The study room door swung open, and a distinguished older man stepped inside, carrying the quiet confidence of someone well-versed in the ways of the world. He made his way toward the front, casting a sharp, observant gnce in our direction.

  Cece calmly slid the book she’d been reading out of sight, then retrieved a thick mathematics volume and opened it across her desk. Eri and I quickly followed suit.

  Our instructor for the day was none other than Professor Pasternack, one of the empire's most esteemed mathematicians. He had authored several groundbreaking theorems that earned him widespread fame and respect. He had also taught my Uncle Rich—Eri’s father and the current Count of Hertel—when he was still a student, they had developed a strong bond. This connection made it much easier for Aunt Elle to recruit him as our mathematics tutor.

  Being from the older generation, he held rather conservative views on society, which made convincing him to allow my attendants to sit in on his lectures a challenge. After much persuasion, we finally reached an agreement: I would need to maintain a certain standard on my tests in exchange for their presence. Thankfully, Jane, with her exceptional math skills, was a tremendous help. A simir arrangement was made for Cece and Eri’s attendants, though their attendants declined, stating they could not assist their dies during the lessons.

  Professor Pasternack picked up the chalk and began writing today's lesson. His voice, calm and gentle like that of a kind grandfather, made his expnations perfectly suited to our level of understanding. Although my attendants couldn’t participate in the discussion, they eagerly took notes, absorbing every detail like sponges. The css sted for an hour and a half, and when it ended, Professor Pasternack handed out our homework assignments, which were due by the end of the week.

  We respectfully bade him farewell, and as soon as he left. A new teacher stepped into the study room—a young gentleman with a schorly air that banced his refined features. Though undeniably handsome, there was a certain softness to his demeanor that made him approachable rather than intimidating. He wore gold-rimmed spectacles, a well-fitted brown vest over crisp white sleeves, and matching brown trousers—giving him the appearance of a man who lived more in libraries than in court halls.

  With a warm smile, he set his lecture materials on the table. This was Professor Trottier, our new instructor for Geography and Sociology.

  Professor Trottier was considered a rising star among the empire’s intellectual circles. A prodigy of the Royal Academy, he had graduated years ahead of his peers and quickly earned a reputation as both brilliant and mildly absentminded. Well-traveled and endlessly curious, he had authored several respected books on geography and socio-political theory, often drawn from his firsthand encounters with foreign cultures.

  My mother, ever an admirer of sharp minds, had personally recruited him as our tutor. In return for his instruction, she offered something few could: intimate insights into Thaveria—her homend, steeped in ancient tradition and guarded secrets. It was a fair exchange between two great intellects.

  “This term, we’ll be exploring the Western Continent,” Professor Trottier announced, sweeping into the room with an enormous rolled map in hand. He fumbled for a moment as he attempted to secure it to the board—until Jane, ever dependable, stepped in with practiced grace to assist. Once fastened, he tapped his pointer against the parchment with unrestrained excitement.

  “Our empire lies here, within the Eastern Continent,” he began, pointing to the familiar expanse. “A region marked by retive political unity. Beyond our borders, only four sovereign kingdoms remain—each smaller, and significantly shaped by our economic and cultural influence.”

  He then gestured across the map to the far western ndmass.

  “The Western Continent comprises nine sovereign nations,” he continued, his tone slipping into the steady cadence of lecture mode. “While several of these are kingdoms in the traditional sense—governed by hereditary monarchs—others operate under distinctly different political systems.”

  He stepped back slightly, gesturing to various regions in succession.

  “You’ll find merchant republics where trade guilds hold political power, arcane principalities governed by magical orders, and even communal polities where leadership rotates among elected representatives. Each nation's structure is a product not only of its history but also of its geography, resources, and prevailing cultural philosophies.”

  He paused briefly before adding, “It’s worth noting that the term ‘kingdom,’ though often used as a bnket designation here in the East, does not always reflect the reality of governance in these states. Political diversity is, in fact, one of the Western Continent’s defining features.”

  Then, with a glint of amusement, he added, “You see, the terrain of a country doesn’t just shape its borders. It shapes its people—their values, their ws, even their dinner customs.”

  Eri and I shared a special connection to one of those distant nations—Thaveria. Both of our mothers had been born there, daughters of the grand ducal nobility. Their bloodline helped uphold the alliance between Thaveria and our empire, woven through generations of diplomatic tradition.

  Yet for all its prestige, Thaveria was—and still is—a nd ruled by unwavering customs. Its social order is rigid, its expectations relentless. Marriage is arranged almost exclusively within noble circles, and personal desire is often sacrificed in the name of duty.

  But my mother and Aunt Elle had other pns.

  They found such constraints suffocating—outdated relics of a world unwilling to change. So, in a move that likely scandalized every silk-draped dowager and powdered nobleman in Thaveria, they left. They crossed into our empire, found love, and chose to build new lives—on their own terms.

  Their stories are told with lighthearted ughter now, always accompanied by knowing smiles and mischievous gnces. But I know better. It wasn’t easy. It was brave. It was bold. And in the end, it did more for diplomacy than any coldly calcuted union ever could.

  I used to think of their tale as nothing more than a sweet family anecdote. But tely… I’ve begun to see it for what it truly is.

  There’s a quiet kind of strength in choosing your own path—especially when the world insists you shouldn't.

  Professor Trottier had transitioned seamlessly into storytelling mode, guiding us through the cultures and customs of each Western nation. His teaching style was lively—at times almost theatrical—and we listened with rapt attention as he shared tales of his travels: some humorous, others harrowing. He was, perhaps, the only schor in the empire who could move freely between warring states and live to write about it.

  The lesson stretched on for two full hours, yet not once did I gnce at the clock. When the lecture finally concluded, he handed out our first assignment of the term—a report on the nine nations of the Western Continent, with a request to include any lesser-known facts not covered in the lecture.

  I quickly skimmed through the task as he packed up his things. We bid him a cheerful goodbye, and he returned the gesture with boyish enthusiasm. As he once again struggled to organize his scrolls and lecture materials, Jane stepped in without a word to assist him.

  With a flustered nod of gratitude, Professor Trottier exited the study room—trailing parchment, curiosity, and the faint scent of ink behind him.

  With our next instructor yet to arrive, the three of us stood up and stretched. After three and a half hours of sitting, we were feeling a little stiff. Once we finished, we exchanged amused gnces and couldn’t help but ugh, our faces contorting humorously as we tried to shake off the stiffness.

  Just then, the door eased open with a hushed creak, and a distinguished woman stepped into the room. She moved with a quiet authority that required no announcement—only recognition. Her posture was unyielding, her expression calm but unreadable, and every step she took was measured with the precision of someone long accustomed to scrutiny. Her hair was swept into a sleek, fwless bun, not a strand daring to fall out of pce. The bck-and-gray ensemble she wore—severe in cut yet undeniably refined—was tailored to perfection, not a single wrinkle in sight.This was Professor Pasternack’s younger sister—now formally known as Professor Schaefer. She had married her childhood friend, a respected Politics professor at the Royal Academy, and thanks to a bit of persuasion from her older brother, she had agreed to teach us personally.

  Renowned throughout the empire as a towering figure in Political Theory, Professor Schaefer was frequently sought after for her insights, often consulted by the royal court itself. Had she not chosen the path of education, many believed she would have held a prominent seat among the empire’s advisors.

  Without preamble, she entered the room and handed each of us a sheet of parchment, her tone clipped but not unkind. “Please take a moment to answer these,” she said. “We’ll be discussing your responses one by one.”

  I gnced down at the paper. It contained three carefully worded questions:

  What factors contribute to a kingdom’s ability to govern effectively and foster prosperity among its people—both in social harmony and economic growth?How do a ruler’s governing philosophy—or the values upheld by their court—shape the ws, priorities, and daily lives of their subjects?How does political porization affect the functioning of a government?

  I sighed quietly to myself. Though the questions seemed simple at first gnce, I knew they would require a lot of thought and careful analysis to answer properly. To be honest, I wasn’t particurly fond of politics, but as part of my noble education, there was no getting around it.

  I gnced around at my cssmates and saw the variety of reactions. Eri, who shared my disinterest in political matters, looked just as unenthused as I felt. Cece, on the other hand, was already writing furiously, her face lighting up with enthusiasm as she tackled each question.

  A few minutes ter, Professor Schaefer cpped her hands together to get our attention. Once she saw that we were all focused, she called on Cece to read her answers aloud, marking the beginning of our lecture for the day.

  The lesson sted an hour and a half, as usual. Today's css was intense, as Professor Schaefer always encourages a range of opinions and fosters open debate. She enjoys hearing our thoughts, helping us expand on them, and offering additional insights. For our homework, we were asked to reflect on how we felt during each lesson. These reflections will be collected at the end of the week.

  We respectfully bid her goodbye and left the study room too, since our etiquette css will be held in a different room.

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