Lofna really liked Teacher Charles.

Other teachers would just get annoyed when they saw her crying. They’d scold all the rowdy kids equally, splitting the blame down the middle.

But Teacher Charles was different. He was the only adult who’d patiently listen to her troubles and offer comfort.

Plus, he was genuinely kind. Not a trace of pettiness or grudge-holding in him.

She’d once imagined that as a Mage, he’d surely curse misbehaving kids with donkey ears or pig tails when angered.

Yet this young teacher didn’t seem to mind the troublemakers at all.

Shel himself barely noticed the little girl’s fondness. He had bigger headaches—taming this class of rascals.

Ipoli was a small nation-state. Its cramped cities had no space for schools.

So this church school sat near a farmstead outside town. A knee-deep creek babbled nearby, flanked by a pine and spruce forest.

During lessons, kids yelled from tabletops, creating chaos. The moment class ended, they’d vanish—splashing in the creek or chasing through the woods. Impossible to corral.

These unruly children came from local noble families. Idle, untrained, and raised on bravado, they were like a herd of charging wild piglets.

When Shel volunteered to teach math, the priest nearly jumped: "Mr. Shel, as a Mage, why take such a thankless job? Those brats aren’t meant for someone like you."

He’d thought the priest was exaggerating.

Seeing Shel frayed by the rowdy kids, the priest kindly gifted him a sturdy hardwood cane—smooth, polished, perfect for discipline.

"Mr. Shel," he advised, "measured corporal punishment is necessary. We were beaten as children. Only then did we learn."

But Shel refused to hit them.

Even when they mocked him with cruel nicknames and off-key songs during class, he’d barely scold them.

This only emboldened the shameless little terrors.

Soon, hardly anyone paid attention in his lessons.

Still, church schools didn’t care about performance. As long as a teacher showed up, meals were provided. Shel was fine letting things slide.

Amidst the chaos, Lofna was relatively well-behaved.

She thought the new Teacher Charles was wonderful—never shouting or hitting, speaking gently, treating her kindly. Sweet as candy.

So even if he wasn’t a real Mage, he must be a good person.

Though she didn’t understand problems like "counting chickens and rabbits in one cage" or "filling and draining a pool," she’d sit quietly, wide-eyed, staring at the messy math symbols on his chalkboard.

Anyway, she had no friends at school. Staring blankly was all she had to do.

Shel noticed this obedient child too.

Though Lofna always shook her head innocently when called on—admitting she understood nothing—she at least gave him face.

Sometimes, he’d reward her on a whim:

A crispy roasted chicken leg. Fruit drops swirled with juice. Jam-slathered bread...

Every time, she’d eat happily, thanking Teacher Charles while gazing up at him with hopeful eyes, wishing for more.

A bit slow. A bit greedy.

That was Lofna’s first impression on Shel.

But she wasn’t the child who left the deepest mark on him.

-----Hilna-----

Teaching at a church school didn’t pay well.

Real money came from tutoring wealthy nobles’ children one-on-one—producing results for serious pay.

In tiny Ipoli, the twenty-third prince was in his prime. Years ago, he’d married a neighboring kingdom’s princess. They had one daughter: Hilna.

The girl was delicate and bright-eyed. At six or seven, she was already polite, her children’s dresses always spotless. With sky-blue eyes and neatly combed long hair, she looked like an angel.

Next to her, the church school’s monkey-like children seemed like another species entirely.

This twenty-third prince was Ipoli’s most capable royal.

He valued his marriage deeply. Though his wife bore only a daughter, he spared no expense hiring tutors for her.

But finding reliable teachers in Ipoli was near impossible.

Scholars either had church ties or official posts.

A patient, knowledgeable private tutor with free time? Rarer than a dragon’s tooth.

Then Shel appeared—a multilingual, mild-mannered Mage planning to settle long-term. The perfect candidate.

So the prince brought his wife and daughter to meet Shel personally.

Thus, he became Hilna’s private tutor.

As the cherished daughter of the prince’s principal wife, Hilna never attended the crowded church school.

After wrestling with the maddening schoolchildren, Shel would shake off his frustration. He’d walk on packed earth roads into town.

Past bustling streets and stone walls guarded by soldiers, he entered Ipoli’s palace—a four-story wooden structure. Guided by servants, he’d reach the study at the end of the third-floor corridor to teach the little princess.

Her classroom held no classmates. Only her.

Her sole companion was her mother.

This stern woman sat like a stone statue, face unreadable. Dressed formally, she’d sip tea beside Hilna’s seat, watching her daughter’s every move.

Shel taught math, history, and foreign grammar.

The obedient girl always sat ramrod straight, eyes fixed on his chalkboard notes.

When questioned, she’d spring up like a startled bird, answering loudly.

Her voice was clear but trembling with fear.

Her mother was strict. One wrong answer meant a soaked twig from the butler’s hand, lashing Hilna’s palms.

Clearly, the girl feared her mother deeply.

Sometimes Hilna stumbled, missing two or three questions in a row.

Then Shel, pitying her, would ask simpler ones. When her mother wasn’t looking, he’d give subtle hints—helping Hilna succeed to calm the noblewoman’s anger.

Other times, lessons stretched late into dusk. Candles couldn’t pierce the study’s gloom. Then Shel would cast spells—summoning bobbing light orbs. They’d dance on the ceiling, banishing shadows with soft white radiance.

Only then would the timid girl’s eyes spark with wonder and delight.

One day, grading Hilna’s math test, Shel confirmed another perfect score. He nodded.

Hilna’s shoulders slumped in relief.

A perfect score meant no beating.

Just as he was about to announce the result, a servant entered, whispering to Hilna’s mother.

The prince needed his wife at a banquet celebrating soldiers who’d ambushed roaming bandits—"vermin poisoning civilized society," as she put it.

Hilna’s mother frowned but said nothing. She excused herself to Shel, striding out with a promise to return.

The moment she left, Hilna visibly relaxed.

Her mother’s pressure weighed heavily.

Shel felt a pang of sympathy.

But as an outsider, he couldn’t meddle in royal parenting.

He comforted her instead: "Hilna, you did wonderfully. Another perfect score."

"All thanks to your teaching," she replied instantly. "Without you, I’d understand nothing."

"My teaching isn’t that great," Shel sighed with a wry smile. "I teach at the church school too, but not one student there matches your brilliance. Those kids are driving me mad... Though there is one quiet girl. She learns nothing but causes no trouble. I reward her with sweets. Yet you’ve earned so many perfect scores, and I’ve given you nothing. That’s unfair."

He paused. "Tell me, child—what do you want? Perhaps I can get it for you."

Hilna’s eyes glazed over for a second, then flooded with sudden joy.

After a hesitant moment, she whispered: "Teacher... I know you’re a Mage. Can you teach me magic? The kind you use at night—the spell that summons light with just words? I want to learn..."

"Magic requires talent. I don’t know if you have it. But I can lend you my spellbook." Shel pulled a thick, brick-like tome from his bag—the beginner’s manual that wretched system had dumped on him when he first arrived in this world of Aran.

"It holds basic spells. Don’t worry—the letters are readable. Study it slowly. Ask me anything you don’t understand."

Hilna took the book with trembling hands, her breath quickening.

She almost flipped it open eagerly—then suddenly drooped, crestfallen.

"What’s wrong?" Shel asked gently.

"Mother won’t allow it..." Her voice was thick with misery. "She says Ipoli’s Mages are all villains—either assassins or quack potion-sellers. She forbids me from touching such things. Even fairy tale books are banned..." Hilna pushed the book back. "Please take it, Teacher Charles. If Mother sees it... she’ll beat me again."

Shel froze.

He recalled how Hilna’s mother’s face tightened whenever he summoned light orbs.

No wonder.

Ipoli and its neighbors were poor lands. Many Mages here dabbled in shady dealings. Noble families like hers despised them.

After a thoughtful pause, Shel tore out two pages from the spellbook. He folded them neatly and handed them to Hilna.

"Read one page at a time. Hide them in your math test papers. Study the Light Gathering spell when you can. Circle what confuses you. Return the pages in your homework—I’ll explain."

Hilna’s face brightened again.

She nodded, taking the folded papers as reverently as a devotee receiving a sacred text. She tucked them carefully into her notebook.

Just then, her mother returned.

"Mr. Shel, my apologies," she said with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. "My husband insisted I attend a victory banquet for soldiers who eliminated bandits—those blights on civilization. But mingling with commoners’ wives... their manners leave much to be desired. It took time to excuse myself."

"No trouble at all," Shel rose politely. "Your husband is a hero. Waiting for his sake is my honor."

Moreover, Hilna performed exceptionally well again, scoring a perfect score. As her teacher, I'm truly pleased.

"You understand me—that's wonderful," she smiled. Then, looking at her daughter, her expression turned cold. "Hilna, you did well today. Go back to your room."

"Yes, Mother..." Hilna replied.

She then picked up her notebook, stood up, and left.

Before leaving, she glanced up at Shel and nodded at him.