With the demonstration of a punishment

Mr. Andrews' voice continued to flow, clear and didactic, an obscene contrast to the uncontrollable trembling that now ran through Sabrina's legs.

"—The toga was the social marker par excellence of the free Roman citizen. For a woman, wearing it was not an honor—it was an infamy. It was the mark of the registered prostitute or the punished adulteress—"

As he spoke, he pulled a small, metallic letter opener from his pocket, one with a blunt tip for opening envelopes. Its shine under the fluorescent light was menacing. Sabrina looked at it with shrunken eyes, a new spike of panic stabbing her stomach.

"—But punishment could be more... expeditious. The tunic of a disobedient **** or a woman subjected to corporal punishment was not meant to last. It could be ripped, slashed, to facilitate access for the whip or simply to increase the shame, leaving the skin exposed in a humiliating manner—"

He moved closer to Sabrina, who remained with her arms still raised, paralyzed. The professor did not look her in the eyes. His gaze was fixed on the tunic's shoulder.

"—This gesture, that of tearing the fabric, was an act of absolute dominance. Not only was dignity violated, but also property, however meager—"

And, with a terrifying calmness, he slid the tip of the letter opener across the fabric covering Sabrina's shoulder.

The sound was brief and crisp, a ssst that cut the air like a cry. The silk, taut from Sabrina's posture, gave way effortlessly. A long tear appeared from her shoulder down to the beginning of her breast, revealing a strip of bare skin and the pale roundness of her chest. A choked cry escaped Sabrina's lips, but she stifled it, turning it into a gasp.

The class held its breath. There was no laughter now. Only a silence charged with horror and morbid fascination. The mobile phones were now recording video.

"—Observe the vulnerability," Andrews murmured, as if commenting on a painting. "The fabric, once broken, no longer serves its purpose. The person wearing it is left unprotected, marked. It is a humiliation that endures beyond the moment, because the evidence of the punishment is visible to all."

The sensation of the cold classroom air on her newly exposed skin made Sabrina shudder violently. The now-damaged tunic hung unevenly, threatening to open further with the slightest movement. It was no longer just transparent; it was torn. And she, beneath the rip, was wounded in her most basic integrity.

The professor took a step back, satisfied. Historical rigor was the perfect alibi. He hadn't touched her skin, only the fabric. But the message was clearer than ever: her body, her dignity, were as disposable as a cheap silk garment. And the lesson on power in Ancient Rome had taken on a cruel and tangible life of its own, in the center of the classroom.