He had to produce some kind of reasonable plan.

There was only so many times he could drug a student, take off their clothes on a blind search for the moon and dump them out onto the streets before the constables noticed whose class these girls were coming from. The kids probably didn’t have the best impression of him either, he’d heard “What kind of teacher refuses to take off his sunglasses for a lesson?” a few too many times to have any illusion he wasn’t a creep in their book.

Well, not that they were wrong.

And before the constables did, Greg would probably notice it himself. Him and his pesky honor. Him and his pesky overly sensitive knightly instinct. Gregor’s naive trust made him feel like a childrens story villain. Mustache too twirly, back too crooked and way too tall. Hide your grain, hide your wives, for Schneiderstein has arrived!

The years were getting to him.

The school didn’t have a swimming class, most of the attendees had learnt such trivialities at a much younger age. Knoxfort was built by nobles for nobles, they’d definitely not include a subject taught much earlier in respectable education.

Exceptions? Outliers? Such concepts didn’t exist in the noble youth, they were finely trained to fit in and obey every moment of their adolescence. And when they grew up and learnt how to be a player and not a pawn, they immediately made themselves busy indoctrinating the latest generation and competing with those of their own. Messy, always bickering, but barely functional, just as the Royal Family needed them to be.

And there he went, sidetracking again. He was restless. He kept distracting himself with rants and ravings and self analysis like a fucking madman.

The years were getting to him.

And so was the cold, for that matter. And the lack of sleep. And the profound emptiness of his cup, no coffee to be found whatsover.

Well, wandering through the school halls this early in the morning wouldn’t do his reputation much good. Sun hadn’t even come up yet. But he needed to get his coffee. And the only other person who’d wake up this early was Gregor anyway, he doubted he had much to worry about on that front. Because he could hear him bustling about in the armory a few floors down. Probably checking the dull practice blades to make sure there wasn’t a real edge mixed between them.

The sound reminded him to put his discreet little buds back in. Ears that sensitive always sounded better on paper, theory losing to practice yet again. And when the rest of the staff and the students themselves started stumbling onto campus, their footsteps would sound like a marching army to his ears. Thankfully, he didn’t need to put the sunglasses on yet. Winter had just started for Azdonya, and that made sure the sun came up very late.

He got out of the break room and took the long way to the kitchens, so he had time to consider his options again. Maybe he could orchestrate a school event of kinds, something involving beaches and swimsuits. He’d have to deal with feeling like a pervert to get this done. Maybe he could convince Gregor to let him host a swimming competition of kinds for one of the ‘Knightly’ classes. Because calling them physical education would be crass. A swimming class wouldn’t be feasible because that would imply the brats didn’t know how to swim, but a competition had a better chance of working out.

He reached the kitchens. Usually he would just get his coffee from their teacher break room, not having to get up from his comfortable chair and being able to put his full focus on feeling incredibly stressed. But he had drained it all yesterday with some minor assistance from old madame Applepuffs, one of the Science professors. Kitchen staff had yet to refill the various break rooms because they had lives and cared about their health and actually slept more than 8 hours a night.

John couldn’t remember the last time he slept more than 6.

He stepped into the empty room, and froze in place as he realized it wasn’t empty after all.

Seeing a student in the Academy kitchens at 4 in the morning would be surprising for any teacher. Seeing a student in the Academy kitchens at 4 am which he quite clearly hadn’t heard any heartbeat, footstep or breathing from would be shocking to John Schneider. but seeing Helen Forrester quite casually making herself a cup of tea in the Academy kitchens at 4 am in the morning was mind boggling. Quite worrying too.

“Hello, Mr. Schneider.” She said, voice disturbingly monotone.

“Helen? You do realize you’re not supposed to be in here?”

“Would you like a cup of tea?”

“...I’d prefer coffee.”

“Too much caffeine is bad for you, sir.”

“I am well aware of that. But nevermind my drinking habits, how the hell did you get in here?” All the doors leading to the staff floors would only open with a staff issued alchemically unique keystone, and as far as he knew they didn’t just hand those out to snoopy suspicious brats that liked to make tea at ungodly hours on school grounds.

“I help the lunch ladies sometimes, they gave me a spare keystone for convenience.”

Now if this had been a good month or two into the school year, that would be a believable lie. Enough time to gain the trust of the careful but still gullible kitchen stuff. But it had only been a mere 8 days. Well, not that the quality of her lie changed anything.

They both knew she was lying, they both knew the other knew.

“You look stressed, sir. Cinnamon tea is the best medicine.” She smiled sweetly. Or rather, tried to smile sweetly. The bends on her facial muscles looked unnatural, macabre. She hadn’t dipped into the uncanny valley, she’d bungee jumped down with nothing but gum and prayer.

He didn’t comment, he simply took the offered cup from her hands. A more… ordinary man might have to worry about poison and other unwanted chemicals in his drink, but John’s nose assured him there was nothing of the sort in his cup. However. his nose also assured him there wasn’t a person standing in front of him, yet his eyes disagreed. He wasn’t wearing his glasses, which meant he wasn’t wearing the ‘numbstones’ that held the frames on his nose and supressed his sense of smell. This meant that even without any manner of suppression, he could only trust his eyes around her and nothing else.

So he pretended to sip.

“Still, it isn’t good for a student to be on school grounds this early.”

“Why so?”

“Well, isn’t it quite stressing to wake up so early?”

“Stressing?” She chuckled. Tried to. Failed to. Unnatural. Every human emotion she displayed felt so off. Like she was trying out a new skin but it didn’t quite fit her muscles and bones. “I think you’re the stressed one here, Mr. Schneider. Why don’t you tell me what’s got you so bothered?”

She wasn’t going to take the bait. He decided to be the first to cave, just a little bit. Give up one mental battle for hope of winning the psychological war. An obvious metaphor should do.

“I feel like I’m playing a game of whack-a-mole, but all the moles have their little heads out at the same time and would tear me to pieces if I hit the wrong one.” He chuckled, maybe he was being too obvious, but he didn’t think this faux-human creature had any sense for social grace to begin with.

“Why don’t you just whack ‘em all then?”

“Pardon?”

“Why don’t you just slice all their little heads off at the same time?” She smiled. And John, the man who’d been through hell and high water for The Company, shivered deep inside.

Because this time, the smile was genuine.