The Good Teacher



Shoutout to Bruh_Vista for beta-reading and providing extensive feedback for this chapter!

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Although the Cooperative of Teachers is considered to be an organisation unaffiliated with and unbound by any geopolitical entities, it is impossible to completely insulate it from the currents of politics. After all, if you're a paying guest in someone else's house, and the residents of the house are constantly fighting amongst each other, can you truly live a peaceful life there?

The Solar Empire was also in somewhat of a pickle as a result of the Emperor's recent unhinging. Basically, a 4-Star Teacher specifically hired to tutor one of the more promising Princes was caught in the crossfire of the deranged Emperor's warpath and was subsequently killed. The Cooperative, as a union, wanted to hold the Emperor responsible for this and pushed for compensation. Since a 4-Star Teacher isn't common and thus holds quite a bit of influence in the Cooperative's organizational structure.

If this were a few thousand years in the past, then the Cooperative could have gone full scorched earth and brought down the entire weight of the organization to strong-arm the Solar Empire into submission. But times have changed. Actions set precedents and can thus elicit unpredictable reactions. If the Cooperative, as an apolitical organization, takes drastic actions that result in significant political shifts, it means that it can happen again. And even the possibility of it recurring can put other political entities in a state of unease. Therefore, a light yet firm hand is needed - in other words, civility. The problem, however, is that it is generally impossible to be civil with a madman. The Emperor had literally lost all sense of his sanity.

This was a huge headache for the Cooperative since they were stuck between either losing face and brushing the issue under the rug or taking the offensive and possibly causing trouble down the line. Besides, even if the Emperor had alienated most of the Empire and his vassals, his position was symbolic. An affront to the throne would be, by extension, an affront to all those under him. So even if the Duchies had an issue with the Emperor, they would still take up arms and oppose the Cooperative. There was a certain hypocrisy to this; the Duchies, Marches, Counties, Viscountcies, and Baronies didn't care if the Empire shattered from within due to fights between Princes and the governmental bodies, but a party from without was akin to blasphemy.

The Cooperative was truly in a pickle, and no Teacher could come up with a solution. It got so bad that, in a fashion true to any hierarchical organization, it was delegated down and along the ladder until it fell on Al's plate.

"It's things like this that make me regret being a Teacher," Al groaned as he slid into the sofa.

"Can't you find somewhere else to vent about your problems?" Goran shot back from his study table as he signed off on a shipment paper. He then pointed at a stack of documents and folders nearing the side of his table nearby and added, "Can't you see I have my own share of problems to deal with?"

"Oh, come on, now!" Al responded flatly. "This is trivial stuff for you. Your greatest headache has already been resolved!"

A warm smile flashed past Goran's rugged face. "I know that we are friends, and there isn't such a thing as a debt between friends, but I can never thank you enough for introducing me to Sect Leader Larks. What you have done for me warrants a life debt."

Al clicked his tongue and shot back a furious look. "I don't deserve it. It was all Sect Leader Larks' support and Jean's efforts that brought her back from the pit."

Goran chuckled and shook his head before returning his attention back to the document on his table.

"I envy Guy," Al said out loud. "When was the last time I really did something meaningful? Nowadays, I ponder over my past - my life - and I've realized that it's been quite inconsequential."

"That isn't true," Goran interjected offhandedly. "The amount of knowledge you have contributed speaks volumes about that fact."

"Knowledge that has eventually been hoarded, sealed, and left to rot in a library somewhere only those with five or more seals know," Al spat in disgust. "What use is it anyway? Mages hoard knowledge like dragons hoard treasure. Tell me, what use is gold for a creature that can take anything that it wants with fire and fury?"

"Prestige?" Goran surmised.

"Right!" Al snorted sarcastically. "There is a certain kick to admitting that you know more than someone else. And that you know more than the rest of the world combined. Height of stupidity, if you ask me. Take a look at what Guy has accomplished by the simple act of sharing knowledge."

"The Sect is flourishing, although it isn't as brightly advertised as others," Goran affirmed. "The business tactics Sect Leader Larks has employed are truly revolutionary. Nowadays, he has that orange kid handling the business side of things. And let me tell you, that kid's no sucker. There are rumours of an 'Orange Shark' floating around in business circles. Three of the Rasmus Clan's competitors have been taken out of business through some ruthless marketing strategies, and the boy acquired all their assets for coppers on the gold."

"No one working with or under Guy is simple, mind you. They have a Tesseract Transformation realm Seer in their midst, who is training an Apprentice," Al reminded. "The Sect should have a bright future unless something truly unfortunate happens."

A bout of silence lingered in the room as Goran continued shuffling through his papers.

"How's Jean doing?" Al inquired. "She's usually punctual with her letters. I haven't received any recently."

"I know as much as you," Goran shrugged. "She hasn't mailed me either for..." he looked up as he counted down the days, "seven months now."

"Is she okay?" Al probed worriedly.

"She should be," Goran answered, though his voice wavered with uncertainty. "She's old enough now," he added as more to convince himself than Al, "She is now in the Foundation Establishment realm. She won't go out of her way to find trouble, and I know Sect Leader Larks won't do that either. Although I worry that she cannot fight or hurt others, she is smart enough to not jump into the gaping maws of death voluntarily."

As Goran finished his statement of self-assurance, a series of knocks resounded from his office door.

"Master, you have mail," the butler announced.

"Are there any from Jean?" Goran rebounded without pause, unable to hide the eagerness in his voice.

"I'll have to disappoint you once again, Master. There aren't any from the Young Mistress, but there is one from the Sect penned by a... Marie Reva," the butler answered.

Goran's brows furrowed into a frown. "Come in," he said.

The butler strode in with poised steps, carrying the letters on a cushioned plate held along his eye line. He gently placed the plate on Goran's desk and transferred the letters from the cushion to the desk, raised the plate, and exited the room immediately after.

Goran inspected the plain envelope with the True World Sect's seal on it, implying it was official mail.

"Rather ominous, isn't it?" Al commented.

"Don't say things like that," Goran snapped back before using a letter opener to slice it open. He carefully unfolded the paper and let his eyes scan its contents. All it took was a second, and the paper crumpled against Goran's clenched fists.

His chair exploded as the man rose and disappeared through the ceiling, leaving a massive hole larger than his form. Al rushed forward and picked up the crumpled paper. Within seconds, another hole formed in the ceiling. Neither of the men cared about the city's air traffic policies within city limits.

Al was only seconds behind Goran as they flew northwards, though he could feel the gap between them widening as the worried father burned through his mana vigorously to hasten his travel. Al managed to reveal a wry smile as he rewound and remembered the content of the letter - a single line like some sick joke: "Jean has eradicated the Plague of Dark Cleansing."

Many thoughts overlapped and ran through Al's mind, none staying in place for more than a millisecond before another took its place. But a single prayer remained and echoed over all the white noise: "Please let Jean be safe!"

He could only imagine the horror Goran was living through at the moment.

The surrounding scene blurred rapidly but not fast enough for the two individuals - Al sorely missed Garrud. But hindsight is always twenty-twenty, and neither the father nor he was in a state to think logically.

Hours passed, but it felt like days and years until a familiar and dreaded ravine hopped over the horizon. But they didn't stop. The two figures moved even faster.

But at this point, Al's rationality had returned. He slowed his speed in preparation for entering the plagued lands, but he realized that they had already passed it. The land here wasn't desiccated like before. There was no sign of the Plague here!

He tried sending a mana transmission to his friend hurtling ahead, but the man was clearly out of his mind to listen.

"JEAN!" Goran's voice bellowed and echoed in the barren lands as the girl in question appeared in their view. Al immediately burned his mana to catch up to his friend as he noticed that the girl was standing on top of the now shrunken plagued land - unaffected!

He quickly caught up and restrained Goran, as the father struggled maddeningly in his grasp.

"Stop! You will die if you take another step forward!" Al said through gritted teeth. He'd already taken a few punches and scratches from his bulkier friend.

"ME? What about my daughter?!" Goran bellowed.

"You fool! Stop for a second and look at her!" Al shot back. "She's standing at the epicentre of the Plague, yet she is perfectly fine!"

It was at that moment that the struggling stopped, and Goran finally absorbed the truth before him.

'Wouldn't you know it...' Al thought to himself. 'The letter was right!'

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