May, 12th, 1007

  —later in the day

  Gerald wore a content smile as he followed the familiar path across the Spirit Academy campus toward Indigo House, letting the quiet walk serve as his last moment of peace before the inevitable storm shaped as Ms. Solbakken.

  The prospect of Gerald Aldrick, a fully grown man, going out on a date was sure to ruffle his professional partner’s feathers. In fact, it would be a miracle if she stopped at raising her voice.

  But he didn’t fear her. He never did. He just let her go on and on…

  And on...

  Like always.

  Her screeching had become background noise, like a clock ticking too loud in a silent room. Irritating, constant, and impossible to stop. Saying he hated her would be false, but he couldn’t name the feeling either.

  It wasn’t hatred, but he hated her presence. He didn’t pity her, but he knew she held no respect in comparison to him. He didn’t like her, and he thought she was ridiculous.

  Just an existence—released into his life as a perpetual nuisance.

  Not a punishment, no. As a punishment, she would have failed.

  Like forgetting an umbrella on a rainy day—it wouldn’t be the end of the world, but it would nick his nerves.

  Ms. Solbakken was like forgetting to bring an umbrella under a waterfall. The umbrella wouldn’t do anything, and frankly, he stepped in on his own accord.

  Honestly, the only questionable variable in this equation was Gerald and his life choices. After all, were he to accept that Principal position, or make one general complaint to the administration, he would be out, Solbakken-free.

  But why bother? It was just the rain.

  As he approached the Indigo House, he noticed a loose tile on the pavement. He pressed it down with the tip of his shoe, but it sprang back up instantly.

  He focused his spirit energy down in the tips of his soles, feeling the earth blend beneath the tile. The soil tightened and locked into place until the tile refused to budge.

  He would have to repair that later, as even with his spirit ability, it wouldn’t last forever.

  Before going inside, he took a slow walk around the house, letting his eyes trace the line of the path. Up close, he spotted more tiles in similar condition. Ms. Solbakken clearly hadn’t noticed yet—she would have called him in emergency mode if she had—which meant it wasn’t too obvious, just visible enough to gnaw at his own nerves.

  Hmm. Perhaps he could put up new tiling?

  Perhaps Ms. Solbakken would appreciate that.

  Maybe after Saturday.

  With that, he finally entered the Indigo House, hearing the ruckus brewing from within.

  He expected to find students lounging in the living space due to the noise. Instead, he found Ms. Solbakken scurried out of the teachers’ quarters, trying and failing to pull a massive bag through the doorway—the overstuffed duffel bag stuck in the tight space.

  “Ms. Solbakken—oh? What is going on here?” he asked, closing in from behind her. She had her foot planted on the wall as she tried to get the bag unwedged.

  Just as he made it to her side, she gave up, releasing the bag timed right with her shriek, cheeks flaring as she stomped her foot.

  “I’ve had enough of you—that is what's going on!”

  Gerald pulled the bag from the tight space with relative ease—it was rather heavy though, most likely filled to the brim with her various artifacts and witchcraft.

  Did she plan to carry this on her own? He looked at her tiny frame. Under a hundred and sixty centimeters in height, and with her petite frame, she typically made him carry everything.

  Wait—did she just—

  “You’re leaving somewhere?” he asked.

  “Yes! I filed for re-assignment.” She crossed her arms over her teal sweater, pouting. “I can’t STAND this any longer. Not only do you never listen, but NOW you’re also taking my work? Do you think I can’t handle a single Spiriter Home visit?”

  Gerald cleared his throat, a poorly disguised attempt to hide his frustration.

  “Ms. Solbakken—I only meant to help—”

  “Help from the likes of you is unappreciated!”

  Maybe it was his imagination, but he could see the ends of her white hair lift—just slightly—as though her spirit energy had tugged the strands upward with her anger.

  “Do you have any idea how I feel? To have Gerald Aldrick, the legendary Colonel, as my partner?” she cranked up her volume. “Oh, but I know better than anyone that you’re just a directionless youngster, unable to cope with your own trauma. I’m telling you right now—I was a mercy to you. Because no woman would ever tolerate working in your miserable shadow!”

  “Hmm…” Gerald considered her words, plucking out only the relevant information. “Does that mean you made a formal complaint about me?”

  She spat right back, “Of course I did! I told the administration everything! Your disrespect, your ignorance, your refusal to cooperate, and your constant drinking! Don’t think I left that out!”

  “Hmm…” He mulled it over, but didn’t even get a moment of collection in.

  “Is that all you have to say?” she shouted at him.

  He faced her with a contemplative look, hand under his chin. “I’m just wondering why you’re the one packing your bags—”

  “Oh, so now you’re going to blame ME for this, are you?” She gritted her teeth. “This is exactly what I meant–”

  That was not what Gerald meant at all, and knowing this would turn into a lengthy rant, he decided to tune her out pre-emptively. No point in trying to reason with her until her energy subsided.

  Instead, he allowed himself to consider the implications.

  Indeed, Ms. Solbakken had filed a formal complaint with the administration about his conduct, even mentioning his occasional drinking. It wasn’t the dire issue she made it out to be, at least not in his eyes. But in the context of teaching—and holding responsibility for teenage students—it was more than just a technically valid concern.

  And yet she was the one forced to pack her bags and move to a different house.

  Likewise, another female colleague would be relocating her work life to move here in her stead.

  No word in the dictionary could describe this situation better.

  Misogyny.

  It was a lingering problem in their society, and even more so among spiriters. Back when Gerald was just a student, in fact, only male teachers taught spiriters. Even among students, girls had a hard time standing out.

  “—taking me seriously! All I’ve ever done for you—all my attempts to hinder your self-destructive tendencies—”

  It was around the time Gerald was stationed in Volnyr when Spirit Academy hired their first female teacher—no doubt because most military-aged men were at war. The big news reached even Gerald on the battlefield through the letters he had been sending back and forth with Mr. Friedhof.

  But even something so obviously progressive came with a heavy shadow. Just a couple of months later, the administration changed its mind and introduced a new policy.

  The dual-homeroom policy: in other words, two homeroom teachers per class house. Correct in theory—spiriters more than the regular youth required professional care and guidance, many of whom came from broken families, communities, or systems.

  Or even well-meaning parents who didn’t know the first thing about the special needs of spiriters.

  Spirit wasn’t just a supernatural ability like many regular people assumed. In fact, most spiriters didn’t have abilities at all.

  And yet they suffered the same mental dysregulations that came with spirit. To make things worse, the effects it had on individuals varied greatly from student to student.

  To have one homeroom teacher cater to a full class of students’ emotional, spiritual, and educational needs, while living with them in the same house every day of the year.

  It was something not many could do.

  Well, Mr. Friedhof was obviously an exception.

  “—I will have you know, I’ve been protecting you this whole time, but I’m sick and tired of this unfair dynamic. You do NOT deserve—”

  But also, while the policy had its positives, it automatically cut off the agency that hiring women brought.

  Recently, the Spirit Academy had settled on a culture in which each house had a male and a female teacher, essentially simulating a model ‘nuclear family’ in each class house. Sometimes male teachers were allowed to stand in for the female teacher during their mother’s leave, but never the other way around.

  And this situation with Ms. Solbakken was but a reminder of that very system which would refuse to hire her, not even twenty years ago.

  Now imagine if, hypothetically, Ms. Solbakken actually had a bad partner. And still, she would be the one punished and forced to move out.

  This outcome would be heartbreaking.

  But to do anything about it, Gerald would first have to care about Ms. Solbakken.

  Which he didn’t.

  “And here’s the thing, youngster! YOU spell nothing but trouble and chaos! Everywhere you go, you bring problems with you—yours and others’!”

  Gerald didn’t perk up at that, per se; his musings were simply over at this point. Although judging by her tone, it sounded like she was wrapping up too.

  “And the last thing I will say, young man!” she continued, “One day—I guarantee it—you will look back at this moment and realize I was RIGHT all along!”

  She turned on her heels, dragging that unnecessarily huge bag with her, no doubt leaving scratches on the wooden panels.

  He would have to fix that if he didn’t want to make a bad impression on his new colleague.

  Another item on his to-do list.

  Couldn’t Ms. Solbakken have just packed into multiple bags, saving him the trouble?

  But he couldn’t quite disassociate like he usually did around her, which was odd. Instead, her words echoed in his mind.

  “One day, you will look back at this moment and realize I was RIGHT all along!”

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  For some reason, that stuck out to him.

  “Ms. Solbakken,” he called out.

  She turned and faced him; her razor-sharp eyebrows furrowed, but she waited.

  Was he really about to say this?

  It was so unlike him; just the thought made him somewhat uncomfortable.

  And yet it seemed the most natural response to such an audacious claim.

  “I’m saying this with as little respect as I can muster, but I don’t think that will ever happen.”

  The only way to describe her reaction was that of a grenade flung on the ground, about to combust and detonate within the house.

  And Gerald felt cheeky, but good.

  “Good luck to you, disgraceful brat!” she shouted, “If you think I was the problem, just wait until Viera gets here. Oh, she will make your life a living hell!”

  With that, she slammed the door.

  And honestly, as soon as she left the house, so too left any lingering thoughts of her existence from his mind.

  Instead, three enquiries remained.

  The first being: Viera. He considered the name, but without a surname—something Ms. Solbakken hadn’t provided—he was completely at a loss. He referred to all his colleagues formally, after all.

  Second, that drinking complaint. Gerald doubted it would be an offense so serious that they would fire him—certainly not. But he feared his globe might get confiscated where he kept his alcohol stashed. That would be very disappointing.

  Lastly, and most importantly, that date with Ms. Taylor. He didn’t even have to mention it, and now nobody was standing between him and his plans.

  Hm, perhaps he could go out and buy her a gift since Ms. Solbakken’s sudden departure granted him some free time.

  It didn’t seem like the students were back at the house yet after all. It was awfully quiet inside for that.

  Oh, right, he realized. Today was faction day. He had more than enough time.

  With that, he walked towards the door.

  ︵ ? ︵?︵ ? ︵??︵ ? ︵?︵ ? ︵

  As Gerald stepped out of the house, a sudden noise hit him—shuffling, a quick gasp, something making contact against the doorframe. He froze, then caught sight of a woman right at the edge of his doorstep, jolting backwards.

  Her long ginger hair whipped over her shoulder, and her framed glasses slipped free from her face. They hit the ground with a light clank. She stared at him wide?eyed, halfway between apology and panic.

  “Ah–oh, God. M-Mr. Aldrick. I’m sorry, I—”

  Her cheeks were redder than her hair as she knelt, her hands reaching randomly by his feet to find her glasses—delicate fingers tracing the tiles.

  Gerald took a small step back. He spotted the glasses off to her side, buried in a patch of grass, just out of reach from where she was crouched. He smiled awkwardly at the situation, bending down to grab them for her.

  "No, no, I’ve got them,” he said calmly, picking them up, flicking dirt off the glass. He passed them to her, staying crouched at the same level.

  Her vision was impaired, no doubt about that—she couldn’t even find the glasses he was holding out. Her palm landed on his forearm before she finally located the frames, her fingers brushing against his gloves. She clutched the glasses to her chest, opened them, and slipped them back onto her face.

  Now, their eyes met. She was a fine-looking young lady, with a naturally clear skin complexion—no make-up he could detect. She had pretty big green eyes, a shade that complemented her ginger hair, which was tied up in a loose updo.

  “Let me help you—I didn’t mean to scare you like that,” he spoke, tone composed. He gently placed his hands below her elbows to lift her; she gasped but followed his lead back to their standing position.

  Rather tall for a woman, too—a hundred and eighty centimeters at least. She wore a flattering brown blouse, her shape defined by a cute, long dark green dress—tight at the top, loose and flowing at the bottom.

  “Oh gosh, that was embarrassing. I’m so sorry,” she shook her head, struggling to catch her breath. Her eyes kept shifting from him to the ground as she hugged her chest.

  Eager to spare her further embarrassment, Gerald spoke with a calm tone. “Not at all. It happens to the best of us.”

  She swallowed, but the pink flare of her cheeks remained.

  This woman looked familiar, though he kept reaching back, trying to recall where they had met.

  Certainly not from faculty meetings, or did he just never notice? He felt he had a good read on the other homeroom teachers.

  But seeing her in front of the Indigo House, that could only mean—

  “I assume you’re Viera?”

  Her lips opened before she snapped them shut, now blushing a deeper red, if that was even possible. Gerald felt the guilt seeping into him. Did he overstep by using her first name?

  Finally, she shook her head, laughing awkwardly, but the redness remained.

  "No—oh God, no. I’m not—not… Ah, this is the worst case scenario…”

  Now Gerald was very confused. If she wasn’t Viera, who was she?

  And what was she doing here?

  He didn’t mean to stand there, saying nothing, but it was hard to reach for words at this point in the directionless conversation. The woman, on the other hand, seemed far too flustered to explain herself, and needling her would only make things worse.

  That was when it clicked into place.

  “Oh, I know you.” He placed his hands on his hips, smiling.

  Of course, she was a junior from his student days.

  But his recognition seemed to frighten her further; she gawked up at him with a start.

  “I—I…”

  “You’re the coffee machine girl,” he clarified. The nickname was meant to lighten the mood, but her reaction was far from what he had hoped for. Instead, her breathing picked up again.

  Gerald tried to rephrase, realizing it may have sounded dismissive the first time. Which most certainly wasn’t his intention.

  “I remember you from the academy before—” Before he was deployed to Volnyr, but he chose against saying that; the situation was awkward without morbid commentary. “I remember—the academy was abuzz over the first?year genius from the Glauffether faction and her brilliant inventions. Like the coffee machine running on spirit energy that we still use in the cafeteria. It’s really impressive.”

  Her tense shoulders eased; she placed her hand over her chest, a heavy exhale leaving her full lips.

  “Haha, y-yeah. That was me. I didn’t think you would remember me...” She couldn’t even look at him.

  Gerald felt a pang of guilt at this poor woman's intimidated behavior… He made sure to sound as gentle as possible to avoid frightening her further.

  “I can’t say I remember your name, unfortunately. So perhaps a proper introduction is in order? My name is Gerald Aldrick.”

  She looked at his extended hand first, then met his eyes. She was quiet—her gaze lingered on him. Her pupils widened sharply, almost entirely covering her green eyes.

  What could such an involuntary reaction mean? Was it fear?

  “I’m Ingrid Karsdottir.” She finally accepted his handshake but had to look away. “I’m—I’m actually a newly hired teacher.”

  Gerald nodded. “Ah, yes. You must be the new partner of Mr. Holland.”

  “Correct.” She bopped her head.

  The short back-and-forth seemed to ease the tension in the air.

  “So, is there anything I can help you with?” he asked politely.

  And that alone reversed the trajectory; she froze again, unable to respond.

  “Since you came over to the Indigo House, of course,” he clarified.

  The clarification did little to ease her nerves, and Gerald was getting worried. What was he doing that was so wrong? He thought asking the obvious question would help redirect the conversation to her needs.

  Why else would she be outside of the Indigo House?

  “Oh… Oh!” She laughed to herself, fanning her red face with her hand. “Ah, I keep making this so awkward. I’m sorry—it’s just—I’m new at campus, I completely mistook the house.” Her speech was a little too fast and rambly.

  She was shifting in her spot—the flush in her face hadn’t recovered at all since the crash incident.

  And the way her eyes kept leaving his, the way she fidgeted with her hands, and stuttered her words around him…

  Gerald knew he was a menacing man—the type that timid women would recoil from.

  This wasn’t his first time. Many women reacted like this around him. Even if they approached him, they would trip over their words, ramble, and get flustered.

  He always tried to ease their mind by being kind, polite, and forthcoming, but most of his attempts resulted in even more ruffled behavior.

  In his student days, though, this got him in trouble with Lisbeth a couple times. For reasons he couldn’t quite understand, she took issue with the poor girls he intimidated and even told him to stop misleading them.

  Though he never quite understood what she meant by that.

  “Well, I believe Mr. Holland lives in the Saffron House. That’s on the opposite end of this pathway.”

  He pointed, but she was nodding before he could even finish his sentence.

  “Would you like me to walk with you?” he offered.

  “No!” Her nods shifted into a sudden and panicked shake.

  Worry crept back up Gerald’s chest, unsure what he said wrong this time.

  She corrected herself before he could speak. “I mean—I wouldn’t want to bother you. I’ve worked here for a week now—I know where the house is, haha.”

  A whole week? He wondered.

  “Well, I don’t mean to push you away—” she continued, “It’s not like I’m opposed to the idea of us, uhm— I just don't want you to think that—that…”

  Gerald exhaled, deciding against following her stated wish just this once.

  Absolutely not—this was his fault.

  For whatever reason, this poor woman was fidgeting in front of his doorstep. He made her fall on the rough tiles; she was flustered and stammering her words. She could be hurting and trying hard to hide it.

  He couldn’t leave it be—it would go against his skin.

  That present for Ms. Taylor could wait for now.

  He extended his elbow.

  “Come now, Ms. Karsdottir. It’s the least I can do after frightening you so.”

  His motion stopped her in her panic. She stared between him and his offered hand.

  Her lips parted; her eyes dilated again as their eyes met.

  Gerald held his composed expression to show there was nothing to fear.

  For a moment, he thought she would reject, but then she lowered her head and carefully looped her hand around his. He turned to her, noticing the light smile forming on her pretty features.

  Knowing he did the right thing, he faced the front—leading her through the campus.

  On the left side of the pathway stood the seven distinct class houses. The courtyard was lined with neatly trimmed shrubs and bright patches of flowers, eerily empty of the usual clutter of students.

  He meant to say something, but Ms. Karsdottir was faster.

  “So uhm… Y-you said you were looking for Mrs. Crosswyn?”

  Ah.

  It finally dawned on Gerald.

  Viera Crosswyn. So she would be his new partner.

  An older woman, the first female teacher hired into the academy.

  It was rather embarrassing not to immediately recognize her by her first name.

  “Right,” he agreed, “Ms. Solbakken told me she would be replacing—so I assumed—ah, my bad for mistaking you—”

  “No, no!” she jumped in. “Don’t say that, it happens to the best of us.”

  She quoted him back; Gerald appreciated it with a polite nod. Ms. Karsdottir looked away but giggled.

  “Thank you. You’re very kind,” he said.

  He exhaled, feeling the flicker of embarrassment disappear. Mr. Karsdottir relaxed and leaned closer to his hand.

  “But wait,” she continued. “Does that mean Ms. Solbakken is retiring?”

  Gerald chuckled.

  Ah, the day that would happen, he would drink a toast in her honor.

  “Not really. She merely asked for re-assignment,” he responded, “Seems like I was a bad partner.”

  “Oh,” Ms. Karsdottir considered it for a moment. “That’s obviously not true, though. Considering her track record.”

  Gerald perked up at that.

  She noticed his confusion and tilted her head at him, her long ginger locks falling to the side.

  “Oh, wait, you don’t know?” She finally managed to meet his gaze. “Ms. Solbakken has been partner-hopping ever since she was hired. She never lasts with anyone for more than a few months."

  Oh.

  He never knew.

  He never asked, he just realized.

  “Really? How do you know that?”

  “Well…” She looked away again, but her confidence remained. “She started teaching when I was still a student, so… And I’ve heard even more rumours from colleagues.”

  “Is that so?” he turned to her.

  “W-well, yes!”

  Gossip.

  He had never heard a single rumor about Ms. Solbakken. It wasn’t as if he avoided people—far from it. During faculty meetings, he made small talk and often exchanged a few words with colleagues he ran into on campus or in the academy halls. Even at lunch, he made sure to join his colleagues on occasion.

  Yet gossip simply never came up. The staff carried themselves with such propriety that it was almost strange.

  But… Were they just uneasy bringing it up around him?

  “Mr. Aldrick,” Ms. Karsdottir’s voice was gentle. “You look troubled by this. Isn’t this good news? You weren’t in the wrong.”

  He was grateful for her sincerity; he even agreed to an extent. But he couldn’t feel like he was in the right either.

  “I’m thinking of the poor soul next on Ms. Solbakken’s list,” he joked instead.

  And Ms. Karsdottir found it very funny—laughing wholeheartedly.

  Her amusement eased his mind immensely. After failing to meet Ms. Solbakken’s needs, he at least managed to make this poor woman trust him enough to relax in his presence.

  He knew he could be a good man; he simply needed to put in the effort.

  Especially for someone like Ms. Taylor, he had to work hard to earn her trust.