The sunshine was glorious. Mireille felt like it was personally welcoming her back into the world of the living. Even as the volume and intensity crippled her eyes and pinned afterimages in her retinas, she welcomed the pain. She adored it.

Mireille was learning so many things interesting about herself today.

Behind her stepped Yuela, her blonde hair so dishevelled that a peckish horse would turn its nose up at it, while behind her was Tabitha, who for some reason now sported not one, but two bumps on top of her head. Records will never say where the second one came from. Coco brought up the rear.

“Nwaaaaaaaahh,” yawned Tabitha, her arms swinging around like a windmill. “Oh boy, do I feel beat! That was a pretty bumpy walk, wasn't it? Uwah, my back is making weird noises . . .”

“Yes, I agree,” said Yuela, her dry tone perpetually close to combusting. “Evidently, you're still tired from your nap. Would you like to rest? Are you thirsty, by any chance? Perhaps a glass of water?”

“No, no, no, I couldn't possibly—”

“Why are you answering me seriously?! Do I look like I'm carrying a glass of water?! Do I?!”

Mireille gave a nervous laugh. She was relieved to see that no lasting harm had come to Yuela. In fact, the largest injury to her appeared to be the very light bruise on her knuckles. How very strange.

A healthy breeze came to reward Mireille for her efforts. As she enjoyed the freedom of walking beneath the sunshine at such a respectable elevation, she took the opportunity to admire what the brochures of Alexandrite District had to offer. She always knew Berylcross had its charms. She was glad a decent view could be counted as one of them.

Mireille tiptoed towards the nearest drop. Unlike her sister, she didn't suffer from a fear of heights. It was one of the few things she could boast over her. The other things included such character attributes as a willingness to dive beneath the hulking body of a killer phantasm. Stupidity and a disregard for heights. Surely there was no correlation.

Mireille brushed back her hair and swallowed the sight before her. As grandiose as Berylcross could be, there were few areas of natural beauty left to it. That's why, instead of the sprawling streets and the maze of colourful rooftops, she kept her view just short and took in the dipping valley, the specks of isolated woodland, the dots of spring flora, and the woman holding herself up on one tiny branch peeking out from the muddy cliff below.

“. . . . . .”

She wore a straw hat topped with a wreath of daisies. It was pretty. From above, she almost looked like a flower blooming from the branch.

Mireille stared down. The woman stared back at her.

And then, as if realising the view she'd pulled Mireille away from, stole a glance behind her shoulder. The small movement caused the branch to shift alarmingly.

“It's a beautiful sight, isn't it?” said the woman, smiling in apparent contempt of her own mortal danger. “If you look closely, you can see little brown bumps where the patches of green begin. Those are rabbit warrens.”

“Oh.”

Mireille didn't know what else to say, particularly as the woman clearly felt she wasn't in enough of a life threatening situation to warrant disposing of the large basket hanging off her free arm.

“Rabbits don't hibernate during the winter,” she continued, somehow misconstruing Mirielle's silence as a desire for more information. “Some people think they do, since they're mostly only sighted during the spring and summer. But that's because the warmer seasons is when the joys of their mating season begin to bear fruit. Rabbits like to start early, you see.”

“Thank you, I didn't know that.”

“No problem. By the way . . . are you real?”

The woman continued to blithely smile.

“Mm. I'm real.”

“Then . . . those voices behind you? They're not from the little angels coming to pick me up?”

“No, those little angels are having a spat.”

“I see. Even heaven has its own disputes.”

All of a sudden, the woman's eyes lit up.

“Oh, you said you're real? How lovely! Could I ask you to help me up? My hand is cramping and I don't particularly wish to spoil a rabbit warren below.”

Mireille nodded, then calmly dropped to her stomach and slid over to the cliff edge.

The worst part about the woman's situation was that it was completely avoidable. The distance between the branch and the top of the cliff was short enough that Mirielle could reach her without needing to fully extend her elbows. They were almost speaking face to face.

“I'm sorry for asking,” she said, unable to contain herself until she was done rescuing her. “But is there a reason you can't climb up?”

“Yes.”

“What is it?”

“I'm scared of heights and have been paralysed with indecision.”

“Ah, okay.”

Feeling a little embarrassed for asking, Mireille decided to say no more. Doing so would be analogous to making fun of her sister.

She couldn't guarantee the little angels behind her would be so magnanimous, though.

“How long have you been there?” she asked as she reached down.

“How long . . . ? It's hard to say. I was here since early in the morning. I came to watch the aolidinas blossom, but tripped over a stone. What time is it now?”

“Um, I'm not too sure? Elevenish, maybe?”

“Elevenish. Wonderful. I haven't missed lunch.”

The woman, with her eyes so trained on Mireille's face that she probably couldn't have been forced to look anywhere else even with a clamp to her head, met the outreached hand with unusual dexterity. Although Mirielle was prepared to dig down and shuffle herself backwards, she felt almost no weight dragging her down.

It appeared that the woman's feet had deftly caught the cliff face.

And then, in a swift, flowing motion, she quite literally hopped over her fear of heights. It was the third most wonderful display of acrobatics that Mireille had ever seen.

Aside from that, Mireille didn't know how to feel. It wasn't a rescue she was planning to include on her curriculum vitae in the first place, but she'd spent less time pulling her up than simply being used as the final rung of a ladder.

With fleetness like that, it made her even more perplexed why the woman didn't simply rescue herself.

“Ahh, what a relief,” said the woman. “Solid ground really is quite underrated. Whoever heard of someone going splat while standing still? . . . Oh my, are those your friends? They seem awfully lively.”

At her sudden appearance, Yuela and Tabitha were finally startled out of their squabbling. It seemed it took the arrival of a woman from beyond a major precipice to stop them from their shared need to always have the last word.

“Did . . . Did you just come from the cliff?” asked Yuela, her eyes then darting to Mireille dusting herself down.

“Hm? Oh, yes. I do some mountain climbing in my spare time. It's not my main hobby, though.”

“You were . . . mountain climbing?”

“Yes. Yes, I was.”

“With your bare hands? And no equipment? . . . Excuse me, is that a picnic basket?”

“This? I need nothing more. It was hardly a steep climb.”

Yuela and Tabitha gazed at the unknown woman in shock and admiration.

Mirielle's mouth opened wordlessly. The woman's shameless lies right in front of her were spoken without a single fault in her smile. What an amazing individual. Mireille hoped that someday, she too could have not a single ounce of shame to her name.

The woman looked kindly, but was otherwise remarkably plain. Wearing a simple, faded dress and carrying only that straw basket, she made the same impression as someone on their way to do their weekly grocery shopping.

Except nobody went grocery shopping in the middle of the mountains.

“. . . Excuse me, but would you happen to be Olivia Barinette?” asked Yuela, her voice steeped with uncertainty.

Quietly, the woman's hand covered her mouth in a display of polite surprise.

“Oh my! You know who I am? Have . . . Have I become that famous?”

“Huh . . . ? Well, I'm not so sure about 'famous', but . . .”

“Now now, that's no good. I'm not sure what terrible untruths you've heard about me, but you should at least allow me the opportunity to introduce myself personally.”

And so, everyone's missing teacher, who was eventually found hanging inexplicably from a branch somewhere in the mountains, proudly hugged her picnic basket and bowed.

Mireille wondered why she assumed the first thing people would hear about her would be negative.

“My name is Olivia Barinette. I'm eighteen. Unemployed. My hobbies include gardening and flower arranging.”

With an introduction like that, perhaps she should leave it to other people.

No matter how anyone looked at it. She wasn't eighteen. She wasn't even in her thirties.

Not to mention . . .

“Um, Miss . . . Instructor Barinette,” said Yuela, whose every waking moment this day has been one defined by anguish. “I believe you're employed by St. Florin's Academy . . . ?”

“Hm?”

Olivia Barinette tilted her head in puzzlement. It was not a look which invited confidence. Only migraines.

“St. Florin's Academy,” said Yuela, her expression resolute, even if her heart wasn't. “Do you not have a teaching appointment there?”

“. . . It's a paid job?”

“I would sincerely hope so?”

Olivia Barinette clapped her hands.

“How wonderful! I had no idea! Why, Captain Priscelia never once mentioned anything about a salary!”

In that one moment, unbeknown to Madelane Priscelia, the unflappable reputation of The Silver Aurelia ever so slightly dipped.

“Hey there, Instructor,” said Tabitha with a wave as unnecessary as it was cheerful. “Nice to meet you! What were you doing all the way out here?”

“Admiring the aolidinas. Have you spotted any?”

“Well, no. We spotted a phantasm, though. The knights were shooing everyone away. You're really far from the road, you know?”

“Oh? There was a phantasm?”

That joyful smile refused to waver. Even when the topic of a nearby phantasm was brought up, the lost instructor merely reacted as though being informed that the greengrocers was closing for a holiday next week.

“Yup! There was. We . . .”

Tabitha mentally scurried back as Yuela shot her a murderous stare.

“Uh, I mean, everyone but me got rid of it.”

“Did you? . . . My, how marvellous! What brave young students. Why, to do away with such a large phantasm on your own. I'm already so proud of you.”

Nobody mentioned it was large. Yuela readily led the puzzled frown brigade.

“Did . . . Did you know about it?” she asked. “Or . . . did you happen to chance across it?”

“Hmm, maybe?” Instructor Barinette pouted with a look to the side. “In the corner of my eye, perhaps? I wasn't paying too much attention. The flora is so stunning this time of year. You don't expect to find such variety in the drier, less humid mountains, so to flourish in such conditions is beauty in itself, wouldn't you agree?”

“I . . . can certainly understand the sentiment, yes. But, Instructor, if I may—”

“Olivia, dear.”

“Pardon me?”

“Olivia will do.”

Being asked to refer to a teacher by their first name. Yuela looked like the very thought made her want to stuff soap in her mouth as punishment.

“W-Wait, I cannot possibly . . .”

“I've never held a teaching role. Trust me, such a prestigious title is wasted on me.”

“. . . Never held a teaching role . . .”

“Never, ever, ever.”

“I see . . . then, may I inquire as to whether you're a knight, then? Or a former knight? An instructor in arms?”

“No, no. I am a gardener.”

“. . . . . .”

This wasn't good. Yuela was beginning to shiver again. At this rate, Mireille was afraid her hair was going to start falling out.

“I don't understand,” she finally said, with all the bluntness of a weary hammer.

“I'm a gardener,” replied Olivia, her smile widening as though to make up for Yuela's stress. “All my expertise and life's work has been in gardening, so I'd feel uncomfortable calling myself by anything else. Did I mention I came here for the aolidinas?”

“You're a gardener. You're really a gardener?”

“A gardener.” Olivia nodded. “By the way, putting myself to one side for the time being, may I ask what you are doing here?”

Seeing an opportunity to admonish, as per Principal Priscelia's hope, Yuela straightened her back and accumulated all the formality she could muster in her voice.

“Instructor—”

“Olivia.”

“. . . Olivia, you are the instructor assigned to this class. Principal Priscelia asked that we, your students, direct you to the academy so that you may fulfil your teaching obligations.”

Unfortunately, the self-proclaimed gardener merely smiled as if receiving an unexpected, but not unwelcome present. Mireille silently gave up on Yuela. Perhaps it would have been less cruel to allow the phantasm to do its work.

“Oh, was it today? I completely forgot! I see, I see . . . was your enrolment this morning?”

“Yes . . . it is currently homeroom . . .”

“Goodness, you're right! I suppose we better hurry, then. There's not much time left before lunch.”

“. . . Hurry? Hurry with what?”

“With homeroom.”

“What? Where? Here?”

“Of course.” Olivia clapped her hands yet again. “And while I'm at it, how about I teach you all about the wonderful world of gardening? That's a fun way to get to know each other. Come, class. Now I know I'm being paid, I need to start working on climbing the career ladder right away.”

Now she was shamelessly indicating they were nothing more than stepping stones in the path of life. Mirielle wished she'd brought her notebook along. There was so much this woman could teach her.

“My apologies,” said a highly distraught Yuela. “But horticultural activities do not constitute any part of the first year curriculum.”

Olivia beamed. There was nothing but unrelenting optimism on her face.

“Are you sure? . . . But there's so much that gardening can teach you, Lady Vlinder.”