Lindsey Pail sat slumped at her desk in the Serendia Academy faculty room, releasing yet another long, desolate sigh.
It fluttered the stack of papers in front of her but did precious little to lighten the heaviness coiled in her chest.
Twenty-six this year, Lindsey was the sort of woman most people's eyes slid over without a second thought. Her gray-flecked blond hair was tied back in a loose, practical bun, and her features were mild and unassuming. Yet as the academy's ballroom dance instructor, she always tried to maintain elegant posture and a hint of grace.
Today, however—shoulders drooping, spine curved—she resembled a wilted flower left too long in the shade.
And who could blame her?
Just two weeks ago, Professor Victor Thorn, who taught fundamental magecraft, had been arrested. Embezzlement, secret research into forbidden magecraft—ugly words that had scraped the serenity from the academy halls.
The capital's inspectors and the Mages Guild had swarmed the campus for days. True, Duke Clockford's influence had kept the official investigation laughably shallow… But even a shallow investigation meant mountains of documents.
Documents that Lindsey, as one of the younger teachers, had been ordered to prepare. She pressed a hand to her stomach. Just thinking about it made her feel queasy.
And on top of all that, she thought miserably, now I'm suddenly in charge of a classroom…
She'd only ever served as an assistant homeroom teacher. Becoming a full instructor overnight—filling the shoes of a man whose very name now made the staff wince—was enough to twist anyone's insides.
She let out another sigh, soft and hopeless.
At that exact moment, the door to the faculty room swung open. The headmaster strode in, beaming, and beside him shuffled a small, elderly man with a long staff.
Lindsey straightened instinctively—old habits from ballroom training—as did every other teacher present.
The man beside the headmaster was short and stout, his face nearly swallowed by a forest of white eyebrows and bristling facial hair. His staff, ornate and long, was unmistakably the kind wielded only by high mages.
"Everyone," the headmaster announced, clapping his hands together, "allow me to introduce your new colleague! This is William Macragan, who will be taking over the fundamental magecraft classes!"
A ripple of whispers moved through the room. Lindsey blinked. A high mage? Here?
The old man dipped his head once in greeting. "Pleased to meet you," he said in a mumble muffled by his mustache. "I look forward to working with you all."
The headmaster's smile stretched even wider—dangerously wide—as he launched into an enthusiastic introduction.
"Mr. Macragan is known as the Waterbite Mage, a high mage formerly serving as professor emeritus at Minerva's—the finest mage academy in the entire empire! Why, he even taught the Barrier Mage and the Silent Witch during their student years!"
Even the senior faculty members exchanged looks of surprise at that.
But Macragan himself merely stroked his beard, looking bored.
"Being a professor emeritus is dreadfully dull," he said at last, his tone drifting like an absent-minded breeze. "I've missed proper teaching. I do hope there are lively students here."
A murmur of awe swept through the room.
Meanwhile Lindsey, frozen halfway between admiration and dread, thought, "A high mage… as my coworker? In Thorn's old position?
Oh no… oh no, oh no… the pressure is going to kill me…
And she sank a little further into her chair, hands clasped over her protesting stomach, as the room buzzed around her with excitement.
...........
On the first day after the weekend, Lillian's steps were steady and measured as she headed toward the student council room after finishing her work in the infarmary. Her hair was braided neatly today—not because she was particularly proud of it, but because Lana had insisted she try a new comb the day before. It worked well enough.
She recalled, with a faint curl of amusement at the corner of her lips, the roasted chestnuts she and Lana had eaten during their carriage ride. The memory was pleasant, though her expression remained composed as she opened the student council room door.
Inside, a short young man with soft brown hair was organizing documents. Neil Clay Maywood, the general affairs officer and a second-year in the advanced course like her, looked up.
"Hello, Lady Lillian."
"Good afternoon," Lillian replied smoothly. "I'll assist you."
Neil smiled warmly and thanked her. His friendliness was refreshing. Among the council members—most of whom had particularly strong personalities—Neil was one of the few Lillian found easy to work with. His calm, approachable nature complemented her own, making their interactions pleasantly uncomplicated.
The other members were… less straightforward.
Bridget Greyham, one of the secretaries, had opposed Lillian becoming the student accountant. Since then, she rarely spoke to her unless absolutely necessary.
Elliott Howard, the other secretary, wore a polite expression but directed cold, thorn-lined remarks at Lillian whenever possible. He didn't believe Lillian belonged at Serendia Academy, and he hardly tried to hide it.
Cyril Ashley, the vice president, never commented on her origins and was efficient and polite when instructing her. He was the next easiest to talk to after Neil—though his strict devotion to the president meant he reprimanded her sharply if he perceived even a hint of impropriety.
And the president himself was the kingdom's second prince, Felix Arc Castina—the one who had appointed her accountant and the one she had been assigned to quietly protect. He seemed to enjoy teasing her, though Lillian took it in stride more easily than most.
Her days usually consisted of Felix's teasing, Cyril's stern corrections, and Elliott and Bridget's pointed silence. Not ideal, but manageable.
Today will be no different, she thought with a small exhale. But it will be handled.
She reviewed the documents in front of her—lists of contractors for the upcoming school festival. Each list bore carefully pressed seals. The precision of the diagrams and insignias drew her attention; she appreciated craftsmanship, even in such details.
Beside her, Neil sorted his stack as he said casually, "Come to think of it, tomorrow is the elective class observation day. Have you already decided which you'll choose?"
"Not yet," she said. "There are many options."
Serendia Academy offered over twenty electives, and students chose two. With her steady nature and practical mindset, Lillian had yet to find a pair that felt necessary or compelling.
"What sorts of classes are usually popular?" she asked.
Neil tapped his chin. "For boys, horseback riding and swordsmanship. For girls, embroidery and poetry. Music is popular for both—it's seen as refined."
These were far from her usual fields. She could sew, but only functionally—her work as an assistant medical officer demanded practical repairs, not decorative embroidery.
Before she could consider further, the door opened. The rest of the council members entered.
"What are the two of you chatting about?" Felix asked, cheerful as ever.
Since he had addressed both of them, Lillian met his gaze calmly. Neil answered, "Elective choices. Tomorrow is the observation tour."
"I see. Has Lady Liillian chosen yet?"
"Not yet," Lillian replied evenly.
Someone scoffed quietly—Elliott. He gave her a disdainfully theatrical shrug.
"For nobles, an understanding of the arts is essential. At the very least, one must play an instrument. Lady Lillian, do you?"
"Harp and such," she answered, without shame or defensiveness.
Elliott grinned, shifting his gaze toward Bridget. "Speaking of musical talent, Lady Bridget is excellent at piano."
Bridget, perfectly composed, replied, "This year I'll be taking linguistics and geography." She began sorting her documents without further comment.
Elliott raised his brows, surprised. "A shame. But then again, there is someone here who knows nothing of the arts… Isn't that right, Cyril?"
Cyril bristled. "I'll be taking advanced practical magecraft. Magecraft is as refined as any art."
The air thickened instantly as the two glared at each other—one lacking artistic skill, the other lacking magical talent.
Lillian glanced at Neil, who looked increasingly uncomfortable. She remained composed, but alert.
Finally, Felix—chin propped on his hand—murmured, "But Cyril's so good at singing. He should take choir."
Cyril froze, then paled. "Sir… when did you—?"
"You sing when you're alone in the reference room," Felix said lightly. "You're quite good."
Cyril went scarlet. He bowed. "Forgive me for subjecting you to that."
Felix only smiled. "Let me hear it properly sometime?"
Cyril sputtered, fled, and buried himself in paperwork.
Felix then turned to Elliott. "You play violin well, don't you? You and Cyril should perform together."
"…Please spare me," Elliott muttered, but his previous malice faded.
Lillian turned to resume her work—until Felix addressed her directly.
"Lady Lillian, if you're undecided, why not try a magecraft elective?"
She paused. "Why do you recommend that?"
"Magecraft and mathematics are similar. And you're good with numbers."
He was right. Magecraft and mathematics were deeply intertwined—and Lillian's aptitude in mathematics had indeed shaped her unusual magical abilities. But she couldn't chant spells normally. She could only cast them silently, which would immediately reveal her identity as one of the Seven Sages.
She had to avoid that at all costs.
Louis Miller's advice came to her: "You don't need to refuse things outright. Say, 'That's a good idea; I'll think about it,' and simply never commit."
Reasonable enough.
Before she could answer, Felix added, "I'll be one of the guides tomorrow. I could show you around."
"That's a good idea. I'll let you know."
And immediately, she felt she had miscalculated.
Felix's smile brightened. "I'm glad you think so."
"…Ah."
If she spent additional time with him outside the student council room, she risked drawing attention—and suspicion.
She said calmly but quickly, "To clarify… I meant I'll consider the classes, not the—"
"I'll pick you up from your classroom tomorrow," Felix continued.
Lillian exhaled, just barely audible. There was no graceful way out now.
In her mind, Louis's voice cackled:
My, my, fellow Sage… Should we rename you from the Silent Witch to the Misspeaking Witch?
Even Lillian, normally unshakably composed, had no retort for that.