That morning, my house received two women.
One had golden blonde hair, standing at the front door with a smile far too wide for this hour. The other had silver hair, already seated at the dining table with a glass of water and a notebook that had been open since dawn.
"Yo, good morning Recci."
I just nodded and let her in.
Serena stepped past me with light, easy strides, as if the house were hers.
Before she had taken three steps, she had already found her target.
"Veracci."
Veralyn raised her head from her book. Before she could react, Serena was already hugging her. A warm, tight, and entirely one-sided embrace. Veralyn did not resist, but she did not return it either. She just stood there like a tree too polite to refuse the wind.
I poured coffee into my cup and waited for the ritual to end.
Normally, Serena was too busy to come this early. Her schedule was managed down to the minute by a secretary who, according to rumor, had already gone through three appointment books this year because they kept running out of pages. But today was different. Today was not Crescentia business. Not trade, not the new branch in the southern territory, not the quarterly reports piling up on her desk.
Today was about something bigger.
Serena released her embrace from Veralyn, fixed her own hair, then turned toward me with eyes that had already changed. The smile was still there, but there was sharpness behind it. The eyes of a businesswoman ready to work.
"So," she said while pulling out a chair, "about this idea you said would change everything."
I walked to the desk in the corner of the room. A desk I usually only used for reading and drinking coffee in the morning, now with its surface covered by a map of the capital, and several sheets of paper filled with scribbles from last night. Serena followed and sat across from me. From the corner of my eye, Veralyn had already moved to the kitchen without a sound.
"The king has approved our proposal. Taxes lowered, public school built, Crescentia covers the initial costs for three years." I sipped my coffee. "Now we just need to figure out how we actually do it."
Serena nodded. Her fingers tapped the table lightly, a habit that appeared whenever her mind was calculating something.
"First question. How much do we need?"
I looked at her with a flat expression. Inside my head, I was screaming.
Because I did not know.
The idea of building a school came from knowledge of my previous life. In that world, schools were everywhere. Every city had hundreds. Every child was required to attend. But how to actually build one? How much did stone cost per cubic unit? How much was a teacher's salary in this world? I had no idea. I truly had no idea.
But if I said that now, the image I had built over more than a decade would crumble in seconds.
"What do you think?" I set my cup down with a calm gesture. As if the question were not a deflection, but an invitation to discuss.
Serena, thankfully, was not someone who needed to be invited twice.
"If we're talking about one building with a capacity of a hundred students," she leaned back in her chair, eyes drifting to the ceiling, calculating, "construction alone would swallow about three hundred gold coins. Foundation, walls, roof, ventilation. If we want proper sanitation, add more. Then desks, chalkboards, storage shelves, another eighty gold coins or so."
I nodded. Slowly. Full of consideration.
Inside my head: I was grateful she was the one doing the math.
"Three hundred eighty. That's just the building and equipment." Serena picked up a pen and began writing numbers on the paper. Her hand moved quickly, practiced. This was not her first time calculating a project budget from scratch. Crescentia had been built in exactly this way. Serena sitting at a table, calculating, then turning what had been nothing but numbers on paper into reality. "Then teacher salaries. That's the expensive part."
"What is the standard rate?" I asked. A question that sounded like a confirmation. It was not. I was genuinely asking.
"Depends on who we recruit. A basic teacher who can only read and write, maybe ten gold coins per year. But we don't need basic teachers. We need people with academic backgrounds who understand law, who can convey knowledge to someone who has never held a book in their life." Serena tapped her pen on the table. "Someone like that, twenty gold coins per year. Minimum. And we'd need at least five."
"A hundred per year just for salaries."
"Correct." Serena wrote the number with a heavy underline. "Add that to the building and equipment, and we're already talking about nearly five hundred gold coins. And that's before a single student has sat down."
"Not including operational costs," I added. This much, at least, I could deduce from basic logic. "Building maintenance, teaching materials, clean water."
"Yes." Serena calculated again in her head. "Building maintenance, around twenty per year if we are lucky. Clean water depends on location. Close to a well or river, cheap. If we have to channel it ourselves, expensive." She wrote two columns of numbers. Best case and worst case. "Total operational, between forty and seventy per year. Not counting teaching materials."
I looked at those numbers. Then looked at Serena.
Then thought of something she might not have considered yet.
"Lunch."
Serena raised an eyebrow. "Lunch?"
"Children from farming and laboring families do not always have enough food at home. If they come to school on empty stomachs, they will not be able to learn. Lunch is not a luxury, it is a necessity."
Serena looked at me for a few seconds. Something in her eyes shifted. Not surprise. More like a quiet acknowledgment that she had overlooked something she should have thought of herself.
Then she nodded. Not a half-hearted nod. The nod of someone who immediately understood the logic without needing further explanation.
"Fine. Lunch goes into the budget." Serena calculated quickly. "For a hundred students, about fifteen gold coins per month. A hundred eighty per year."
She wrote it down. Then totaled it in her head. I could see the numbers spinning in her eyes.
"So total for the first year, construction plus operations, we're looking at roughly seven hundred gold coins. For one school."
"For one school," I confirmed. As if I had already known that number before she said it.
I had not. But she did not need to know that.
A brief silence. Not a heavy silence. Just the pause needed by two people accustomed to working with large numbers to make sure everything added up. Or at least, one person who was accustomed, and one person who was pretending to be.
"Crescentia can handle it," Serena said finally. "Seven hundred isn't a small number, but it's not one that would shake our finances either. The eastern trade division alone generates more than that every quarter." She tapped her pen on the table. "But in years two and three, the construction costs are gone. So we're only covering operations and salaries. Around three hundred per year. Total of roughly thirteen hundred for three years."
"And after three years, the kingdom takes over."
"That is the plan."
I sipped my coffee. A plan that looked neat on paper. The reality would be far messier. But one step at a time.
Serena leaned back and crossed her arms. "Now the harder question. Where?"
I slid the map to the center of the table. This, at least, I had studied last night. A map of the capital with street lines, building blocks, and areas marked in different colors. Red for the noble district, blue for the trade area, green for common residential zones, and white for empty lots.
"Looking at the map," Serena leaned forward, her eyes tracing the lines on the map at the speed of someone used to reading city layouts for business purposes, "there are three areas that make sense." Her finger pointed. "First, the border between the trade district and common residential area. Good access, near the main road."
"But the land prices are high," I added. This much, at least, I could guess.
"Very high. And we'd be neighbors with major merchants who probably wouldn't appreciate a school next to their warehouses." Her finger shifted. "Second, the southern outskirts. Large plots, cheap."
"Too far."
"Too far," Serena agreed immediately. "Kids from the city center won't come. And their parents won't let them travel that far." Her finger stopped at the third point. "Last one. There's land near Hunter Guild Ulbert. Between three large residential areas." She tapped the point twice. "This makes the most sense. Wide reach, the price should be moderate, and it's close to the guild."
"Security," I said.
Serena looked over. "Security?"
I nodded. "The guild runs patrols around their area. With a school nearby, we get an extra layer of protection without having to hire guards ourselves."
Serena looked at me for a moment. Then smiled faintly.
"You already thought about that last night."
I neither confirmed nor denied. Just drank my coffee.
What actually happened last night: I stared at this map for three hours, and the only thing I thought about was Hunter Guild Ulbert because it was the one place on this map whose location I actually knew. Everything about security and patrols was simply a bonus that happened to make sense.
But again, she did not need to know that.
Veralyn appeared beside the table with a tray holding two cups. Tea for Serena, an extra coffee for me. She set them down without a sound, then stood there for a moment, her eyes sweeping over the map on the table.
"Thank you, Vera." Serena took her tea and blew on it gently. Then returned to the map. "I like the third option. But who owns the land?"
"Some of the lots in that area are registered at the guild as unused land," I said. "But that does not mean they have no owner. We need to check directly."
That was also information I had guessed. But delivered in a tone confident enough that most people would not question it.
"Fine. We will check later." Serena took a sip of her tea. "Now the more complicated issue. Teachers."
I leaned back in my chair. This topic, at least, I could discuss without pretending.
"The people who qualify are very few. Those who can teach and are also willing to teach commoners, even fewer."
"Academy graduates won't do it," Serena said directly. "Their social status is too high. Teaching commoners is considered beneath them. Even if some were willing, they'd demand unreasonable pay."
"Alternatives?"
"Educated merchants to teach arithmetic. Retired government officials for basic law and administration." Serena counted on her fingers. "But for reading, writing, and general knowledge, we still need someone with a strong academic background."
She paused. Then her smile changed. Slowly. Into a smile that was far too sweet. The kind of smile that made anyone who knew her immediately uncomfortable.
Her eyes drifted toward the kitchen.
"There's one person who meets every requirement." Her voice was light. Too light. "A graduate of the Royal Academy of Magic. Mastery of magical theory, kingdom law, reading, writing, arithmetic. And who happens to be in this room."
Veralyn, who was apparently still standing at the kitchen doorway, looked at Serena.
Then at me.
Then back at Serena.
"I am not a teacher."
"Not yet," Serena answered lightly.
Veralyn did not respond. She picked up the empty tray and returned to the kitchen with steps that were slightly faster than usual. If I did not know her, I would not have caught the difference.
But I did know her.
Serena laughed softly. "We'll revisit that later." She returned to her notes. "Now, scheduling. Children of commoners obviously can't attend school all day. They have to help their parents in the fields, at shops."
"Half days," I said. This was something I knew. From my previous world, education systems for agrarian societies always started with flexible schedules. "Morning until midday for studying. The rest they work."
"Or," Serena raised her pen, "we create two groups. Morning and afternoon. The school's capacity doubles without an extra building."
I nodded. A good idea. Better than the version I had in mind, to be honest.
"And harvest season breaks," Serena added while writing. "No parent's going to let their child sit in a classroom when crops need cutting."
I nodded again. She had already thought of the same thing before I could bring it up.
"Curriculum," I said. This was the part I could discuss with confidence. Basic education concepts from the modern world, adapted for this one. "Three levels. First, basic reading and writing. Recognizing letters, forming words, reading simple sentences, writing their own names."
"Second?"
"Arithmetic. Addition, subtraction, multiplication, division. Enough to calculate the price of goods, measure land, understand a contract."
"Third?"
"General knowledge. Basic kingdom law, rights and obligations of citizens, better farming techniques, basic health."
Serena stopped writing. Her pen hung above the paper.
"Basic law." She looked at me with an expression I recognized. The expression of someone weighing risk. "You know how the nobles will react if they hear we're teaching law to commoners."
"I know."
"They'll say we're preparing a rebellion."
"Let them." My voice stayed flat. "People who understand their rights are not a threat. People who do not understand their rights but feel oppressed, those are the dangerous ones."
Serena looked at me for several moments. Then smiled. Not her business smile. A smaller one. More sincere.
"Sometimes I forget why I agreed to work with you, Recci. Then you say something like that and I remember."
I did not respond. Picked up my coffee cup and drank instead. Partly because I genuinely did not know what to say. Partly because if I opened my mouth now, my voice might betray the fact that the compliment made me more nervous than the entire budget discussion.
"One more thing," Serena said, tapping her finger on the table. Her tone shifted. More serious. "Legal protection. We can't build this without a strong legal framework. If we register it as an official educational institution, we'd need approval from the noble council." She looked at me squarely. "And we both know that's never going to happen."
"That is why we will not register it as an educational institution."
Serena raised an eyebrow. "Then as what?"
"A job training program. Under Crescentia."
A brief silence.
I could see the moment the sentence landed in Serena's head. The first second, her brow furrowed slightly. The second, the furrow disappeared. The third, the corner of her lips twitched.
"Legally," I continued in the same flat tone, "Crescentia has the right to conduct training for its own prospective employees. There is no regulation against it. And no regulation limiting who is allowed to participate."
"Crescentia job training." Serena repeated the words slowly. As if savoring an expensive wine. "Not a school. Officially, not a school. But teaching exactly the same things."
"No noble council approval needed. No inspections. And if anyone protests, we are simply training our own prospective employees."
Serena laughed. A light but satisfied laugh. The laugh of someone who had just found a back door in a wall everyone thought was impenetrable.
"You're truly terrifying sometimes, you know that?"
I did not answer. But inside my head, I let out a sigh of relief. At least for one part of this entire conversation, I had actually known what I was talking about. The rest? Serena calculated. Serena analyzed. Serena turned my idea into numbers that made sense.
What I did was sit here, drink my coffee, and keep my face flat.
Sometimes being a mysterious NPC was more exhausting than people thought.
Veralyn returned from the kitchen with a small plate of biscuits that I did not remember owning. She placed it on the table between us, then looked at the map and the scattered papers.
"If you two are serious about this," her voice was flat as always, but her eyes swept over every number on Serena's notes, "you also need to think about writing materials for the students. At the Academy, a significant portion of the budget went just to supplying parchment and ink for a single class year. And that was for students who already knew how to hold a pen."
Serena and I exchanged glances.
That was a detail we had both missed.
"What is the estimated cost?" Serena asked.
"For a hundred students learning from scratch, parchment and ink will run out far faster than with experienced students. Scribbles, mistakes, repeated practice." Veralyn spoke in the same tone she used when reporting archive progress at the guild. Without excessive emotion. Just facts. "If you use standard parchment, add at least forty gold coins per year. Possibly more."
I turned to Serena. She had already written the number on her paper.
The first-year total that had been seven hundred was now climbing higher.
"Individual writing boards," I said. "Thin wooden slates that can be erased and reused for daily practice. Parchment only for final assignments."
That was an idea from my previous world. Small slates used by schoolchildren hundreds of years ago. Before paper became cheap. Before technology made everything easy.
"That could cut the cost in half," Veralyn added. Brief. Precise. Then she returned to her position near the kitchen as if she had not just rescued our budget.
Serena watched her go with a warm smile. Then turned to me and whispered.
"Not a teacher, she says."
I chose not to comment.
"All right." Serena straightened up and closed her notebook. The first page was already full of numbers and notes. "We've got a preliminary plan. Rough budget, potential location, curriculum concept, and a legal loophole to operate without formal approval. Next step?"
"Go to town." I stood and took my coat from the hook near the door. "We need to check the land conditions near the guild in person. Talk to the land registry office. And if possible, start negotiations today."
"Today?" Serena raised an eyebrow. "Not wasting any time, are you?"
"I do not have a habit of postponing things that should already be done."
Serena was quiet for a moment. Then she stood, straightened her clothes, and picked up her bag.
"Then let's go."