Chapter Text
Aether’s first mistake was waking up on time.
His second mistake was thinking that meant the day would go smoothly.
The alarm rang at exactly 6:00 AM.
Aether stared at the ceiling of his tiny apartment and immediately knew something terrible was going to happen.
People who woke up naturally before the third alarm were either blessed by the gods or moments away from disaster.
He sat up slowly, blond hair sticking everywhere, and glanced at his phone.
Class Group Chat “VENTI’S ANGELS >_<” — 87 unread messages
Aether:
…oh no.
He opened it.
Childe: WHO STOLE MY GYM SHOES
Scaramouche: maybe the universe is trying to protect us from your smell
Itto: BRO CHECK THE FREEZER
Childe: WHY WOULD THEY BE IN THE FREEZER
Kazuha: i found them in the freezer
Childe: WHY DID YOU PUT THEM THERE
Itto: I THOUGHT IT WOULD KEEP THEM FRESH
Aether closed the chat.
It was 6:02 AM and he already wanted to go back to sleep.
From the next room, a soft knock hit the shared wall.
Lumine: “Aether. If that’s the group chat again, I can hear your suffering through the drywall.”
Aether groaned. “It’s not suffering, it’s… documentation of a crime scene.”
Lumine didn’t respond immediately. That was usually worse.
Lumine: “Eat breakfast.”
A pause.
Lumine: “And stop reading it like it’s going to get better.”
It did not get better. It never did.
Apartment Hallway — 7:10 AM
Aether stepped out into the hallway, already late even though he was technically early. The building was quiet in that fragile way that meant something loud would happen soon.
Across the hall, another door opened at the exact same time.
Kaveh looked like he hadn’t slept.
Which, judging by his expression, was not a recent development, it was a lifestyle.
Behind him, faintly visible in the doorway, was Alhaitham, calmly drinking coffee like the laws of physics did not apply to his living situation.
Aether froze.
Aether: “Oh. Morning.”
Kaveh immediately pointed at Alhaitham.
Kaveh: “DON’T TALK TO HIM LIKE THIS IS NORMAL.”
Alhaitham didn’t even look up.
Alhaitham: “It is normal.”
Kaveh: “IT IS NOT NORMAL TO SHARE A WALL WITH HIM.”
Aether slowly backed toward the stairs.
He had seen many things in his life.
He had survived group projects.
He had survived Childe in gym class.
But whatever this was, this was still classified information.
Teyvat High Entrance — 7:48 AM
The school gates loomed ahead like a warning.
Students filtered in like different categories of disaster:
A group of first-years running at unsafe speeds.
Someone arguing with a vending machine.
Someone else already being chased by a teacher’s whistle.
Aether walked through it all like a man entering a storm willingly.
He spotted the student council board.
A new notice had been pinned under neatly aligned calligraphy:
“All classes are reminded that ‘emergency incidents’ are not part of the curriculum.”
— Jean
Below it, in slightly smaller handwriting:
“This is the fifth reminder this week.”
Aether sighed.
Aether: “We haven’t even started school yet.”
Behind him, a voice chimed in casually.
Kaeya: “Technically, the chaos started yesterday.”
Aether turned. “That’s not reassuring.”
Kaeya smiled. “I wasn’t trying to reassure you.”
Classroom Building — 7:59 AM
Aether reached Class 2-B’s hallway just in time to hear screaming from inside.
Not panic screaming.
Not distress screaming.
Competitive screaming.
Arataki Itto: “I CHALLENGE YOU TO A DESK-ARM WRESTLING MATCH!”
Childe: “YOU’RE ON.”
Aether stopped walking.
Aether: “…we haven’t even opened the door yet.”
From inside the classroom, a calm voice followed like a verdict.
Venti: “Please try not to break the furniture before attendance.”
A pause.
Venti: “Actually… try.”
Aether opened the door.
It was 8:00 AM.
Class had already started.
It had also already failed.
Aether made it exactly twelve steps into the classroom before realizing he had made another mistake.
The first was waking up on time.
The second was continuing to attend school.
The third was opening the door.
Inside, the classroom was already in a state of organized chaos that somehow looked routine. Desks were slightly rearranged, someone’s chair was missing, and there was a faint smell of “something definitely shouldn’t be on fire but is not currently being addressed.”
Venti was leaning back in his chair like a man who had never once considered workplace liability in his life.
Venti: “Ah, perfect timing. Everyone survived attendance. Impressive.”
Childe raised a hand immediately.
Childe: “Can we do combat training today?”
Arataki Itto: “I SECOND THIS IDEA LOUDLY.”
Venti tilted his head thoughtfully.
Venti: “Hmm… gym class is next period anyway.”
That sentence should have been harmless.
It was not.
Aether felt something in his soul quietly give up.
Gym Grounds — 9:00 AM
The gym field was less a sports facility and more a contained disaster zone with equipment.
Varka stood at the center, arms crossed, looking at the students like a man evaluating whether they were ready to survive gravity.
Varka: “Warm-up. Ten laps.”
A collective silence followed.
Then Itto spoke.
Itto: “TEN?!”
Varka: “Yes.”
Childe was already stretching like this was a battlefield briefing.
Childe: “Finally.”
Aether immediately felt his lungs preemptively collapse.
Beside him, Kaveh looked like he had already emotionally left his body.
Kaveh: “Why does exercise feel like a structural design failure…”
Kaveh made a noise that could only be described as architectural despair.
The whistle from Class 2-B still echoed faintly across the field like a lingering warning sign.
Aether barely had time to recover before something else demanded attention.
On the opposite side of the athletic grounds,
Class 3-B was already in formation.
Wriothesley stood alone at the center of the field.
Arms crossed.
Expression unreadable.
No whistle theatrics. No shouting. No unnecessary movement.
Just presence.
And somehow, that was worse.
Aether stiffened immediately.
Aether: “…why does it feel like we’re the only class being allowed to suffer loudly?”
Childe, stretching beside him: “I like his vibe.”
Aether: “That is not a safe sentence.”
On Wriothesley’s signal, Class 3-B began their warm-ups.
Not chaos.
Not improvisation.
Execution.
Beidou moved through stretches like she was warming up for an actual ship battle, completely unbothered.
Kuki Shinobu quietly monitored pacing with a clipboard, adjusting groups before anyone even realized they were lagging.
Lyney turned basic warm-ups into something that looked suspiciously like performance choreography.
Lynette stretched efficiently and silently, as if emotions were an unnecessary physical burden.
Freminet followed instructions perfectly, looking like he was apologizing to every muscle group involved.
Aether blinked slowly.
Aether: “Why does their warm-up look… legal?”
Childe: “It’s terrifying.”
Aether: “That’s not what I meant!”
Wriothesley didn’t move from his spot.
He simply observed.
Then,
Wriothesley: “Faster.”
That was it.
No countdown. No encouragement.
Just a single word that immediately changed everyone’s pace.
Aether felt his soul react instinctively.
Aether: “…he didn’t even raise his voice.”
Childe: “Exactly.”
Aether: “That makes it worse somehow.”
From their own field, chaos was still ongoing.
Varka was actively coaching, voice carrying warmth and structure at the same time.
Varka: “Good effort! Maintain stamina, don’t rush your breathing!”
Aether nearly cried from the difference in tone alone.
Aether: “Why does ours feel like encouragement and theirs feels like judgment waiting to happen?”
Childe: “Because theirs is judgment.”
Wriothesley finally stepped forward.
Not rushed.
Not dramatic.
Just enough to make everyone stop thinking.
Wriothesley: “Again.”
No one argued.
They simply restarted.
Aether watched as the entire Class 3-B adjusted instantly, as if disagreement had never been an option in the first place.
Aether: “…they just obeyed.”
Childe: “Yeah.”
Aether: “No complaints?”
Childe: “No need.”
That sentence should not have been comforting.
It was not.
A loud crash came from the neighboring field.
Itto had attempted “advanced hurdle enhancement.”
Childe was cheering.
Varka’s whistle blew somewhere in the background like a suggestion rather than authority.
Varka sighed but did not panic.
On the other field, Wriothesley simply said:
Wriothesley: “Reset formation.”
And it happened immediately.
Aether slowly turned back and forth between the two classes.
Aether: “…why do I feel like we are in the less safe PE class?”
Childe grinned.
Childe: “Because we are.”
Aether stared at Itto trying to race a medicine ball again.
Then back at 3-B moving like a synchronized system under silent pressure.
Aether: “…I don’t like this realization.”
The whistle blew again.
Varka: “Switch drills!”
Childe: “NEXT EVENT!”
Aether sighed deeply.
Aether: “I miss academic failure. That was simpler.”
The whistle cut through the air again, and Class 2-B surged forward into another round of laps, less like athletes and more like a moving incident report in progress.
Varka stood at the center of the field like a calm storm, calling out pacing adjustments that half the class interpreted as optional suggestions and the other half interpreted as competitive challenges.
Varka: “Maintain rhythm! Don’t sprint early!”
Arataki Itto immediately sprinted early.
Childe followed him immediately.
Aether, somewhere in the middle of regretting everything, tried to simply survive.
Among the runners, two figures kept a steady, controlled pace, noticeably unaffected by the surrounding chaos.
Albedo ran effortlessly, breathing steady, gaze occasionally shifting toward the opposite field as if still conducting silent analysis.
Beside him, Diluc maintained an exact, disciplined pace that suggested he considered deviation from rhythm a personal failure.
For a few moments, neither spoke.
Just footsteps.
Then,
Albedo: “The contrast is becoming more pronounced with each lap.”
Diluc: “You mean between our class and theirs.”
Albedo: “Yes.”
They both glanced subtly across the field.
On one side, 2-B chaos continued in full theatrical escalation, Itto arguing with gravity, Childe turning running into a competitive doctrine, and Venti somehow encouraging it all like a musical conductor who refused to acknowledge safety standards.
On the other side,
3-B moved in silence under Wriothesley’s supervision. No wasted energy. No deviation. No noise beyond controlled breathing and synchronized motion.
Albedo: “Their efficiency is notable.”
Diluc: “It’s rigid.”
Albedo: “Rigor often produces stability.”
Diluc: “And removes unpredictability.”
Albedo: “Is unpredictability always desirable?”
Diluc didn’t answer immediately.
Because at that exact moment, Itto tripped, recovered, and immediately challenged the ground to a rematch.
Diluc exhaled sharply.
Diluc: “In this class? Yes.”
Albedo: “A fair conclusion.”
They continued running.
Ahead of them, Aether nearly collided with Childe, who was running sideways while yelling something about “optimal velocity strategy.”
Childe: “YOU’RE TOO CONSERVATIVE, AETHER!”
Aether: “I’M TRYING NOT TO DIE!”
From behind, Varka’s voice carried again.
Varka: “Good pace! Keep it steady!”
Albedo spoke again, calm as ever while maintaining stride.
Albedo: “Varka-sensei’s approach prioritizes adaptability.”
Diluc: “He allows chaos.”
Albedo: “He manages it.”
Diluc: “Wriothesley eliminates it.”
Albedo glanced again at the distant 3-B field.
Albedo: “And yet both produce results.”
Diluc: “Different kinds.”
Albedo: “Yes.”
A pause.
Diluc: “I prefer results that don’t require psychological recovery.”
Albedo: “Understandable.”
They passed another marker.
Behind them, someone screamed about losing a shoe.
Neither of them reacted.
Albedo’s gaze lingered on 3-B again as they completed another synchronized lap.
Albedo: “Their discipline is not enforced through noise.”
Diluc: “It’s enforced through expectation.”
Albedo: “Or consequence.”
Diluc: “Same thing, in practice.”
They ran in silence for a moment longer.
Then Diluc added:
Diluc: “Still. I would not want to be in their class.”
Albedo: “Nor would I.”
A pause.
Albedo: “But I would like to observe it longer.”
Diluc: “Of course you would.”
Ahead, Aether suddenly slowed, staring again toward 3-B.
Childe, passing him: “DON’T THINK TOO HARD, YOU’LL FALL BEHIND!”
Aether: “I THINK I ALREADY DID.”
From the distance, Wriothesley’s voice carried faintly across the field:
Wriothesley: “Focus.”
And just like that, 3-B corrected pace in perfect unison.
Aether froze mid-step.
Aether: “…that’s terrifying.”
Childe, laughing while running: “IT’S AWESOME!”
Aether: “NO IT’S NOT!”
But even as he said it, his eyes kept drifting back,
from chaos that moved freely…
to order that moved without question.
The lap count kept rising, and so did the collective will to question why physical education required this much emotional endurance.
Varka stood at the center of the field like a steady compass in a storm of bad decisions.
Varka: “Keep moving! Don’t break formation!”
What followed, however, was less “formation” and more “interpretive survival jogging.”
Near the edge of the track, chaos had found its own training subgroup.
Wanderer was dragging his feet dramatically, arms crossed mid-run like he was personally offended by cardiovascular activity.
Wanderer: “This is pointless. I’m moving. That should be enough.”
Varka: “That is not moving. That is emotional resistance with steps.”
Wanderer: “Same thing.”
Varka: “No.”
Beside him, Durin was moving quietly, obediently, but at a pace that suggested he was still trying to understand what “warm-up” meant in a biological sense.
Varka: “Durin, slightly faster.”
Durin: “Understood.”
He immediately increased speed by a precise margin.
Wanderer: “WHY DOES HE GET CORRECTION AND I GET INSULTED?!”
Varka: “Because he adjusts.”
Wanderer: “I DO ADJUST!”
Varka: “Not correctly.”
Wanderer: “THIS IS BIAS.”
A few meters away, Jahoda had completely stopped jogging.
Jahoda bent over, hands on knees, visibly spiraling into existential complaint mode.
Jahoda: “This is fine. This is fine. I’m fine. I’m NOT fine. Why is PE like this—why are we running—why is there a second PE class—”
Her eyes drifted across the field.
And locked onto something.
On the far side, beyond their own chaos, Class 3-B moved in near silence.
No shouting. No wasted motion. No visible disorder.
And at the center of it all,
Wriothesley stood with quiet authority, watching everything without needing to raise his voice once.
Jahoda slowly straightened.
Jahoda: “…why is it so quiet over there.”
Aether, passing by mid-lap: “Don’t look too long.”
Jahoda: “No, I mean—why is it like that?”
She watched as 3-B corrected formation instantly at a single word.
Wriothesley: “Faster.”
And they did.
No argument. No hesitation.
Just obedience.
Jahoda’s soul visibly left her body and came back more polite.
Jahoda: “…I take it back. I LOVE VARKA-SENSEI.”
Varka who’s also pacing with his students as standing at the center is boring, was near Jahoda.
Varka: “That is appreciated.”
Jahoda: “He is kind. He encourages us. He lets us breathe. I could cry.”
Varka: “But he will be your PE teacher next year.”
Silence.
Jahoda blinked.
Jahoda: “Next year?”
Varka: “He only handles the third years.”
Aether, who had just run past them, stopped so abruptly he nearly tripped.
Aether: “…I’m sorry. WHAT?”
Jahoda: “…what.”
From the distance, Childe immediately burst into laughter.
Childe: “HAHA—YOU’RE ALL DOOMED!”
Aether: “That’s not funny!”
Childe: “It’s VERY funny!”
Aether stared toward 3-B again.
Wriothesley didn’t even look their way, just raised a hand slightly.
3-B adjusted instantly.
Aether: “…I’m not ready for that.”
Jahoda: “I was just starting to recover.”
Childe wiped tears from laughing too hard while still jogging.
Childe: “GOOD NEWS!”
Aether: “There is no good news!”
Childe: “YOU STILL HAVE A FEW MONTHS TO PANIC!”
Aether: “…that’s worse!”
And as the whistle echoed again across both fields,
Aether realized something deeply unsettling:
Next year wasn’t a continuation of PE.
It was an upgrade in consequences.
The laps continued, and Class 2-B’s gym field had fully settled into its natural ecosystem: chaos moving in one direction, exhaustion moving in the other, and Aether slowly realizing there was no correct way to exist here.
Somewhere ahead, dust kicked up in uneven bursts.
Not from coordinated running.
From Itto.
Arataki Itto was currently sprinting like the concept of pacing had personally insulted him.
ITTO: “THIS BALL IS MY RIVAL NOW!”
He had found a stray gym ball on the field and, without explanation, immediately declared it a competitor in a race only he understood.
Running behind him at varying levels of regret were three students who had been assigned to him for “supervision duty.”
Flins maintained a steady, controlled pace, eyes half-lidded but constantly tracking Itto’s unpredictable movement like a tired strategist who had accepted fate.
Ineffa moved beside him, precise and alert, already calculating possible injury trajectories before they happened.
Barbara followed just behind them, clearly distressed but still running with practiced endurance, her attention split between survival and emotional support.
Barbara: “Kaveh, are you okay? You’re breathing very—”
Ahead of them, Kaveh looked like he was negotiating with reality itself.
Kaveh: “No I am NOT okay—why is running like this—why does this feel like structural failure—why is PE—WHY IS IT ALWAYS PE—”
Barbara: “I’ll take you to the infirmary after this, okay? Just try not to think about it too much.”
Kaveh: “I AM THINKING ABOUT IT TOO MUCH! THAT’S THE PROBLEM!”
Flins, still watching Itto ahead of them, exhaled slowly.
Flins: “He is accelerating again.”
Ineffa: “Noted.”
They both picked up speed slightly—but not enough to interfere.
Flins: “Are we intervening?”
Ineffa: “No.”
Flins: “Reason?”
Ineffa: “Last time we intervened, he treated it as encouragement.”
A distant crash echoed as Itto attempted to “win” against the gym ball by shoulder-checking it.
Flins: “Understood.”
They kept running.
Ahead of them, Kaveh let out another exhausted sound of despair.
Kaveh: “If I collapse here, please notify my design portfolio—”
Barbara immediately responded without hesitation.
Barbara: “Don’t worry, I’ll help you to the infirmary after this!”
Kaveh: “THAT’S NOT REASSURING THAT’S FORESHADOWING!”
Flins glanced slightly at Barbara.
Flins: “He is still functional.”
Barbara: “Barely!”
Ineffa: “He is within acceptable limits.”
Kaveh: “I AM NOT WITHIN ANY LIMITS!”
Another loud thud came from the front.
Itto had lost his race against the ball but immediately declared it a tie.
Itto: “THAT WAS CLOSE! REMATCH!”
Flins: “He is escalating again.”
Ineffa: “He has been escalating continuously since warm-up.”
Barbara, still running: “Is he always like this?”
Flins: “Yes.”
Barbara: “Oh…”
She said it like she had just accepted a new religion she didn’t believe in.
Behind them, Jahoda’s voice cracked again.
Jahoda: “I WANT VARKA BACK.”
Aether, equally distressed: “I ALSO WANT VARKA BACK!”
Childe, still laughing: “YOU CAN’T GO BACK!”
Aether: “THAT’S NOT HELPFUL!”
Childe: “IT’S HONEST!”
And through all of it,
Flins, Ineffa, Barbara, and Kaveh continued running.
One stable.
One analytical.
One emotionally holding the group together.
And one actively fighting for his life against cardiovascular existence.
And ahead of them,
Arataki Itto continued his war with a gym ball like it was destiny itself.
Flins exhaled.
Flins: “We should document this.”
Ineffa: “Already have.”
Barbara: “Can we document it after I survive it?”
Kaveh: “CAN WE DOCUMENT MY FUNERAL INSTEAD?!”
And somewhere behind them—
Aether heard Childe laughing again.
And knew, without any doubt:
PE class was never going to recover from this.
Far away from the chaos of the PE fields, the infirmary of Teyvat High had a different kind of silence.
Not peaceful silence.
Controlled silence.
The kind that meant something had already gone wrong somewhere else.
Sangonomiya Kokomi stood behind the counter, reviewing a stack of student injury reports with the calm focus of someone who had already predicted most of them before they happened.
Kokomi: “Three sprained ankles… one exhaustion collapse… and one ‘competitive argument with gravity’…”
She paused.
Kokomi: “…that one is definitely Itto.”
A soft beep from the monitoring room broke her focus.
She turned.
A bed near the corner was occupied.
Someone was sleeping there.
Not injured.
Not unconscious.
Just… peacefully absent from responsibility.
Kokomi walked closer.
Kokomi: “You are not supposed to be here unless you are injured.”
The person on the bed shifted slightly.
Kaeya opened one eye.
Kaeya: “Technically, I am emotionally injured.”
Kokomi: “That is not a valid medical condition.”
Kaeya: “It should be.”
Kokomi sighed softly, already used to this level of academic evasion.
Kokomi: “You skipped PE again.”
Kaeya: “I prefer the term ‘strategic absence.’”
Kokomi: “From gym class.”
Kaeya: “Exactly.”
She stared at him for a long moment.
Kaeya smiled lazily, as if the concept of consequences was something that happened to other people.
The infirmary door clicked.
Once.
Then again.
Not hurried.
Not loud.
Just precise.
Kokomi didn’t even turn immediately.
Because she already knew.
The air changed before the voice arrived.
Clorinde stepped inside.
Not rushed. Not surprised.
Just observant.
Clorinde: “Kaeya.”
Kaeya slowly sat up.
Kaeya: “…this is unfortunate timing.”
Clorinde: “You are not in your assigned location.”
Kaeya: “I was medically advised to rest.”
Kokomi, without looking up from her clipboard: “I did not advise that.”
Kaeya: “Spiritually advised, then.”
Clorinde took a step forward.
No hostility.
No anger.
Just inevitability.
Clorinde: “You are skipping physical education.”
Kaeya sighed dramatically.
Kaeya: “It is not skipping if I intended to return later.”
Clorinde: “You did not intend that.”
Kaeya: “…fair.”
Kokomi quietly adjusted a file.
Kokomi: “Do you require disciplinary processing?”
Kaeya immediately raised a hand.
Kaeya: “Let’s not escalate medically-adjacent paperwork, please.”
Clorinde glanced at the bed, then at Kaeya again.
Clorinde: “You will come with me.”
Kaeya: “To where?”
Clorinde: “PE.”
Kaeya: “…that feels like punishment phrased as logistics.”
Clorinde: “It is logistics.”
A faint vibration came from Kaeya’s pocket.
He checked it lazily.
Group chat notification.
Aether: WHY IS WRIOTHESLEY OUR FUTURE PE TEACHER?!
Jahoda: I WANT TO LEAVE THIS SCHOOL
Childe: HAHAHAHAHAHA
Kaeya stared at it.
Then slowly smiled.
Kaeya: “…oh, it’s getting worse out there.”
Kokomi: “That is not surprising.”
Clorinde: “You are leaving.”
Kaeya sighed again, dramatically.
Kaeya: “I was having a peaceful moment.”
Clorinde: “You chose PE period to have it.”
Kaeya: “That was my first mistake.”
As Clorinde guided him out of the infirmary, Kaeya gave one last look over his shoulder.
Kaeya: “Tell me, Kokomi… is it always this chaotic?”
Kokomi didn’t even hesitate.
Kokomi: “Yes.”
Kaeya paused.
Kaeya: “…comforting.”
Clorinde: “Move.”
Kaeya: “Yes, yes, disciplinary doom awaits.”
And as the door closed behind them,
somewhere far away, faint even through the walls,
a scream echoed again from the PE fields.
Aether and Jahoda in unison:
“WE’RE NOT READY FOR NEXT YEAR!”
And Childe’s laughter followed right after.
Class 3-A was supposed to be calm.
It was never calm.
Not because it was loud.
Because everyone was quietly doing something else while pretending to participate.
Venti stood at the front of the room, pen tapping lightly against the board as he attempted to maintain the illusion of structured education.
Venti: “Alright everyone~ pen and paper activity time! Just summarize the passage I wrote on the board!”
No one looked worried.
Which, in hindsight, was already suspicious.
Near the window, the real classroom activity had begun.
Outside, the PE field was visible.
And so was the chaos.
Venti’s eyes drifted there naturally.
On one side of the field, Class 2-B.
On the other, Class 3-B.
One was loud enough to challenge physics.
The other was silent enough to feel like judgment.
Venti sighed softly.
Venti: “…Chlorinde will be giving me an earful later.”
He said it like it was weather forecast information.
Alhaitham sat near the window, flipping a page in his book without looking at it.
But his eyes weren’t on the page.
They were outside.
Alhaitham: “Kaveh is going to fall again.”
Beside him, Jean was sitting properly, too properly.
Then, almost casually, she flicked an eraser.
It landed near the window.
Perfect trajectory.
Jean: “…accidental.”
She stood immediately.
Jean: “I’ll get it.”
Alhaitham didn’t even turn.
Alhaitham: “You aimed that.”
Jean: “Strategically placed.”
She walked toward the window.
Outside, Kaveh was mid-run, visibly suffering.
Kaveh: “WHY IS RUNNING A DESIGN FLAW—”
He almost stumbled.
A hand caught him before he fully collapsed.
Barbara steadied him instantly.
Barbara: “I’ve got you! Just breathe, okay?”
Kaveh: “WHY IS BREATHING ALSO DIFFICULT—”
Jean paused at the window.
Jean: “…that’s good for her.”
Alhaitham: “For who?”
Jean: “Her.”
A small pause.
Jean: “I hope she’s having fun there.”
Alhaitham finally glanced sideways.
Alhaitham: “That is a generous interpretation of that situation.”
Behind them, Mona leaned forward slightly in her seat, eyes following the same scene.
Mona: “That one guy with the dramatic face is complaining again.”
Alhaitham: “That narrows it down to half the field.”
Mona: “The one always arguing with Varka.”
Alhaitham: “Still half the field.”
Mona: “He’s annoying me and I’m not even there.”
Alhaitham: “Efficient conclusion.”
Beside her, Cyno spoke quietly, still looking out the window.
Cyno: “I miss Varka’s gentle approach.”
Mona: “Me too.”
Cyno: “I am not emotionally prepared for Wriothesley.”
Mona: “Neither am I.”
Alhaitham: “It’s already May. He’s been our PE Teacher since last month. What are you on about, Cyno?”
They both paused.
Then Mona added:
Mona: “But I am financially unprepared for anything in this school anyway.”
Cyno: “Fair.”
At the far side of the room, another voice cut in quietly.
Skirk didn’t look away from the window when she spoke.
Skirk: “You won’t learn anything if you keep holding onto what was comfortable.”
The room shifted slightly.
Not in noise.
In attention.
Tighnari, whose seat is beside Jean at the very front, turned his head slightly.
Tighnari: “That’s… not incorrect.”
Venti, who had been lightly daydreaming about receiving disciplinary complaints later, blinked.
Venti: “Huh?”
Skirk: “Change is the point.”
A pause.
Tighnari: “I guess so.”
That pulled Venti out of his thoughts completely.
Venti clapped his hands once, smiling again.
Venti: “Okay! Time’s up~ Everyone, present your answers one by one at the front!”
A collective silence followed.
No one looked surprised.
Just mildly inconvenienced.
Alhaitham closed his book.
Jean returned to her seat.
Mona sighed.
Cyno straightened.
And outside the window,
Aether could be faintly seen running past again, looking like he had accepted fate but not forgiveness.
Venti tilted his head slightly.
Venti: “…I’m definitely getting an earful later.”
And somewhere far away, as if answering him through space itself—
Childe’s laughter echoed across the PE fields again.