If there was one thing Rick had learned to loathe throughout his years as a teacher, it was the red tape. He would have figured that it being a dinky little village in the middle of what was probably the farthest point from any bureaucracy that the country could offer would mean there would be little need for such a thing.

Apparently, humanity and paperwork were synonyms.

Rick’s eyes bore holes into the pile of paper that lay in front of him. A contract. Thirty pages thick, the paper itself was thicker and rougher than what he was used to. It made the whole thing look closer to a book, especially with the flat pieces of wood at either side, using string to bind the pages together.

The fact that it tingled to his touch told him there was also more to it than met the eye. Which made him all the warier to sign without understanding every line of text within.

Thus why he was currently seated in the common room, the only area with electric lighting in the building, a dim orange that did not flicker or wane even as the storm raged outside. It was currently, thankfully, mostly empty of people.

Rick drummed his fingers against the table, glaring at the ink-filled pages. Next to him there was a blank piece of paper he was scribbling notes onto. There were no such things as pens in this tiny village, apparently, so he had to use a cloth-wrapped piece of coal that was making a mess of his hands.

“Don’t you find it weird?” Tomas interrupted Rick’s inner musings, taking the seat opposite to the teacher’s.

“I find many things weird.” Rick replied, muttering and writing a few other words. The legalese that was in the contract had more than a few terms he wasn’t too clear on.

“I mean, you’ve seen it, right? It’s in English.”

“Mhm.”

“We’re in another world. There're monsters and magic, and they’re speaking English and the Baron had a pokeball.”

“Pokeball?” A frown followed. His eyes hadn’t left the paper. “Ah, the thing Kat mentioned the Baron is using to keep Monica trapped.” A growl left his lips as his jaw clenched, his brows furrowed. “Yeah, weird shit.”

“But don’t you think that-.”

Rick’s eyes snapped away from the paper, glaring at the young man. “Tomas.” His singular word came out with a growl. “I am currently trying to get Monica back. I do not have the time or mental capacity to start playing guessing games. Do you have anything that could help me process this bullshit faster?”

“You could just sign it. I did.” The young man muttered, dejected. “It’s not like there’s an alternative.”

“Never sign something without reading and understanding it.” Came the harsh reply. “For all I know, this thing says I forfeit any claim to Monica in some convoluted way.”

“Do you really think this will help?”

Rick’s neck tensed, his hand clenched around the piece of coal. “Do we have any other way to do this? I can’t just break into the Baron’s house, find Monica, and fight my way out.”

“You could have your nurse girlfriend lend a hand. Maybe she-.” Tomas rolled his eyes, crossing his arms. The look in his eyes faltered as Rick leveled a glare back at him. “I’m guessing she’s busy then… Ok, I’ll help. What do you need?”

Rick didn’t hesitate to hand him the piece of paper he’d been scribbling on. “I need the definitions for these.”

The young man nodded, looking down at the paper, taking a pause. “Do you know where they keep a dictionary?”

A harsh bark of laughter left the young teacher’s lips. “Apparently, there’s only two in the village. The Baron has one, and the Hunters the other. Neither allow people to take the book, only to show up to look at it, so if I want to use them, I’d have to go on over to where they are at.” A growl. “You know, while we’re in lock-down, trapped in a building because apparently there’s a horde of monsters out there just itching to eat us.”

“Then how should I…?”

“Asking around would be the first option.” Rick shook his head, pausing as he saw Tomas’ look of confusion. “Green uniforms, blue collars.”

“What?”

“Green uniform, blue collars. The Hunters.” An impatient drumming of his fingers against the table. “The only ones that have been able to answer my questions. Black collars don’t know how to read. Green and red are a tossup. Blue collars.”

“Oh, ok.”

“And Tomas?” Rick looked at the young man as he’d been just about ready to rush through the door. “Thanks.”

A firm nod. “Don’t mention it.”

A weary sigh as the no-longer-bespectacled former student hurried off.

“I take it you don’t have a minute to talk?”

The voice startled Rick slightly. His eyes rose from the paper he’d been about to get back to scribbling on. Standing where Tomas had been a minute ago was Victor. The fellow teacher looked ragged, bags under his eyes, hair unkept, his complexion slightly pale. There was a weariness in that gaze that made Rick feel like calling for a nurse rather than start conversation.

Victor had never been a conversationalist, not with Rick, at least. The chemistry teacher scowled, but kept quiet, a little nod that signaled for his companion to take a seat opposite to him. He waited for a heartbeat. “Is it about Alice?”

The older man paused, blinking, then nodded slowly. “Yes.”

Leaning back, the chemistry teacher crossed his arms. “You should probably apologize.”

The man frowned. “You’re saying I’m to blame?”

“I heard the story from her and confirmed with some of the other students. Personally? I don’t really put you on the list of people to blame for what transpired.” Rick quirked a cold brow. He leaned forward, lips thinning. “But it’s clearly eating at you, so either do something, or sit back and do nothing. Again.”

Victor shot to his feet, chair clattering behind him. The man’s eyes blazed as he leaned over the table. A snarl played on his lips. “Do you think this is some sort of joke? You pull the hero and now you’re better than the rest of us!?” His hand swung to throw the book and papers off the table. A clattering sound that very abruptly drew everyone else’s attention.

A quiet spread across the room. The only sound that made it through was the drumming rain outside.

Rick remained seated, not moving an inch as his eyes moved from the tossed book up to Victor’s glare. Both teachers kept the glare, one side with a clenched jaw, the other with a cold, unwavering wall of ice.

When Rick moved, Victor jolted backwards, raising his arms, ready to stop any potential attack.

None came, however.

Quietly, the chemistry teacher was the first to break eye contact, moving towards the items that’d been shoved off the table. Without a word, he picked it up, carefully organizing it into a pile and then returning to the table. With purposeful slowness, each item was returned to their original spot. Rick proceeded to flip the contract open back to the page he had been at before his interruption.

No longer paying attention to the glaring man, Rick grasped the piece of coal and placed his focus on the contract. It took Victor several seconds to react to the quiet dismissal. His eyes turned around to stare at the people present.

A heartbeat later, he turned to leave.

The door slammed shut.

Rick waited until the low-tone whispers died down before putting the full of his attention back on the headache at hand. Thoughts of Victor were summarily dismissed.

Quietly, the chemistry teacher thanked that the whole thing had been printed. The letters weren’t exactly small, but they were certainly uniform. The issue was the font made his eyes hurt. The letters were sharpened like knives, given needless squiggles, and some not having gotten all the ink it would’ve needed to get a proper imprint. Or too much.

So, sometimes, it was a tossup on what exact word was being used, which did not combine well with the existence of, apparently, legal terms he had never heard of before. Even the ones not using words that, to him, looked made up.

What the hell did “statutory disconnection” even mean!? Sure, he could infer some meaning through context, but the document appeared to have been made intentionally convoluted.

And that made him even warier of outright signing it.

Rick paid little attention to the sound of the common-room opening again, nor did he really notice how all conversations had quickly come to an abrupt end. He did, however, notice when two figures had put themselves in front of his table, partially blocking out the light.

Holding back from sighing, he raised his eyes towards the third distraction within the past hour.

Whatever he’d been planning to say flew out the window. It was Dia, and she’d brought someone with her.

She was a maiden, if the green uniform and green collar didn’t make it clear, the light gray wings on her back sealed the deal. Her uniform looked crisp, far better kept than the others he’d seen. The green had some golden inlays near the cuffs and skirt, a touch of luxury that had been absent in the others Rick had met so far. His brows furrowed ever so slightly as he met her gaze, blue eyes and blond, her skin pale save a touch of redness in her cheeks.

The connection jumped out at him. She’d been the winged one that had fought Monica.

“Sir, this is Lieutenant Helga.” The nurse’s tone was formal, crisp. “She was in charge of the rescue operation.”

It was only really then that Rick noticed that both Helga and Dia had a slightly serious look on their faces, the sort of forced neutrality one would find on a soldier during a formal event.

Helga leaned forward, giving a slight bow. “I never had the opportunity to thank you properly, sir. Your actions during the fight helped avoid needless deaths that day.”

“I’m not…” Rick’s thoughts were not quite up to speed, looking between the two. So he defaulted towards cordiality. “What do I owe the pleasure to?”

“I told Helga about your current circumstances, and she agreed to aid in expediting the process.” Dia’s stony expression betrayed only the slightest of cheeky grins twitching at the corner of her lips.

“Yes. I witnessed the events that day and, if needed, I can testify that the feral behaved more like a recently bonded maiden protecting her partner.” Helga affirmed, with a far more serious nod. “More importantly, the citizenship process requires testimony under truth-spells, and a psychic evaluation. I am qualified for the testimony part.”

“Oh.” With a slight nod, his mind attempting to process the statement, Rick’s gaze lowered to the documentation currently in his hands. “Do you happen to be fluent in legal?”

Not too far away, still looking for help, Tomas sneezed.