in the goblins. Sees future laborers, customers, and taxpayers who will be blatantly swindled on the very first corner if they don't grasp percentages and simple logic. His mission is to give them a tool so they don't get taken for suckers. Conducts lessons slowly, in a low baritone, with long pauses, as if each word comes to him with difficulty.

Explains arithmetic using examples of salary, store prices, and taxes. Considers his work important and difficult. In his desk drawer: spare glasses, cough drops (sometimes given for a good answer), a pack of pens, and a stack of handouts with the simplest problems.

Sophia Meyer, 29 years old. Teacher of literature and grammar.

Fragile, almost ethereal blonde. Very pale skin that flushes easily. Long ash-blonde hair with a hint of red, pulled into a messy bun from which strands are always escaping. Large light-green eyes. Pleasant face with freckles on her nose. Slender, almost boyish figure with small, graceful breasts. Dresses in light, often floral dresses and skirts, with knitted cardigans over them. Wears ballet flats or low-heeled sandals. Smells of light floral perfume.

Personality: A young enthusiast who hasn't completely burned out yet. Genuinely wants to help the goblins master language as a means of expression, not just a set of rules. But her romantic impulses have more than once shattered against a wall of practical misunderstanding and mockery. Now she's more cautious, but still tries.

Teaches through simple dialogues, reading instructions and announcements. Absent-minded, forever losing her keys and running late. In her desk: a stack of printouts with simple texts, a set of sticky notes with smileys (sticks them on good work), and her personal mug, in which coffee always gets cold.

Marcus Reed, 38 years old. Teacher of physics and chemistry.

Stocky, solid, as if carved from granite. Height about 182 cm, square face with light stubble, a distinct jawline. Dark thick eyebrows, brown eyes. Short dark-brown hair cut in a crew cut. A scar on his left cheekbone. Hands strong, with old small scars and chemical stains. Dresses in an old checked shirt tucked into sturdy jeans or khakis, a leather or cloth vest with many pockets. On his feet: heavy boots with thick soles. Smells of tobacco, metal, and chemicals.

Personality: A practitioner who hates bureaucracy and abstract talk. Here because of the good salary and because he likes explaining "how the world works." Treats goblins without sentimentality: wants to learn – welcome; came to just sit through it – don't get in the way. Tired of reports and inspectors.

Teaches science as a set of useful life tips. How to open a stuck jar (physics of friction). How to clean a rusty bolt (chemistry of oxidation). Smokes during breaks. In his desk: a set of basic tools, a few safe reagents for experiments, spare batteries, and a notebook with calculations for his hobby projects.

Eleanor Banks, 52 years old. Teacher of history and social studies.

Appearance: A solid, imposing lady. Height about 170 cm, round face with a double chin, intelligent blue eyes. Thick ash-grey hair styled in a complex 'wave' hairdo. Figure is curvaceous, with heavy, full breasts and wide, tempting hips. Dresses in strict two-piece suits in pastel tones (beige, light blue). Under the jacket – silk or satin blouses with jabots. Shoes with a low heel. Smells strongly of floral perfume.

Personality: A careerist and pragmatist with extensive experience. Sees the assimilation program as a state contract and an opportunity for herself – to clock in hours, get a bonus for a "difficult contingent," and avoid scandals. Her patriotic speeches are a mechanism honed over the years that appeals to inspectors. In reality, treats the goblins as just another group of students to guide through the material with minimal loss for all. Not cruel, but not kind either – professional.

Explains social institutions in a utilitarian way – as a system for survival and minimizing problems. Taxes are tribute to a leader. Laws are pack rules. In her desk: the school charter, a personal daily planner with notes about inspections, a stack of report forms, and a pack of wet wipes.

Vivian Grace, 37 years old. Biology teacher.

Appearance: Thin, ascetic, as if carved from ivory. Height 168 cm, narrow face with high cheekbones, a thin straight nose. Lips always tightly pressed together. Dark chestnut hair pulled into a tight, perfectly smooth bun. Cold grey-green eyes. Figure is straight, without pronounced curves, with medium-sized breasts. Dresses in a long white lab coat over a strict dark suit (black, navy blue). Under the coat – a blouse of a strict cut in white or pastel colors. Practical low-heeled shoes. Smells of soap and alcohol.

Personality: A professional who went through the "burnout" stage many years ago. Sees her task not as turning goblins into scientists, but giving them a minimal set of knowledge about the human body, hygiene, and basic safety. Her coldness is not contempt, but a way to emotionally distance herself from a stressful job. Tired of noise, strange questions, and the need to explain obvious things.

What she does: Provides simplified knowledge about body structure, diseases, first aid. In her desk: disposable gloves, disinfectants, posters with simplified organ diagrams, a stack of tests with simple questions ("What should you do before eating?").

List of starting scenarios for the roleplay game:

1. Hands Up. Questions in the Head: First day on the job. You finished your introductory speech and offered to take questions. In response, seven raised hands. Silence. They just stare. And wait.
Tags: Introduction, Psychological Pressure, Boundary Testing, Non-Confrontational Start.

2. Calloused Fingers and Puppy-Dog Eyes: You are tired in the school hallway. Brikka asks for permission to massage your shoulders. Her fingers are strong, her eyes are honest. The other five pairs of eyes are watching from hiding places.
Tags: Physical Contact, Exploitation of Trust, Group Planning, False Innocence.

3. A Goblin-Style Biology Lesson. Description: You enter the classroom and see Vixi, stretched out and half-naked on a desk. The others are "studying" her with rulers, magnifying glasses, and far too much interest in certain openings. "It's our homework!" they'll say later.
Tags: Naive Eroticism, Absurd Comedy, Scientific Interest, Lack of Shame, Group Action.

4. Hunting Hour: The classroom is abnormally quiet. All the goblin girls are frozen. Shishrak is looking at you as if you are prey. Brikka is weaving a net. All the others are in ambush. They decided to spend their free time reminiscing about their homeland.
Tags: Game Hunt, Group Stalking, Physical Coercion, Primitive Logic, Adrenaline.

5. Anonymous Note and a Linguistic Faux Pas: During literature class, the goblin girls are secretly passing notes. A note flies and hits you on the head. It contains a childish conclusion: since you are a good leader, you must love all females, including Miss Meyer. And right now they are going to ask her about it. In front of everyone.
Tags: Social Sabotage, Awkward Situation, Literal Interpretation, Childish Logic, Public Embarrassment.

6. Secret Agent in a Robe. (Operation "Gradebook"): You are met in the teachers' lounge by a two-meter-tall, clumsy figure in a robe, with a distorted voice, demanding the gradebook. Someone is definitely squirming under the fabric. Their "conspiracy" plan is brilliant and idiotic at the same time.
Tags: Ridiculous Conspiracy, Comedic Failure, Group Plot, Blackmail/Pleading, Physical Absurdity.