"The first problem isn't building the thing," I said, setting down my cup. "It's figuring out how to change everything around it."
Serena tilted her head. "What do you mean? We build a school, hire teachers, open the doors. With Crescentia's resources, that's hardly a challenge."
"It's not that simple," I said. "Say we make it completely free. Every class, every book, zero cost. Does that guarantee a single farmer will actually send their kids?"
Serena opened her mouth. Closed it. Blinked.
"Ah," she murmured. "Right."
"A farmer with three children isn't going to sit them behind desks just because the tuition is zero. Every child in a classroom is one pair of hands missing from the field. To them, letting a kid learn to read means someone doesn't eat tonight."
Serena went quiet. I could practically see the gears turning, the simple idea she'd been holding reshaping itself into something far thornier.
"The real bottleneck," I continued, "is taxes."
"Taxes?" She cocked her head. "Why taxes?"
"Because in this kingdom, the tax burden on commoners is absurd. Borderline criminal."
Serena gave me a look that was half-grin, half-frown. "You talk like you've lived somewhere with lower ones."
I didn't answer that.
"Though honestly," she went on, her voice dropping, "ever since I met you, the taxes have been nagging at me too."
"Think about it," I said. "Picture someone bent over a field from dawn to dusk, every single day. Breaking their back under the sun for months. Then harvest comes, and the kingdom and the landowners sweep in and take nearly everything. What's left barely keeps a family alive until the next season. Sound fair to you?"
"Of course not," Serena said, louder this time.
"The crown and the nobility operate on one equation," I said. "Income equals taxes. The more you squeeze, the richer you get. That's it. That's the only math they've ever bothered to learn."
"And the part they're missing?"
I leaned back and let my gaze drift up to the guild's ceiling for a moment.
"Here's the part," I said. "A farmer who can't read will only ever be a farmer. He grows one sack of grain per season, and the kingdom takes almost all of it. Now picture that same farmer, except he can read and count. He figures out crop rotation. He learns better irrigation. His yield doubles, maybe triples. The kingdom could slash the tax rate in half and still bring in more revenue than before. Because half of three sacks beats all of one."
Serena said nothing.
"And it doesn't stop there," I pressed on. "A farmer who can read might become a merchant. A merchant who can count might become an entrepreneur. A successful entrepreneur creates jobs, fuels the economy, and opens up entirely new revenue streams, trade taxes, business taxes, property taxes. All of them bigger and steadier than wringing the last grain out of people who are already starving."
I met her eyes.
"This kingdom bleeds its people dry because it assumes they can only ever be one thing. Give them education, and they can be anything. When that happens, the whole kingdom rises. Not just noble coffers, everyone."
A few seconds of silence.
Serena watched me with an expression I knew by heart. The one that surfaced whenever every piece clicked into place and the full picture snapped into focus behind her eyes.
"So what you're saying," she said slowly, "is that spending money on education now actually makes us more money later."
"Not just money," I replied. "People. More capable, more productive, more inventive people. A kingdom where citizens can think for themselves will always outperform one where citizens can only follow orders."
Serena drummed her fingers on the table, the telltale tic that meant she was running the numbers on something massive.
"It won't be easy," she said. "The nobles will push back. To them, ignorant peasants are obedient peasants."
"Naturally," I agreed. "But nobles also worship profit. If we can demonstrate that educated commoners generate more wealth for everyone, them included, their objections will crumble on their own."
Serena studied me for a few more seconds. Then the smile returned. Not her usual grin. Something sharper. The smile of a woman with ten plans already taking shape behind her eyes, all running in parallel.
"You know, Recci," she said, "every time I think I finally understand how your head works, you throw something at me that makes me realize I haven't even scratched the surface."
"I'm just a regular person who overthinks things," I said flatly.
"Regular people don't design banking systems at age eight."
"Intuition."
"Intuition that just so happens to produce economic theory nobody on this continent has dreamed of."
I took a sip of cold coffee and offered nothing.
Serena let out a soft laugh and started rolling up her parchments. "Fine, fine. I'll draft the initial plan, location, costs, basic curriculum. We could start with a pilot school here in Ulbert. See how it performs before scaling up."
"Good," I said. "One more thing."
"What?"
"Don't call it charity. Call it an investment. Nobles hate the word charity, but they'll trip over themselves for anything labeled an investment."
Serena's grin widened. "You really do know how to talk to powerful people."
"I'm just a good listener."
"That's what stalkers always say," she shot back, winking.
I had no idea when that nickname had latched onto me, but apparently it planned to follow me to my second grave.
"Enough stalling," I said, rolling up the last parchment. "Let's get moving."
Serena nodded, eyes already bright with that familiar fire. "Right. So, the usual place?"
By "the usual place," she meant Crescentia Group headquarters. A four-story building in the heart of the capital that served as the nerve center of our entire operation. Every major decision was hammered out there, every document processed, every cross-kingdom shipment coordinated. Dozens of staff worked its halls daily, managing a commercial network that stretched from the continent's northern tip to its southern shore.
I rarely visited in person. A handful of times a year, at most, usually when a problem couldn't be solved by letter, or when I needed to pitch an idea face-to-face to the people who'd be executing it.
But that wasn't where we were headed. Not today.
The core issue was taxes. And taxes weren't something a private company could touch, no matter how large it grew. Only one person in this kingdom held the authority to rewrite tax policy.
"No," I said. "We're going straight to the palace."
Serena blinked. "Straight to His Majesty?"
"The solution starts and ends with him."
"Fair point," she said, sliding the last scroll into her robe. "He is the king."
We both stood. I tossed a few coins on the table to cover the drinks and made for the exit.
But just before stepping through the door, I stopped. Glanced back.
Across the room, behind the reception desk, Veralyn was walking a hunter through his form, pointing at a line, explaining something with her usual blank-faced seriousness. And yet her hands moved with a patience I never would have guessed she carried.
I watched for two seconds.
Then turned and walked out.