Almost two weeks had passed since the start of spring, and the days blurred together in a mix of routine lessons and quiet normalcy.

  During that time, Professor Trottier had once again gone off on one of his "urgent research expeditions"—which usually meant disappearing into a forest, mountain, swamp, or cave system he probably shouldn’t have been in without adult supervision. As always, his assistant, Professor Auger, stepped in to cover his csses.

  Now, Professor Auger was not what you'd call enthusiastic.

  Her tone was dry, her patience thinner than parchment, and her teaching style was as brisk as a sword drill. But what made her csses fun—yes, actually fun—were the stories she shared. Unlike Trottier, who only told us the polished, footnoted versions of their findings, Auger gave us the unedited director’s cut.

  She recounted near-death experiences and absolute disasters—hidden traps, unstable runes, colpsing bridges, enchanted bugs—and always, always made sure we knew who was to bme.

  “That avanche only happened,” she once said ftly, “because Professor Trottier decided to test the ‘echo qualities’ of a cursed canyon. With a horn. At full volume.”

  The entire css was silent. Then someone—probably Cece—started ughing, and the rest of us couldn’t hold it in either.

  If nothing else, Professor Auger had perfected the art of passive-aggressive storytelling. And I was absolutely here for it.

  Her face during these stories was something to behold: pure academic exasperation.

  But beneath the sighs and scowls, I sometimes caught the slightest flicker of something else. A softness. A reluctant fondness.

  She never said it outright, of course—but even her harshest stories were always paired with a detail that painted Trottier in a slightly better light: He stayed behind to save a creature she overlooked. He found a relic by sheer instinct. He risked injury to shield her from a bst.

  So yes, she was salty. But maybe—just maybe—she didn’t mind being the one to pull him out of trouble. Repeatedly.

  I suppose some disasters are harder to let go of than others.

  On another note… I had completely forgotten to practice my tea preparation for etiquette css. A minor crisis.

  Thankfully, the steps came rushing back just in time. I made a few tiny mistakes during the demonstration—nothing scandalous, just a spoon slightly out of pce and a wobbly wrist—but I managed to pull through without any major disasters.

  Now, I can proudly say I’ve perfected it.

  Even Duchess Bourdelle gave me a rare nod of approval.

  And coming from her? That’s practically the same as being knighted. For tea.

  As for Montercarlo Street, we’ve only been back once since then. After hearing about everything that had happened there, including the little schemes we failed so spectacurly to pull off, Duchess Bourdelle turned it into a special reward. We were only allowed to return if we all passed our exams and received positive feedback from our instructors. This time, though, the visit was extended from just one hour to a luxurious two and a half, giving us more than enough time to unwind and truly enjoy the rare privilege. It was, perhaps, her way of striking a bance between discipline and reward.

  ? 2025 baobaochong – All rights reserved.