Professor Eisner

I suspect this will be reaching you on Sunday, the 18th, while I am in transit.

The hemp sack that this letter is attached to happens to contain some of the most exquisitely-sourced green coffee that you will ever chance to consume – if you choose to consume it.

I should state that coffee is a passion of mine – second only to the protection of Lady Edelgard's person and dreams. I will spare you the agronomic details, but do understand that the product that lies before you is an heirloom varietal of the most prestigious vintage – and tended by my own hands – however indirectly.

After receiving a trifling allowance for my eighteenth birthday from my father (comparable to your yearly salary), I opted to establish a shell firm and purchase a sizeable amount of land on the recently-vassalized Brigid Archipelago, on a volcanic island by the name of Ruadán. The aforementioned atoll happens to be in an altitudinal and climactic "golden zone" for the cultivation of the coffee bean.

Fortunately, the island was left uninhabited and used as a sort of sacred nature preserve by the Brigidians. Within eight months of my purchase, all of the endemic flora and fauna was rendered extinct and I leveled every last religious shrine to their Flame Spirit with maximal prejudice.

Shortly thereafter, I established a sizable plantation managed by the most wicked and vile war criminals imaginable, and currently possess hundreds of chattel – a pathetic mix of attempted assassins and unsuitable suitors for Her Highness's hand. Do understand that if you ever betray Lady Edelgard in a fashion that I deem particularly vile, I will capture you – export you there in chains – and work you to death in the cruelest way imaginable.

In any event, I would strongly suggest using the large confectionary oven in the dining hall to roast these beans no earlier than the evening of the 20th. For maximally fresh coffee, the window between roast, grind, and consumption should be no more than 24 hours. Roast the beans at high heat for at least eight minutes – until you hear them start to "crack" from their shelling. Remove them immediately after as this coffee is best consumed at an acidic light roast – this is done to bring out the lemongrass and blood orange flavor notes.

Leave the grinding to Caspar, as I have provided him with directives to this end. His performance at the campsite with the berry-crushing makes him an ideal candidate for such labor.

My estimate is that 25lbs should be sufficient for a shift at the Maid-Cafe. I based on some follow-ups I made with my mercantile clientele. To this end, I have forwarded you 100lbs because you, like the rest of the Eagles sans Her Highness, seem failure-prone. Feel free to consume the leftovers at your leisure.

You must win this competition. The event itself is of some personal significance for Lady Edelgard, and I suspect that following this victory, she will finally buckle down and proceed with fulfilling tasks of greater importance. Understand that the degree of participation that you have had in Her Highness's life at this point is extraordinary and unlikely to continue.

Finally, while tea is favored by nobility, coffee is traditionally viewed as a commoner's beverage. My particular ambition for the drink is that it can be consumed in polite society one day, so I can eventually monopolize all of the Bergamot trees in the world in service to Lady Edelgard. Do your best in my stead to elevate this drink to the petty nobility of Fodlan in the interim.

I shall be watching vigilantly – and bemusedly – from afar.

Your Student,

Hubert


Looking up at Raphael Kirsten, who has delivered this letter and sack to me, I notice that he seems rather tired. He might be an oversleeper by habit, perhaps – unlike myself. To his credit though, he made this delivery at 8am sharp. I wonder if Hubert availed himself of the Deer's family logistics firm – or if the kid was just coerced…?

I find it strange that I have to ask myself this question. Am I teaching the bad guys?

Edelgard's totally flustered face last night comes into mind shortly after, and I shake myself of such an impression. How could Edelgard be evil? The fuss on the training grounds is far in my rearview now, and I find myself entranced by her with each passing day.

Hubert is just rough around the edges, and I'm sure I can influence him into becoming a more progressive robber baron in due time. I've always been an advocate of a military tactic of the Srengians, who I fought so often on the Throat – one they call Auftragstaktik, or leadership by task. If I give Hubert more clearly defined objectives for how to develop himself as an officer and gentleman, perhaps he can carry on those lessons in real-life.

For example, perhaps I could encourage him to improve institutional memory and employee morale by unionizing his workforce. My father was a big advocate of unionizing our mercenary companies by their particular profession, and allowing for collective bargaining for salary based on the role that they played in the company – archers were generally the lowest paid, but negotiated as a group, and cavalry were usually the highest paid – and negotiated as their own group.

That's collective bargaining, right? I should ask my father about this. He was also the union boss for all of the different units — so naturally he was on both sides of the arbitration table as well. That surely offers a unique and unbiased perspective on labor negotiation.

Wistfully, I wonder what Hubert will be up to a year from now. I remember how entranced he was by the Albinean berries at the campgrounds – and they clearly they left a sufficiently strong impression on him where he feels motivated to collaborate with Caspar on this Maid Cafe effort – even to the point of working remotely. And the surprisingly genuine gesture of him sending the harvest his slaves worked so hard for is not lost on me. Their failures at pursuing Edelgard will not be in vain.

I find myself rather glad they failed, too. Less so about their career path afterwards, though.

With all this in mind, I can imagine Hubert using his budding interest in agronomy and botany for good. Maybe he'll make some kind of lotion or soothing aromatic from those berries.

So no, Hubert can't be a bad guy. He's one of my Eagles, after all. I'm glad I'm his teacher, too.

I then recall that Raphael's house leader is Claude von Riegan – and that explains more appropriately – at least in my mind – who the antagonist of my life story must be.

My attention returns to the aforementioned non-antagonistic Deer, who seems to be cracking his neck rather aggressively.

"Everything OK?" I ask – concerned he might have a scapular injury.

"Professor, that is the wordiest receipt I've ever seen in my life. Hurts me to even watch you read it."

I then realize he's referring to the letter the Eagles' Entrepreneur attached.

"It's Hubertian." I reply with a nod.

Raphael seems to try and place him.

"Oh – your stick guy."

In comparison to Raphael – that's a fair comparison – although I'd probably be a sapling myself in comparison to this fellow's redwood-esque midsection.

"Correct."

As he does some stretches, he takes stock of his recent delivery.

"You like buying in bulk, Professor?"

One of the first purchases I made in my entire life was a set of ten leather-bound journals. Then… ten training arrows from his classmate, Ignatz during the mock battle. Do either of those count as a bulk purchase?

"That's generally a good idea, right…?"

Later today will only be the third shopping trip I've ever made in my life, and I suppose it's rather pointless even to call it that – given that Edelgard is treating the entire class to bespoke maid outfits.

Does she also intend for me to wear a maid outfit…?

Perhaps I should've asked her that first before agreeing. But that would've also defeated the whole point of the trust-building exercise, right?

Raphael considers my question for longer than I expected, but finally replies:

"Yup – my folks were merchants. Good business practice, and we'd usually just skim off the top. Fifty pounds of rice here, hundred pounds of grain there. They could really cook the books!"

I applaud their ingenuity. Fodlan's economy still makes zero sense to me, so maybe ruthlessly exploiting it is just the best way to go about life in order to protect my Eagles. Hubert seems all about that life, anyway.

"I'm impressed." to steal Edelgard's turn of phrase – truly, I am.

"Ya think so? That stuff ain't for me – I'm more about pumping iron. My sister Maya though – she's gonna be taking over the family firm once she graduates. I'll beat up the bad guys for her."

"Where is she going to school?" I ask. She's clearly not in an officer's academy uniform, so it can't be here.

"Magisterial Academy out in Morfis, but she hates it out there. She came right home for spring break."

I believe Fodlan actually has a net migration from this continent to Morfis – so I wonder why she hasn't found it as hospitable as so many other Leicestrians? There are certainly fewer civil wars and roaming Almyran wyvern riders out there – considering that an ocean separates the two landmasses.

"Why's that?"

Raphael taps his head.

"Must be the language, Prof – it's hard…! My parents used to move a lotta freight with those guys and I couldn't pick up a damn word. Lot of clicking noises, too."

He jogs my memory of some of the Morfian mercs chatting on the Throat.

"...I think they use those as contractions."

"Con-what'ens?"

I snap my fingers.

"Yeah, like that."

Raphael seems generally appreciative of this tidbit of trivia.

"Damn Professor – I guess you do learn something new every day!"

Curious about his sister's magisterial studies, I ask:

"Maya's a mage, then?"

Raphael takes a surprisingly long time to answer this question, but his goldenrod eyes finally seem to stumble on something after a few moments.

"I mean, I think so – she was real good at patching up my scrapes as a kid."

Nodding, I say:

"She sounds like a good person."

Maya really does seem like an angelic figure. She saved Sylvain's life by sucking him off, after all. Raphael smiles bittersweetly at the compliment paid to his sibling. I'm sure her argument with Edelgard was just another one of those nothing arguments that my student likes to have.

I've bent Edelgard's back before on the training grounds after a few good thrusts with my sword– and she's quite flexible. I wonder if she dances? That seems like a rather appropriate hobby for a princess, anyway. Especially one as spry and graceful as her.

"...She's the best Prof – but man she likes gettin' into trouble now. Hasn't been the same since we lost our folks."

This type of loss seems so acute among the students. And yet the Church seems to pay so little attention to the sadness of losing one's family. Or at least from what I've seen – which admittedly isn't a whole lot. Perhaps I should read about it.

Still, Raphael deserves my sentiments.

"Sorry to hear that."

Shaking his head, he replies:

"No need Prof, I heard you're short one too – it's nothin' to wish on anybody."

Fellows this empathetic are too good for this world. He seems to carry his pain with composure as well – in comparison, angst seems to be perpetually leaking out of Dimitri's every pore. Is that because this blonde warrior has something to protect, and Dimitri hasn't found his own yet?

I have something to protect now, and that makes me feel comradeship with Raphael.

Knowing this, I'd bring him for a Ferdinandian bear hug if I wasn't so concerned he'd crush me in those gigantic arms of his.

"True." I confirm.

Musing while twisting his obliques, he notes:

"Still, I've been chasing her around campus trying to keep her from getting her nose into trouble. She's gonna be stuck here until the next caravan comes."

That makes sense. Seteth did mention the necessity of limiting transit along the two major highways that led to the monastery. I believe the Lions will be responsible for monitoring the due East of Remire.

"Because the Knights sealed off the passes, right?"

Raphael nods.

"Yeah – but I get it. Can't let the bandits through. That's how me and Maya lost our folks."

I decide to repeat a phrase I saw on a sign in the shower room:

"Safety first."

Raphael seems moved by this sage advice.

"Knew you'd see it my way, Prof – you seem like a guy who gets it… This world's about protecting your fam, first and foremost."

That's quite a takeaway, but I agree with every word. My father – and my students, too. They've become family, at least to my mind. It's my duty to protect them.

I get a vague sense that Sothis supports this. A little yellow arrow in my mind goes up.

"We're of like mind." I reply. That goes for both of the people present in this room besides me.

Raphael starts to make for the door, but he seems to have something on his mind. I let him gather his thoughts in the threshold without moving him along.

"...Can I ask you a favor, Prof?"

"Sure."

Raphael clears his throat and begins to pace.

"...I'm tryin' to figure out what Maya gets up to at night – I wanna get her over to the cathedral to do a Night Mass for the folks – you know to repose their souls and all that – but she splits after 6pm every damn night. Can't find her anywhere, and Claude's got me workin' until then. He had me cleaning the stables yesterday for Hildie."

His Deceitfulness strikes again. Shaking my head, I reply:

"Mock battlefield, Manuela's infirmary."

This stuns him.

"...Why the heck was she out there?"

"Sylvain's there too.."

"Prof – you aren't tellin' me…"

Shrugging, I reply:

"No idea."

Raphael seems to take this at face value, which is a rare thing for any Deer I've met so far.

"Oh yeah… what did Claude say – you're volcel, or somethin'. I respect that!"

Vol-what?

I tilt my head in bewilderment.

"I dunno, Prof. It sounded 5-G to me. They're always talkin' about that stuff. You spend long enough with those guys, and they corrupt your mind. I'm tryin' to stay focused on making gains!"

Raphael confirms that Claude is indeed the bad guy.

I respect Raph's intensity, but now I want to follow up on why the Deer are gossiping about me.

"...Claude and Hilda?"

Holst, come get your sister.

I'm glad I've never had a sister to worry about this sort of thing.

Although if I had a sister, I'm guessing she'd be a cold-blooded mercenary too. Would she have chosen Dimitri, I wonder…? Most of the women I've encountered prefer the attention of problematic individuals – Maya and Sylvain – Hilda and Claude – Edelgard and – am I also problematic…?

Raphael jolts me out of my introspection, confirms my suspicions about the Deer with a:

"Yup."

And I shake my head.

"What are they saying?"

I really don't want to know what they're saying, but I feel as if I have to in order to protect my students, particularly Edelgard – but also Bernadetta. I would prefer Claude not make anymore burn puns about poor Bernie. No one should have to struggle to leave their dorm and then get bullied. It sends the wrong message.

Raphael puts on his thinking cap, although it seems to put a bit of a clamp on his normal joviality.

"...Uhhhh… that you're saving yourself for the Princess or somethin'...? They're all horny there, Prof. Don't mind 'em."

He must be the Deer's Linhardt. I appreciate his wisdom there, reminding me that the most blissful solution to handling His Deceitfulness is just ignorance.

I nod.

Raphael seems to have something else on his mind:

"...Sylvain… Prof, that's the redhead Lion who's always hittin' on Marianne, right?"

Sylvain and I are going to have issues if I heard that correctly. Why the fuck is he hitting that gentle girl? She needs hugs, not hits.

I consider sending Ferdinand and some of the Eaglettes on a mission to that effect later. Perhaps Ferdinand can teach everyone the warmth of camaraderie. Needless to say, I feel as if I've unlocked a new level of support with my ginger gentleman.

Still, I should press on the topic.

"He's hitting Marianne?"

"All the time, yeah."

Unacceptable. Tomorrow, I will follow up on this at any cost – without hesitation.

"...Prof… he's not doing anything to Maya is he?"

Had I been interpreting what happened at the infirmary all wrong? Perhaps I ought to run this by Raphael as well.

I stew on it for a time. The Deer's brawler ratchets up the heat in response.

"...Prof, you need to tell me what's happening – I've gotta protect her."

No, he deserves the whole story. There are people that he must protect as well.

"I understand." I do.

"So, what's the deal?" he asks.

Relaying the events as best I can, I say:

"When I was there with Edelgard, Sylvain had just finished getting sucked off by Maya. I think it was due to alcohol poisoning.."

Was Sylvain hitting her, too? Is that why she kept talking about her back?

Raphael stares at me like I've just severed his head. Finally recovering he shouts:

"...Prof – I'm gonna kill him…!"

I suppose that's only fair.

"I think he would've died if she didn't."

Now the Deer just seems bewildered.

"...What's that mean?"

Reaching the end of my own logical faculties, I suggest:

"You should ask him."

The Deer storms out the door, yelling:

"He ain't gonna have a tongue to answer when I'm done with him, Prof…!"

"Be mindful." I say with a wave. That's the teacherly thing to suggest, right?

As I turn back to my dormitory, I notice an owl carcass on my porch – fallen behind some crates with its brains leaking out from a chop wound to its skull.


Introspection is something that has been on my mind a lot lately.

Moreso now that the tailor shop attendant is fitting a woman's maid costume around my body. I shouldn't say that it's uncomfortable – as the crinoline petticoat manages to fit quite smartly around my trim figure. If I look well enough in male clothes, I don't see a particular reason why I shouldn't cut a decent presentation in the female equivalent. I think Edelgard always looks quite stunning in her clothes, and her feminine assets are far more sparse than someone like Hilda or Dorothea. Really, she probably just needs to eat more – and so I resolve to taking her out to dinner frequently next month in spite of Hubert's warnings to the contrary.

The sheer caloric load of onion gratin soup always helped me bulk back up whenever supplies ran low on Holst's poorly thought-through campaigns. For the most part – the logistical situation could be understood as kill enemy, steal rations.

I recall emerging from one of Holst's more disastrous efforts at around ninety pounds– skin, organs, and bone for me, and was almost certainly feeling the spectre of starvation beginning to devour my own muscle tissue. That was – coincidentally – the last contract we took for the Alliance. It prompted quite a bit of fussing from my father on my behalf, which I really didn't understand back then. He had been nursing his own wound from one of Holst's campaigns, and just decided to pull the whole troop out of the Locket and off to Remire for the winter.

There wasn't much left of the troop at that point either. Most had died under my rather disinterested leadership – if you can even call it that. I just seconded the units to Fallstaff and went on my merry way.

…But, that's how I met Edelgard. So I suppose I should be thankful for my father's fussing.

Particularly, I'm starting to truly understand his perspective now because I have people to protect. Fussing about her especially provokes the warm-yet-hurts sensation that I'm beginning to become overly attached to.

Speaking for myself – I'm less enthused about the red leggings and pumps that lay in my periphery – as they are the only components of my outfit that aren't being made-to-order. I realize now that this "bespoke" method of clothing manufacture seems like the most logical way of making clothing, so why isn't that the standard everywhere?

"Professor – you absolutely need to try on the leggings next…!" Dorothea informs me. She has been fussing over me today as well.

I stare into the mirror to meet her jumpy, jade-tinted irises. I fail to see why she's so excited about the damn leggings – they seem to me to be ruining the entire outfit.

By preference – I prefer to wear two tones: black, and darker than black. This maid costume is already a massive departure from my usual ensemble by virtue of being black and white. I'm fine with minor trimmings to add contrast – there's some sort of insignia on my breastplate whose meaning I've long since forgotten… and of course, the dagger – but in my estimate those aren't bold statement pieces like a pair of red leggings.

"Is that necessary?" I ask.

The Songstress looks like she's been on the cusp of both laughing and crying since she's arrived. Perhaps Dorothea would be a good person to learn about things like passion, emotion, and sensuality from. She surely has a great deal of experience in such topics – and doesn't present the same deeply conflicted front as Edelgard does.

I suspect my questions would probably confuse her about my intentions however.

Maybe there's a way I can thread that needle in the future.

"...Edie would die if you said no…!"

Looking back at Edie, I see she's on her third tissue box. She's had a bloody nose since I've exited the changing room. Frankly, my student might be dying either way if that keeps up. Returning my eyes to Elder Eaglette, I attempt to pout.

I've never pouted before, and my attempt at pouting admittedly feels like I'm just staring blankly at the girl.

"They're too small." I protest as bitterly as I can.

Dorothea, Empress of Emotion, is unmoved.

"We're at a tailor's, Professor – they can make alterations! Anyway, now is no time to lose your confidence…! You're so close…!"

She has been saying this hours.

"So close to what?"

She's acting like I plan on scrapping the whole maid costume. My only issue is with the damn leggings.

Dorothea cranes her neck to inspect Edelgard, even though she can clearly see her in the mirror.

"...She didn't tell you yet?"

Shaking my head, I squint to at my student again, and observe that she's extremely immersed in shoving a freshly rolled and wetted cylinder of tissue paper up her nose.

It's a cute nose, even when it's smattered in blood. I also find myself not especially liking that it's smattered in blood – but I may have to get over that because there's going to battle coming down the pike rather soon.

Dorothea notices me noticing Edelgard and grins as wide as I've ever seen her grin.

"Oooooh~ I promised not to spoil it…!" she yelps.

Dorothea continues to fuss until I try on the leggings. They are in fact too small, and in spite of the songstress calling my ankles "statuesque" – they barely make it through. The tailor, to my surprise – does in fact make a number of markings on them – which must be the alterations – but I don't see how you can add fabric to something that's already a finished product. It seems to defeat the whole purpose of this "bespoke" business.

And what are "statuesque" ankles, exactly?

I wonder what the statues in Enbarr look like? I suppose that must be her frame of reference. Still, she is marveling at my ankles. I didn't know ankles could be marvelous. Women are strange.

Still, I appreciate her enthusiasm. Dorothea, in spite of being older than I am – is still my student. It would be impossible for me to reconcile letting her down.

My neck turns to the rest of the Eagles who are present – or were present.

Bernadetta fainted some time ago and has since been sprawled out onto a large papasan chair in the waiting alcove. Her torso rises up and down gently, which is no small relief given the panic attack she had as soon as I emerged from the changing room with the dress on.

Petra is currently attempting to wrangle Caspar, who fled the shop as soon as one of the attendants started measuring him. My bets are on Petra's eventual victory, as she has the spirit of a hunter. Compared to her, even a brawler like Caspar is a bit of a prey animal.

Linhardt is taking a nap among several rolls of silk fabric in the corner – and appears to be dreaming in quite an intellectual fashion. I suspect he is working through another mystery and will awaken soon to offer me the sagest wisdom.

Ferdinand… is ok, I guess? Surely he must have returned to the infirmary.

Edelgard, of course, is currently seated on a bench working through a fresh box of tissues now. She also notices me noticing her, and those insufferably cute cheeks of hers flashing scarlet much like the blood flowing from her nostrils. Dorothea has indicated to me that this nosebleed of hers is caused by her prolonged stares at me in this dress. In my observation, I notice that it's made worse when Dorothea hikes up the skirt to poke and prod at my calves. I get the impression that Dorothea is doing this less for herself and more for the room.

When Dorothea eventually departs my alteration stand to fuss over the heir to Adrestia, Edelgard and Dorothea just kind of passionately lock eyes for a while – whisper to each other excitedly – and the bleeding subsides. I can make out a few words here and there and they're mostly Dorothea attempting to fan the future emperor's flames. At the moment, however, she seems less fiery and more fried.

"You literally have to go next." I hear from Dorothea.

Edelgard covers her mouth with a once-white glove that's since been bloodied. I guess she's attempting to mask her reply.

"Edie, if you don't – I'm going to take that poem I wrote, time it to a show tune and then sing it to the Professor tomorrow." I also hear.

At this Edelgard shakes her head vigorously.

Dorothea leans and whispers into her ear while looking at me.

And my student drops her tissue, stands ramrod straight at me while avoiding eye contact, and blurts out:

"M-my teacher – be warned that Dorothea may make a suggestive advance on you to provoke a reaction from me. D-do not respond to it now or in the future!"

I stare at Edelgard blankly.

"Professor, do you think I would toy with her heart like that…?"

I stare at Dorothea blankly.

The tailor is nowhere to be found, so I'm left with these two idiots trying to gas me up while I'm standing here in a maid outfit with one red legging jacked halfway up my shin.

The songstress then goes back over to me, eyes never leaving Edelgard, and begins to stroke my naked left ankle, easily accessible by the alteration platform I'm standing on. I don't react – as instructed – but whatever nasal artery my student managed to burst starts to spurt rather like a… I best not say.

Linhardt, who I will entrust this diary to in the event of some ill befalling me, has a particular distaste for overly long descriptions of blood and normal bodily function.

Back to introspection – though.

Namely, I'm introspecting about the politics that brought me to this moment. And that perhaps my ignorance of politics was something that was holding me back as a teacher.


At 8:55 this morning I completed my trek across the viaduct, and arrived outside of the tailor's shop – conveniently across the street from Celica's bar, which doesn't open until 5pm this weekend.

The expected complement of students were waiting for me: Edelgard, Ferdinand (head bandaged, heavily drugged), Caspar, Linhardt, Dorothea and Bernadetta. Hubert of course had left for home last night on that Fallstaff mission.

When I arrived – no one greeted me. I'll remember that. Instead, they were all pensively watching Edelgard and Ferdinand bickering. Realizing that two bickerers had their backs turned to me – I figured I'd watch it play out for a while.

"This is a matter of honor, Edelgard. How could you expect us to debase ourselves in such a way?" Ferdinand utters.

The ginger gentleman appears to have been rankled by my student. Naturally I can't see his face to read much else, but he did perform a very demonstrative sweep of his arm.

"Hmph. You seemed very confident yesterday when you spoke of needing victory to reconcile the Professor's sacrilege, did you not…? Well – this is how we win…!"

I see Edelgard is spreading the good news that her teacher is an atheist. I can't wait for the letter from Seteth grilling me about that. She's also a rather mediocre impressionist, but I wonder if she's ever practiced until just now? Emergent talents being what they are, and all.

"You are clearly being incorrigible because the Professor is not here to moderate your worst impulses. The responsibility falls upon me, then… to maintain order within the Black Eagle House in his place! Edelgard, we must—"

She cuts him off.

"...Do what our ancestors did and have a little duel ourselves…?"

That impression of Ferd sounded marginally better but it lacked his unrestrained joie de vivre. It's as if… she tried to make Ferdinand edgy, when the last thing that Ferdinand happens to be is edgy.

Is Edelgard edgy? Not with me, obviously – but it might be worth watching here to see if there's a side of her that I don't see. We'll have a lot to review at the bar tonight, I suppose. All that said, I guess her interpretation –Fedgerinand(?)– worked because she still has the initiative:

"...That's what you were going to say, but the answer is no. You're clearly concussed and railed out on some sort of ephedrine. Dishonor would fall to the House of Hresvelg to accept the challenge of…"

She flicks her hair with her hand, and in doing so tilts her neck back and to the side– in doing so – she must catch my visage in her extreme periphery. She freezes, for just a moment.

I nod.

And she returns those eyes to her rival-but-not-rival.

"...A man who cannot even hope to compete with me – although I do find it rather amusing."

I guess she remembered. Should I be proud of that? I'm proud of her, at least.

My chest hurts.

In acknowledgement of that, I don't make a particular effort to advance into the conversation, and remain in the background to observe where it leads.

"Edelgard – I refuse to dress in a maid outfit, as does Caspar. Since you refuse to negotiate in good faith, I must step in as the legitimate heir of House Aegir and prevent you from mistaking the same mistake as your father."

Mistaking the same mistake? Did I sound like that yesterday, too?

"...I do believe I just stated that I would not accept your challenge. What else can you do?" Edelgard replies haughtily.

Ferdinand puts his hands on hips.

"I will approach the Professor when he arrives and explain the situation. Naturally, as an experienced mercenary, he would take issue with equipping himself in women's clothing on a high holiday of the Church – even as a nonbeliever. The risks of such being unable to fight in the manner of a man would be intolerable to a professional such as himself, and a true waste of his diverse skillset."

Correction: I don't care.

"My teacher defers to me in this matter."

Confirmation: I do.

"Only because he is trying to earn your trust, Edelgard. I know him as a fellow of the noblest spirit – son of the Archbishop's most chivalrous knight-captain – and you will naturally exploit that to your wicked ends – just like your father, the Emperor."

Hearing my father called "chivalrous" is mildly amusing – although I guess even he managed to hold umbrellas for my mother a few times. I really don't know what else there is to chivalry, because the only other time I've heard that word before is in relation to Edelgard complaining about moderately considerate gestures I make to her like that.

"Insulting my Father merely makes you sound disloyal to Adrestia. I shall let you dig your hole deeper among your peers."

Ferdinand appears to have found his opening, and cuts through.

"Naturally – you have avoided my broader point of exploiting the goodwill of the Professor."

At this, a certain songstress makes her opinion known.

"I don't think you exploit him enough, Edie. Men are there for exploiting, don't ya think?"

I suppose I'll have to view all of my interactions with Dorothea transactionally from here on. The Heir to an Empire stiffens in her boots. I'm guessing there must be a blush going on or something – but perhaps that's me being wistful.

"Oh – he's standing right behind us, huh? Why don't we ask him…?"

Dorothea knows I'm here, too – it seems. She gives me a wink. I still am rather unsure about her, though. Ferdinand and the rest of the class realize a few seconds later. I have no interest in approaching these ingrates until they give me a polite greeting so I stand in place, staring blankly.

"Professor! Edelgard is attempting to confuse our gender roles and promote sexual degeneracy among the future rulers of Adrestia." Ferdinand informs me.

I turn to my student.

"I'm impressed."

In spite of this compliment, Edelgard shakes her head vigorously

"T-That is not what I'm intending at this moment, my teacher…!"

Dorothea slides alongside her.

"At this moment, Professor. Just wait until she gets on the throne...!"

Ferd appeals to me and presents the two accursedly non-gender-conforming individuals before me as if they were a sort of spectacle. I guess that makes me some kind of freak too, because I find one of the two quite cute.

"As you can see, Professor – Dorothea is revealing a similar lack of knowledge in these matters. I humbly request that you appoint me as House Leader to stop further decay in educational standards."

I should be amused that he's telling me to do this when I haven't even held a single formal lecture with these guys, right? Let alone the mountain of threats I've received from Seteth in the mail.

"Come with us and smash the patriarchy, Professor." Dorothea beckons.

I feel like choosing a side here will drastically change the story.

So I punt it.

"This sounds political."

"...Technically Professor – it's sociology…!" Enbarr's most eligible bachelorette reminds me.

At this moment it strikes that we're the only two without formal education to speak of, and yet we're also the only ones arguing like undergraduate pedants here. I would read into that more if I had the appropriate graces – but I don't. Still – I feel as if I shouldn't be caught flat-footed by this verbal parry by Dorothea. My father used a word to describe me a couple of weeks ago… I think it's the appropriate remark here – what was it…?

"I'm a sociopath." I state this with the blankest stare possible.

Amusingly, Dorothea's envious eyes flutter a little bit at this, as if she took me at face value there. As do Edelgard's, of course – but that reaction is a bit easier to provoke from someone like her, I suspect.

"P-please d-don't murder me, Professor!" Bernie shouts.

"That's a psychopath, Bernadetta." Linhardt corrects.

"Sike… Professor couldn't hurt anyone! He talks tough, but I could beat him." Caspar shouts, punching Bernadetta's shoulder.

This causes a chain reaction collapsing the sleepy sage and shut-in sniper like a pair of dominoes. I may have given Caspar the wrong idea about me – and about grappling female classmates. It may be time to demonstrate my seriousness.

Clearing my throat, I advance in two measured steps towards Caspar and leave him brutally height-mogged. Cutting into his cyan irises with a bloodthirsty expression, I slowly melt his resolve. The tension in the air as I do feels thicker than onion gratin soup. Letting that mood simmer for a moment, I then say:

"...Caspar, I've… taken more lives than you could ever believe – I've beheaded Almyran princes, and splayed their corpses alongside their wyvern retinues in blood eagles…"

And then in one fluid motion, I toss my dagger up in the air – catch it – and bring it down towards Caspar's throat. Bringing the point of it flush with Caspar's jugular, I very precisely leave exactly one half-inch of air between steel and skin. In response, the Younger Bergliez has gone stiff as a board. Tilting my neck slightly, I lean in and say in a low but audible voice:

"...I've driven this blade – glittering in the dark – through the necks of so many Srengians that the crossguard has turned black from their blood. Look."

Correction: the crossguard was already black – but none of them know that.

He looks.

Withdrawing the blade, I draw in a single – measured breath. As I do, I smell urine.

"...I've killed thousands… so know that taking yours would be nothing for me, Caspar… because all those dead before you… their faces – their names – have long been lost to me in the tempest of time – like tears in rain."

I let everyone sit in that monologue for a time.

After saying this, I put a comradely hand on Caspar's shoulders and attempt to soften my face as much as possible. He flinches, but not terribly.

Obviously, I don't mean a single word of what I just said – but I have to draw a line somewhere, and it's at rough-housing Bernie.

That all said, Caspar has a lot of courage to listen to a trained killer mumble like a madman with a knife at his throat, even if he pissed himself halfway through. I feel as if I can mold that into someone who can protect Bernadetta rather than bully her. While I knew that our brawler was eager and had appreciable depth perception, now I know he's got staying power as well. And those make for an excellent trio. So I won't go any harder on him. Not today, at least.

"Don't hit Bernie. She is your classmate. Understood…?"

He gulps and nods. I console him by patting him on the shoulder.

"Good… Use Celica's outhouse. Clean yourself up."

Caspar waddles off without another word.

Turning back to the rest of the class – I immediately notice the wide eyes and utter shock on everyone's faces. Under most circumstances, I wouldn't ham it up like this – it's not in my nature.

But part of being a good lecturer is to know your audience, right?

My current audience is the Empire's Edgiest. Bringing out the literal and figurative knives along ad-libbing a vague threat seems to be the appropriate move here – lest anyone get too comfortable with my relaxed pedagogical approach.

I should ask Manuela if she'd allow me to do this with Claude as well. In the meantime, I wait for the Black Eagles to recover.

Strangely, I sense that – in spite of his absence – Hubert's opinion of me has improved.

Next on the rebound is Dorothea, and I suppose that makes sense – if she grew up on the streets, she's probably seen things much more violent than my primitive attempt at chewing the scenery.

"...Professor, I'm really starting to think that you're Edie'sl–"

Edelgard looks as if she's had to completely reassess my entre being. And frankly, I don't think she's done so altogether negatively.

"...W-whatever she was going to say, my teacher – it's categorically incorrect!"

The songstress chuckles.

"...I was just going to say that you were totally her type – but you heard her…!"

"Did you want to be critiqued next?"

"H-hardly...!"

The Heir to an Empire fidgets, shifting her weight from legging to legging and never taking her eyes off me for a moment.

…Did she like that?

Ferd appears and leans on my shoulder.

"Professor, your display of unbridled masculinity in the face of these modernists is precisely why the Black Eagle House would be best suited with me as your House Leader. Together, we can restore the esteem of the Empire through heroic brotherhood!"

Before I can reply to this, Petra joins Ferdinand and puts her hand on my right shoulder. She beams with the biggest grin I've ever seen.

"...Professor, I am enjoying the joking you did with Caspar…! Surely you must be knowing the Brigid Craic, yes?"

Crown Princess Macneary has seen right through me, it seems. The first time I observed such a thing was on the Throat. The Brigidians are interesting folks – if they're arguing and the dagger is sheathed, you know they're serious. If they're talking with a weapon drawn, it is almost always a taunt or a joke.

Have I ever mentioned how much I appreciate Brigid?

Additionally have I ever mentioned how much I appreciate Petra…? She's the best.

"Yes, Petra."

She punches my shoulder.

"I will be continuing with my impressment, Professor!"

That's not the right word, but I'm happy to let her go off.

Edelgard finally approaches me and tugs my jacket.

"M-my teacher – we are currently at an impasse regarding another issue."

Ferdinand immediately attempts to overpower her in the dialogue chain.

"...Ah, yes Professor–"

I hold up a hand.

"Ferdinand, you consulted me earlier."

He ponders this for a moment, and confirms:

"Hmmm – yes, I believe I did, didn't I? Your consideration is always overwhelming, Professor – I had forgotten even doing it myself…!"

Nodding, I look back to Edelgard.

"Tell the problem in less than twelve words." I say.

She struggles to do this, and it's amusing, but also extremely necessary.

"I want the Eagles to wear maid outfits. Ferdinand doesn't."

At this, Linhardt pipes in.

"...Do contractions count as one word or two, Professor?"

Turning to him, I find myself entrapped in his glassy blue eyes, as if that was his intent from the outset. I really do feel like a hamster in a cage with these logic gambits at times.

Edelgard replied in eleven words, with the final one being a contraction. So by either metric she should be fine, but... beginning to sweat, I ask:

"...Would it matter?"

"I was… just curious." he bisects that four-word sentence with a yawn.

He got me. Turning back to Edelgard, I ask:

"Including the males?"

She shakes her head.

"I would need one volunteer only…"

She's managed to confuse me just as completely as Linhardt.

"Why?" I ask.

"...I cannot tell you yet."

"Why not?"

"...Because I cannot."

I close my eyes and pinch my forehead at this. How stubborn can she be?

"Fine. So what is the issue?"

"Under most circumstances I would simply command Hubert to wear the dress, but you granted him home leave so conveniently. How strange."

That's when it hits me.

A realization, or rather a question:

…Did the Marquis of Pickled Sausages actually slow-roll me over the course of the past two weeks to escape having to do this? I feel as if I'll need to look through the diary, but if he did… what a magnificent bit of intrigue that was.

I check the rest of the fellows for any volunteers.

"Skirts are difficult to nap in, Professor." I shouldn't need to identify the person who said this.

"Dresses are not the noble standard, Professor." Or this person.

And I really don't even need to ask Caspar – because there's no way he'd wear it.

So, the responsibility falls to me.

I turn to Edelgard, who seems to be hanging on my word.

She realizes I already made the decision, though, right?

"...I will wear the dress."

"M-My Teacher…"

The heat wave that strikes me from her blush causes me to start sweating again.

Before I can really explore that further, Ferdinand also passes out, falling face-first into the brick road. A side effect of the ephedrine, no doubt. Linhardt saves the day by warping him into Manuela's infirmary shortly thereafter. At least... that's what he told me.


Fucking Hubert.

Following my fitting, Dorothea, Edelgard, Petra, and Bernadetta kicked me out of the tailor's very aggressively – along with a recently returned Caspar, and recently awoken Linhardt. Sending the two of them on their way – I found myself sitting on a bench outside the shop for several hours, stewing on how badly that bastard had got me. Was that the master plan the whole time…?

Cozy up to me with all this plotting business, build trust, ply me with a lifetime supply of luxury coffee – so that I would have to wear the dress and not him?

The dress isn't even the bothersome part. With the exception of the petticoat, I found most of the ensemble to be rather comfortable. And… to Edelgard's credit, the textiles used were top-notch. I certainly don't think I've ever worn finery like that before ever in my life. But that's natural, right – we're from different stations, after all. Nobles do noble things. Then again – I also have one of the Crest things – so why wouldn't I be a noble?

I suspect that confusion is my just reward for thinking about politics.

And to reiterate, none of that bothers me half as much as getting rat-fucked by Hubert von Vestra. So until 8:45 pm – roughly 10 hours – I sat there, stewing on a bench envisioning how I could ever get back at Hubert. But then it occurs to me that there is a way to get back at Hubert – a very good way in fact. One that he really can't do very much about in fact, except spit acid in his daily essay to me.

It's a thing that I can do quite enthusiastically, too – because I've realized over the past week or so… how content I feel when I do… and how content it makes the recipient feel.

Thinking back to Hubert's letter yesterday, I resolve myself.

What I'm going to do is this:

1. Allow Edelgard to read my mail.

2. Defer to Edelgard on every matter, without fail.

3. Fill Edelgard's head with the most obscene, sentimental nonsense I possibly can.

4. Fill my own head with the most obscene, sentimental nonsense I possibly can.

5. Ruin Hubert's effort in "turning the wheel" on her obscene, nonsensical sentimentality with points 3 and 4.

6. Remain as her teacher – through whatever disaster comes our way.

7. Protect the both of them, because she cares about him too.

And then, to really twist the knife: I will endeavor to make Hubert a friend of mine.

And in doing so, I will offer my hand in the comradeship he thinks he is too far beyond to accept.

Because even after that rat-fucking by Hubert…

-And Edelgard's constant tug-of-war with the trust I give her so unconditionally

-And Ferdinand's bizarre dream to use me as a tool to emotionally kneecap his royal rival

-And Dorothea's constant attempts to gaslight me for absolutely no justifiable reason

-And Bernadetta's self-sabotaging, anti-social behavior

-And Linhardt's total detachment from the world of humanity

-And Caspar's Casparitude

-And Petra's… honestly – Petra's been perfect.

The sentiment remains the same.

I'm going to protect them all. And maybe find a way to fill the hole in my chest while doing so.

"You're quite foolish." Sothis adds.

I'm also going to indulge this green gremlin and allow her free roam, utilizing her talents as best I can to keep the blood off their hands, and squarely on mine. Even if I have to destroy myself in the process.

And while all of these other profoundly confusing emotions and passions are things I'm probably going to flail around terribly at first – there is one thing I'm very good at doing without hestiation.

Killing efficiently and in large numbers to achieve tactical and strategic objectives in linear warfare.

They'll get the Ashen Demon at Zanado.

And then the dress-wearing, teacherly, terse, apolitical sociopath here. And in doing so, I'll carry their weight – for now – and see what they can do with lighter shoulders.

I also get the faintest of impressions that Edelgard might have a plan anyway.

Not that she's all that intent on telling me at the moment, of course.

But I'll be ready – resolutely – when she offers her hand.

Even if I have to grab it back when she tries pulling it away.


As I resolve those things – the Eaglettes walk out of the tailor's, finally – Petra carrying Bernadetta her arms – who I'm told fainted again after seeing her maid costume in the mirror.

Perhaps catching the prevailing wind, Petra and Dorothea part ways with us jovially along with their sleeping comrade – but not without Dorothea doing her usual Dorothea thing of whispering something – most likely lewd – into Edelgard's ear while winking at me.

Like clockwork, whatever the Songstress said provokes the future Emperor to turn into a flustered mess, dipping her chin down and and looking at me with those tremendous, arresting, entrancing lavender irises of hers that have occupied so much of this journal that I'd shudder at the thought of her putting them to these pages.

I think of saying something but find myself too content in the sight before me.

Eventually Edelgard realizes this and manages to put her haughty face back on, clearly trying to extricate herself from this very sentimental situation.

"Hmph...It's quite late."

I crane my neck to check the time on the clocktower – it's 8:55pm. In a sense, today was very instructive – I hadn't realized how long it took women to try on clothes.

Even more instructively – these were clothes being custom tailored to a particular uniform standard as well. Imagine if they had to choose from a rack in a Derdriu bazaar?

"I waited for you." I note.

At this, she sees an opening – and naturally, cuts her path through.

"Hm...I'm not sure if I should be impressed by your patience or amused by your stubbornness."

Again, she's getting there.

"...Why not both?"

Before she can reply to that, her stomach growls. I'm finding her stomach growling cute. Much like its owner, it sounds like it's trying to move me along.

"Eleven hours, right?" I note.

"I don't recall me giving you specific directions to wait for me, did I?"

I shake my head.

"So you're presumptuous – should I be impressed…?"

"You like that."

The stomach beats her to a reply. The monetarily blush tells me that she likes being very mildly challenged, though. In spite of not liking it as well.

The contradictions are becoming my most favorite and least favorite part of her, too.

"You're also hungry." I say at last.

"...Perhaps I am. Maybe I'll just go to the dining hall, then."

I have no idea why she's doing this routine – or rather, have conflicting ideas that end up giving me the impression of having no idea. She's clearly trying on some different masks here – stubborn Edelgardaccusing me of what she's actually doing Edelgardbanter Edelgard, even – but what is the damn point?

We discussed this last night – we go get drinks after the fitting.

And she's clearly not in a rush to go anywhere.

"Hmmm… she's worried about discussing a topic that is sensitive to her. But… she's clearly not committed to actually pushing you away! You two are very difficult. I shall go to sleep!"

The progenitor goddess progenitures when you least expect it. For the time being, I will treat her advice as incontestable truth.

"Because it is!"

Except for the going to sleep part, at least.

In any event, Edelgard and I are going to Celica's whether she wants to or not. Or– I guess she's got both of those feelings at the same time, according to Sothis. So I'm going to drag the Edelgard that doesn't want to go along with the Edelgard that does.

Something tells me this has been a recurrent theme in our relationship so far, and I'm only just noticing it. My student is just as oblivious, of course. The dining hall that she mentioned is already closed.

"Too late." I reply – checking the clocktower.

She sticks her chin up.

"Well, I have sweets in my room…"

And then the Heir to Adrestia suddenly realizes that I could potentially interpret that as an invitation and – oh the look on her face is priceless… almost beyond words.

The usual cacophony of motions of course – I write these down exhaustively but that's only because they're so fresh and new and exciting to me each time I see them. Upward chin drops down to the fold of her cape in an arc of total embarrassment and confusion – cheeks burning furiously, eyes up as far as they can go, assessing what type of outcome she should be expecting…

What a fool I am in front of her. She must notice me noticing this every single time. Or maybe's she's not a detached sociopath like I am and caught up in the moment.

She must never read this.

Then again – there's no way she doesn't like it.

"...That is not to say that I am inviti–"

She's clearly not ready for whatever is happening here, and neither am I, given how I don't actually know what you're supposed to do when you get there… and I'm guessing she doesn't either. It would also be highly illegal to do so for the next thirty-six days per church law, according to Claude von Riegan.

Am I making a mistake in trusting Claude von Riegan?

At least it's not as big of a mistake as whatever Edelgard was about to blurt out.

Shaking my head this point, how can I not interject with:

"...You've been in my room already."

It's almost unfair how easily she set herself up for that one. I only started bantering a month ago myself and saw the exposed flank on that one. Regardless of the answer, the guilty face it provoked confirms the obvious.

"Did you kill the owl?" I ask.

A furrowed brow replaces the cocktail of excitement and terror.

"What is the logic that makes me the prime suspect, precisely?" she asks.

I trace a quadrangle on my forehead to indicate where she brained it. It rather neatly matches up where the labrys came down on mine. Unfortunately, the bird can't avail itself of Sothis.

"I'm an axe wound expert." I reply.

She shakes her head bitterly.

"...I may have killed the owl."

Tilting my head, I ask:

"After it shit on the floor?"

"Yes."

I'm proud of her restraint. Still, I want to give her a chance to banter too, of course.

"...Was that the only reason you killed it?"

She catches the opening.

"Of course – I'm not a… crossdressing, dangerous, malevolent, sociopath who threatens children with a dagger."

And I shut the door with:

"You also like that."

The blush that follows is priceless. Not wanting to get too greedy, I move the night along:

"We should celebrate our victory."

Desperate to regain the tempo, she tries to obfuscate, as she does.

"...Oh? And what exactly did we win…?"

I shake my head.

"Just you."

Those purple orbs get very excitable at those two words.

"...Well, what did I win, then?"

"A trip to Celica's."

She finally complies. This excruciating nothing conversation carries us into the bar at 9:01PM – and all events after that must be covered in the following entry. Thankfully, that conversation was about something.

And I will always cherish it, because it's the first time she welcomed me into her heart.


EDIT 5.30.1180

Lin – if anything happens during the battle tomorrow – stop reading here. If not – and I'm killed at some later point, just skip from 5.19 – 5.21.

I find myself grasping at a few moments with Edelgard that I'd prefer to keep between her and this empty chest of mine. They are of no intellectual or crestological significance.

-Byleth