It is entirely possible to be obscenely skilled at a subject, yet have absolutely no idea how to teach it. Not everyone understands why they stand so far above their peers, nor do they always remember the steps they took to achieve such mastery. Some are just talented; geniuses of their chosen profession, who have never had to struggle with the basics. How can they teach what has always come naturally to them? Others are simply specialized, focusing their efforts on a single, specific technique, to the detriment of all others. How could they teach what they never bothered to retain?

The worst offenders of all were those who paid lip service to the job. Bitter veterans, tenured and uninterested, giving bland lectures alongside decade-old PowerPoint presentations. Daniel had suffered through more than his fair share of these people over the course of his life. For the first two weeks of the Academy, he worried that Professor Tawny was one of them.

Lesson after lesson, four hours a day, five days a week, covering the letter of the law in long, dry monologues. Rules and regulations, rapid-fire and unrelenting, poured into Dan's brain. Rote memorization of facts. They were important, true, but also agonizingly, unbearably boring. Dan's only consolation was that his classmates clearly felt the same way.

Fred, whose enthusiasm had started at its peak, stared regularly drifted off in class as the week went on. He was seventeen years old, and hid his indiscretion in the manner of a highschooler. He'd lean into his arm, elbow on the table, while his hand slowly drifted over his brow, to shadow his eyes. He kept a pencil tucked into his free hand, pressed against an empty page. It fooled absolutely no one.

Freya managed slightly better. From what Dan could tell, she spent most classes meticulously transcribing the professor's words into text, while frowning intensely. The cynical part of his mind suggested that she was fact checking their professor after each class, but it seemed more likely that her pride would not allow her to slack off. Even if the class was as engaging as watching paint dry.

Gregoir, astonishingly (or perhaps not so much), took the droll atmosphere as some sort of personal challenge, and strove to maintain his vigor at all times. The man simply would not sit still. His foot would bounce restlessly against the floor, causing minor earthquakes within the building, and his handwritten notes grew more and more elaborate as the days marched forward. Gregoir wasn't a doodler, he was a calligrapher, and a surprisingly talented one at that. His little red notebook was filled with lines of looping cursive, a thing of rare beauty.

And then there was Dan. Though he wasn't usually one to boast, he quietly considered himself the most composed student, by dint of sheer experience. The others, they merely adopted the boredom. He was born in it. Molded by it. He hadn't known a competent teacher until he was already a man; by then he felt nothing but apathy.

...At some point that metaphor had fallen apart on him. The point was, Dan could deal with a boring teacher. He didn't prefer it. He was, in fact, quite disappointed by it. But he could deal with it.

Abby was there for him each day, patiently letting him vent before running him ragged on whatever newest training idea she had come up with. Dan could feel himself getting stronger. He had muscles now, though he was nowhere near as toned as his trainer. He wasn't as clumsy as he once was, though he'd never be graceful, and he could probably win an average bar fight without resorting to teleportation.

His power training was proceeding slowly but surely. It was... odd, forcing his veil into different shapes. He had to imagine the process, the act of that blue energy threading its way into a material, had to picture it perfectly, before and after. His power was a door that could alter itself. Ripping it open was easy, but directing it precisely was another matter entirely. He was getting there, but it was slow going.

Most of the time, though, his power was used to cheat in his training. Time moved differently in t-space, or perhaps not at all. He could sit in there for hours, if he wanted to, practicing or studying or thinking, and upon his return, no time would have passed. At some point, he had lost his fear of the place, though he still kept a wary eye on the squirming shapes in the distance. One should never lose sight of eldritch monstrosities, especially if you had no idea what the fuck they actually were.

Which brought him to another concern.

"I haven't heard back from Marcus," Dan told Abby, a week and a half into his S&R course. He had just returned from the Academy, and was laying on the carpet of Abby's living room. Abby lounged on the couch, legs crossed and still in her pajamas. Her lips pursed at Dan's comment.

"How long has it been?" she asked.

"A little over two weeks," Dan replied slowly, counting the days in his head. He frowned. "I don't know how the internet works out there. I assume it's in real time and not some kind of... snapshot."

Abby's cheeks dimpled. "Snapshot?"

"Yeah!" Dan's face reddened as he flailed for a proper explanation. "Like, you know, a database that's updated every once in a while. Or something."

"That doesn't seem likely."

"It's possible," Dan defended. "I never asked how he got internet access, I was happy enough just getting the Wi-Fi password."

Abby sighed. "Danny." She leaned forward, setting a hand on his shoulder. "He ordered things for you to pick up. How do you think he did that?"

Dan blinked. "Oh."

"Oh," Abby echoed with a patronizing grin.

"Right. That makes sense," Dan continued obliviously. "He had me picking things up the same day that he hired me. Couldn't have done that unless the delay was trivial."

He paused.

"That's a damn fine ISP."

Abby covered her mouth with one hand, barely stifling her amused huff.

Dan flopped onto his side, facing her. "Seriously! I would've killed for internet like that back home! Comcast was the Reliant Robin of internet providers."

Abby's shoulders shook as Dan continued. "It was always 'Oh, we don't offer that service in your location! Why don't you try this super expensive package deal instead!?' And here Marcus is, getting high-speed internet on fucking Neptune! How does that shit work?"

"With— snerk! With great effort, I'd imagine," Abby supplied, still fighting back giggles.

Dan rolled his eyes, flopping back over with a sigh. "I should check up on him. Its been too long, and he was acting unusual when I left. Who knows what that reckless old fool has done."

"Will that be dangerous?" Abby asked. Her voice was light, filled with forced nonchalance.

Dan blew out a heavy breath. "I dunno. Could be. My main concern, before, was getting stuck in the G— in t-space. He built that, uh, window thing, and I wasn't sure how it would interact with my power. I don't really have that worry anymore. I trust my power."

"I don't like it," she stated flatly.

"Yeah," he acknowledged. "Me neither."

The conversation quieted briefly, as Dan pondered the issue.

"If he doesn't respond by next weekend," he decided, "then I'm gonna go up there."

Abby tensed, then slowly relaxed. "If you think you have to."

Dan stared up at the ceiling, remembering the first few weeks in this reality, the confusion he felt, the horror and worry. He remembered how comforting it was to have a home, a job, some small bit of stability.

"Yeah," Dan decided. "I have to. I owe the old man that much, at least."

Dan wasn't that worried, not really. Marcus was older than dirt, and he didn't get that way by being an idiot. Still, Dan should check in. It was the polite thing to do. It was the right thing to do.

"Okay," Abby replied softly. "Then, I hope he replies to you."

"Me too," Dan said. Not just because it would save him some trouble, and soothe the minor concern he felt. Dan wasn't ready to face Marcus yet. He wanted to be... more. He wanted to be able to present himself and say 'Look at what I've become!'. He was on that path, but he had only just started. He needed more time. He needed to learn more, to learn faster. He needed experience.

The very next day, the world answered his plea.

Dan filed into the classroom alongside his peers, same as normal. He sat in the same chair, opened up his laptop, and waited to die by inches.

The professor entered, droned on for a while, and put a full quarter of the class to sleep.

Then, he did something different.

With a satisfied smile, Professor Tawny packed away his notes, turned off the projector, and announced that they were done with the lecture portion of the class.

It was time to arrange the group's first field trip.

Things were about to become interesting.