In a dim records room, a young man was hunched over a desk under a lone lamp, copying something. Every time the administrator brought in new periodicals, he would see him there. The materials on the desk, both copied and waiting to be copied, were stacked high, seemingly endless.

With a creak, the door opened. The person who entered was neither the administrator nor someone looking to borrow materials. A figure in a crimson robe walked straight toward the copyist.

"Have you realized your mistake?"

"I was wrong. I shouldn’t have kept it all for myself..." Pascal cried, tears streaming down his face.

"Hm?"

"Ah, no, no, that’s not it. I was wrong to break the rules..."

Kano sighed deeply. "I’m the one who sets the rules. If you wanted to do something, to earn a little money, why couldn’t you have just told me? Don’t think I don’t know about your little side gigs, hiding from me every day... Besides, if you want to make money, why resort to such shady methods? Every single gold coin your junior brother earns is clean."

Finally, Kano pulled Pascal to his feet. "Go on, get out of here. Starting the day after tomorrow, you’ll take over Rorschach’s classes at the High Master. You’ll have a little extra income each month that way."

...

Rorschach, the one whose "every single gold coin’s source is clean," was on his way to the Valuvanan Higher Normal College. He didn’t take the shortest route, however, instead making a deliberate detour. The young man was once again sitting at an outdoor table at a teahouse, reading a newspaper under a floppy, soft hat. The two items hid his face quite well.

"Excuse me, is this seat taken?" A gentleman sat down across from him.

"Be my guest."

The gentleman seemed to have come from afar, holding a package in one hand and a leather suitcase in the other.

"Judging by your accent, you’re not a Valuvanan, are you?" Rorschach lowered his newspaper and struck up a conversation with the "fated acquaintance." Having spent a long time in the Royal Capital, he had discovered that the so-called Valuvanan accent was just a combination of vowel shortening or linking, a softening of specific consonants, and a habit of stressing word roots. After hearing it enough, Rorschach could imitate it, and right now, he sounded perfectly authentic.

"That’s right. I’m from the north, the Bayern Kingdom—though everyone here would just say I’m from the Empire. I was so tired and thirsty, I just had to get a cup of tea as soon as I got off the carriage."

"What a coincidence. I was just planning a trip to Wertzburg myself."

"A fine place! Its fine wines are famous even within the Bayern Kingdom." The guest thought of something and added, "Of course, the Holy Kingdom has so many wineries, I’m afraid the northern wines can’t compare. When are you planning to leave?"

"First thing tomorrow morning. Now that you mention it, I’m reminded of several things I still need to take care of before I leave. Farewell."

Rorschach put down the newspaper, grabbed the package from the table, and left.

’Why do people from the agency always like to meet for tea?’ Except for that one meeting with Mr. Falcon, every time he had to pick up his Gold Coins, it was scheduled at a teahouse. Rorschach glanced back at the "guest from Bayern," who was currently dumping an insane amount of sugar into his cup.

’Is it so they can get the teahouse bill reimbursed under the guise of a rendezvous?’

Arriving at the Valuva High Master, Rorschach first picked up the exam papers from the faculty office. The midterms had been a long time ago. Although Rorschach had paid Pascal to substitute for his classes, he had graded the papers himself. And since he was the one who wrote the exam, they had been waiting for him to come and review it.

The scores had already been calculated and posted. They were disastrous. This drawn-out trial, prolonged because the teacher was busy, was a case of being "beheaded" first, then waiting for Rorschach to announce the crimes.

Rorschach walked in holding the stack of papers, and the once-boisterous classroom fell silent in an instant. In the split second before everything froze, Rorschach saw the students joking around in small groups. They had gotten to know each other over this period, finally showing their true colors compared to how well-behaved they were during Rorschach’s first class.

The bell hadn’t rung yet, so the students had fallen silent purely because Rorschach had entered. Then, he heard someone mutter under their breath, "Where’s Teacher Pascal? Why are you here..."

’These ungrateful brats. So I’m not supposed to be here, is that it?’ Rorschach cleared his throat. "I was very busy recently, and I will be very busy in the near future as well. So, after today, Teacher Pascal will continue to substitute for this class. I’m just here today to go over the midterm exam..."

"Yay!" One big idiot, hearing that Pascal would still be substituting, expressed his joy openly, only to have his mouth clamped shut by his deskmate.

’How on earth does my senior brother teach his classes?’ Rorschach really wanted to sit in on one right now. "The class average is a fifty-four. Heh, and you can still laugh. You’re the worst class I’ve ever had." In this situation, the words felt so fitting, so utterly sincere.

The students lowered their heads in shame. Then, from among the bowed heads, a small voice piped up, "But aren’t we the first class?"

THWACK! A piece of chalk, accelerated by a "Projectile" spell, precisely struck the source of the voice. "I have students at the Magic Tower, too!" Although the students in his Magic History Class had a terrible attitude toward what they considered an easy-credit course and didn’t listen in class, it didn’t mean they wouldn’t cram before an exam. They could always manage to just barely scrape past the passing line.

But he couldn’t blame the students of the High Master. Their previous education hadn’t included this subject. The multiple-choice, true/false, and fill-in-the-blank questions Rorschach had brought over from his past life had thrown the students into a panic. Grammar Schools tested rhetoric and the like with short answers and essays; when had they ever seen so many tricky formats designed to trip them up?

The highest score belonged to Andre, who got an eighty-three out of a hundred. ’Isn’t that the boy who figured out magic on his own?’ "A good score. Don’t let your practical experimentation skills fall behind."

’As expected, a Mage’s core stat is Intelligence.’ Rorschach wondered if he should recommend Andre to the Tower of Stars after he returned. There would probably be obstacles to him becoming a normal Apprentice, but the old-timers in the Alchemy Department were an unconventional bunch. Maybe they would take in a talent like him.

The bell rang, a clanging mechanical tune filling the air. Rorschach waited quietly until the very last note faded before he spoke, his tone gentle yet serious:

"Barring any surprises, this will be the last time I teach this class, even though it’s just to review the midterm exam." Bart’s wedding wouldn’t be over until May. If matters in the Bayern Kingdom kept him occupied after that, the semester would likely be over by the time Rorschach got back.

The students finally realized what was happening. Even the one who had just cheered at the news of Pascal substituting fell silent.

"So I ask that you listen carefully. The first question was a gimme, one I specifically designed for you to get points on. You should have remembered it if you’d just flipped through your notes.

"The second question was also a gimme... For the third question, if you had remembered the law of conservation of total material mass, you would have understood it. In essence, it was another gimme..." Rorschach began to write on the board.

"Sigh. To ensure you all passed, I really included a lot of easy points. How did they turn into life-or-death questions in your hands?"

Rorschach thought of a particular student. "Batiss, you still got the second major question wrong, the one about combustion...

"I can’t bring myself to scold you any further, Batiss. The punishment you’ve received is arguably great enough... That’s just how things are. Every day we tell ourselves, ’Forget it! There’s plenty of time. I’ll study tomorrow.’

"And now, here are the bloody scores right in front of you. I hope you can do better next time." Rorschach had already made up his mind. Even while he was in Bayern, he would write the final exam and send it to Pascal through the Guild’s Teleportation Array System.

...

"Class dismissed. I hope we’ll have the chance to meet again." ’Does a teacher develop feelings for their students? For the very first class, at least, he felt a great deal.’ Rorschach took a good, long look at each of their faces before turning to leave.

"Goodbye, Teacher!"