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If there was one thing that every student at Garreg Mach’s Officers Academy agreed on, it was that Professor Manuela and Professor Hannemann needed to get a room. Even Felix, grumpy and antisocial as he was, admitted he could feel the tension between the two. Students kept bets as to who would make the first move. Needless to say, it was a big deal when they finally got together.
After years and years of non-stop bickering, the two professors finally decided to go on a date. At least, that’s what the students called it. To Hanneman and Manuela, it was just a simple after work meetup that had no romantic implications at all. None. Zilch. Nada.
The not-a-couple met at a tavern just outside Garreg Mach. Not many of the students frequented it, meaning it was perfect for after-work stress relief. Manuela had come here many times to rant her head off to whoever would listen. Based on the fact she still had her job, she assumed Seteth knew nothing about this.
Either that, or Seteth did know and was doing a darn good job of hiding it. But he wasn’t her main concern today.
The pair entered the establishment. Smoke assaulted their nostrils. Hanneman recoiled, disgust made apparent by his scrunched up nose. Manuela, on the other hand, didn’t flinch. Years of frequenting pubs and some of Enbarr’s shadier venues left her noseblind to certain stenches.
“The smell is bothering you?” Manuela asked. She glanced around, eyes scanning the establishment for any potential students. “Don’t you come across foul-smelling stuff in your research?”
“No, not of this manner.” Hanneman said, shaking his head. He followed Manuela through the tavern, twisting and turning through a maze of tables. One patron almost swung a mug of ale right into his chest. “What kind of research do you think I deal in? Necromancy?”
“Well, you just deal with a lot of blood, that’s all.”
Hanneman’s jaw dropped. “Manuela, you’re a surgeon !”
She shrugged. “I use perfumes to cover up some of the nastier smells.”
“Is that even safe?”
“Oh, nothing’s happened,” said Manuela. She turned her head to the side and bit her lip. “Yet…”
The two sat down at the bar. A plain, ordinary-as-can-be man came up to meet them.
“Greetings, professors,” said the barkeep, “What would you like to drink?”
“I’ll have a martini,” said Manuela.
“And I will have whiskey,” said Hanneman.
“Huh. Whiskey.” Manuela said, resting her chin on the top of her hand. “I didn’t take you for one to drink something that strong.”
“Even I drink sometimes, Manuela.” Hanneman scowled. The barkeep clunked down a brown glass bottle in front of him. “Besides, we’re at a bar. What did you expect me to order?”
“Crest juice.”
“What in the goddess’s name is crest juice?”
“I don’t know.” Manuela took her martini from the barkeep. She thanked him, then turned back to Hanneman. “I just figured you would choose something more…” she shrugged. “I dunno. Sophisticated?”
Hanneman raised an eyebrow. “You’d expect me to go to a bar and order red wine?”
“Honestly? Yes. You’re so particular about everything that it just seems–” Manuela paused. She pursed together her lips, then let out a heavy puff from her nostrils. “You know what? Forget about it. Let’s talk about something else.”
“Alright, then,” said Hanneman, voice laced with contempt, “How have your students been treating you lately?”
Manuela groaned. “They’re driving me crazy. I wouldn’t be upset if I didn’t have to see anyone their age ever again.”
“I don’t blame you. This year’s bunch has been…” He scratched his neck. “Interesting, to say the least.”
“That being said, though,” Manuela raised a finger, “I have thought about adopting Cyril.”
“Cyril?” Hanneman tilted his head. “He’s almost an adult. Not to mention he’s under the care of the church.”
“I’m not sure if I’d call indentured servitude “care”, Hanneman. They work the poor kid to the bone. It’s no wonder he’s always so snippy with people.” Manuela swirled a little olive adorned toothpick in her drink. “Well, that, and he’s a teenager.”
“They give him room and board in exchange for his services. He earns his keep.”
“You’ve seen how much he works. They can do more for him than that.”
Hanneman furrowed his brow. “Well, he’s close to many of the knights. I suppose they could teach him how to fight in his free time. Oh, and of course there’s the library–”
Manuela slammed her palms down on the bar. “He can’t read, Hanneman! They never bothered to teach him! I sent him out with a list of supplies to get at the market a few weeks back, and I overheard him thank Lysithea for reading it to him. Apparently he’d been trying to keep it a secret from everyone.”
Hanneman blinked. “I… had no idea.”
“Well of course you had no idea. I just said he was trying to keep it a secret. He did a pretty darn good job at it too.” Manuela slouched down, resting her elbows on the bar. She took a swig of fruity goodness, then placed her glass down with a clunk. “Bless his heart. He doesn’t want to be a burden on others.”
Hanneman took a sip of whiskey. He gazed down to the counter. A small silence, and then he spoke. “I’d gladly teach him how to read if he’d let me. I wouldn’t consider it a burden. In fact, it could be a rather fun experience.”
“Oh, you don’t need to teach him,” Manuela said. “I also overheard him and Lysithea in the library. I think she’s teaching him. It’s absolutely adorable.”
“Lysithea’s a good student,” said Hanneman. “I’m not surprised she would take it upon herself to tutor.”
Manuela giggled. “And she can be just as snippy as he is.”
“Agreed. Though as you mentioned earlier, the two are just teenagers.” He took another sip. “What were you like when you were their age, Manuela?”
“Oh, me?” She waved a hand nonchalantly. “I was a mess. Hadn’t gotten into drinking yet, but I was still obsessed with finding that perfect romance.” She sighed. “I suppose I never grew out of that.”
“Perhaps, Manuela,” Hanneman said, “What you need is a different kind of love than what you’re looking for.”
Manuela raised an eyebrow. “Different?”
Hanneman put down his drink. “You look for a whirlwind romance. Someone to sweep you off your feet and place you atop his gallant white horse so you can ride off into the sunset.”
“Are you saying I’m unrealistic?”
“No, no, no! Not at all.” He grit his teeth. “Well… maybe a little.”
“Hanneman!”
“But!” He whipped up a finger. “There is a but!”
Manuela snickered. She mumbled something under her breath (most likely something along the lines of ‘heh, butt’).
Hanneman rolled his eyes. “You didn’t let me finish. What I was going to say is that love comes in all different kinds of forms. Some are destined for those fairy-tale romances while others aren’t. Perhaps you’re more suited for something mundane.”
“Mundane sounds so boring,” Manuela sighed. She slumped down onto the counter, forearms cradling her head. “There’s got to be something exciting for me.”
“But is love ever boring?” Hanneman raised an eyebrow. He placed his hand to his chin and took a moment to ponder the question. “You said you wanted to adopt Cyril, correct?”
“Yes,” Manuela said. “What does that have to do with it?”
“You are always happy to see him come in to help you. You care enough about him to want to give him a better life. Even when he is rude, you forgive him. You care for him like a mother. Is that not a form of love?”
“I suppose.”
“And is that love as dramatic as the operas you once starred in?”
“No.”
“Yet it still persists day to day.” Hanneman smiled. “Your compassion for Cyril may be a form of maternal love, but the same sentiment applies to romantic love as well.”
Manuela blinked. “I suppose you’re right.” She pushed herself up from the counter. “I need the kind of love that burns dim, but steady.”
“I know you’re being metaphorical, but I still wouldn’t call it dim,” said Hanneman. “You just don’t want it to be a big, bright spark that goes out too soon.”
“No fireworks for me, then.” Manuela smirked. “Since when were you philosophical?”
“Philosophy and scholarship go hand in hand.”
“I suppose so. You just seem so logical all the time. Didn’t take you for one to think about emotions much.” She giggled, then took another sip of her martini. “So, what kind of love do you think works for me, then?”
Hanneman raised his glass. “Well, I’m no cupid, but perhaps the kind where you bicker with one of Fodlan’s best Crestologists?”
“Hanneman!” Manuela elbowed her date in the rib. A grin curled all the way up to her ears. “Are you flirting with me?”
“I’m trying.” He winked. “Did it work?”
Manuela clinked her martini against Hanneman’s shot glass. “Perhaps it did.”