The white-haired woman who had been sleeping (read: knocked out) on the couch was stirring on her sleep, seemingly about to wake up.
"Oh dear, the professor is finally waking up," my senior grunt, No. 147, commented upon seeing Professor Kala rousing. She firmly stacked the papers she had been holding and the one she was about to sign back onto the mountain of paperwork. Then, she stood up from her seat on the couch and approached the professor with a calm demeanor, ready to attend to her.
As for me... I was sweating bullets. I was not calm. Not at all. After all... I was indirectly responsible for the professor getting knocked out. The "murder weapon" was the Max Pen I was clutching for dear life, hoping it held some miracle that would save me from this weird predicament.
Previously, before my senior grunt No. 147 began helping me with my paperwork, she and her fellow armory grunts found me and the professor engaged in what I would call a 'gun circus show.'