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Looking for a lovely lady interested in having a good time. Come find me in the dining hall.
Requestor: Sylvain J. Gautier
Reward: Yours Truly
Sylvain, I've taken the liberty of asking the professor to tear down your ridiculous request. Please don't abuse the bulletin board for such nonsense again.
— Ingrid
Oh, come on, Ingrid! Plenty of folks use the board for their personal business. Our professor even passed out a love letter before. Why aren't you stopping those people?
I'm just trying to look out for your best interests before you garner any disciplinary action. Knowing you, your request wouldn't be limited to a single instance.
— Ingrid
You would do well to pay heed to Ingrid's advice, Sylvain.
Can't you come lecture me in person, Dedue?
To clarify, that was not me.
— Dedue Molinaro
If it helps any, I think it was Felix who wrote it. I spotted him penning a note a couple days ago.
— Ashe
Wasn't me.
— F
Felix, you'd be more convincing if you even remotely tried to change your handwriting. Your e's look like deformed o's.
— Sylvain
If you're interested, Felix, I'd be happy to assist you with some penmanship lessons. Come find me any time!
— Mercedes von Martritz
[Scribbled underneath is a sloppy "No thanks." ]
Could I be accepting on his behalf?
— Petra MacNeary of Brigid
Why certainly, Petra! Just bring your favorite blend of tea, and we can get started straight away. But I'm not sure how much I can really teach you — your current penmanship already looks quite lovely.
— Mercedes von Martritz
Attention students: Please refrain from pinning excessive notes unrelated to requests. The bulletin boards were not implemented with the intent of being an exchange center for pen pals. Consider this your sole warning before disciplinary action is taken.
— Seteth of the Church of Seiros
Did anyone lose this letter? I found it snagged in the bushes outside of my quarters. There's no signature on it, and well… In any case, if it's yours, I won't ask you to disclose your identity.
— Ashe
[Pinned to the board is a crumpled letter folded into thirds. There are several tears of different sizes around the edges of the paper.]
Dearest Professor,
Yet again, I find myself unable to sleep, beset by a plague of foolish fancies and forbidden feelings that have long overstayed their welcome.
Yet again, I find myself reminiscing over the warmth suffused in your smile — the radiant warmth that so closely resembles the onset of spring after a bitter Faerghan winter.
So yet again, I find myself writing to you, pretending that you, my stalwart sun, will listen to my afflictions, will offer your sage guidance, or — if not that — will bestow upon me your ever astute words of comfort, as you always have in my most cherished of interactions with you.
Even so, it is laughable of me to yearn for such a thing to occur in reality — for in reality, the confines of our stations would tear such a fantasy to shreds before I could even broach the idea with you. Not that I would ever be lunatic enough to try.
If only I could cleave away this contemptible corner of my heart with the ease of a sword's swing, but for all of my lamentations, I still cannot bring myself to stay my distance from you.
And when I witness firsthand just how often you've gone out of your way to arrange me into your schedule, so otherwise packed to the brim with your duties and your countless appointments — well, how could I not develop this most wretched hope of mine? This desperate wish that you might desire my presence even half as much as I crave for yours.
In any case, I've written enough. It appears that I'll have to requisition some new candles sooner than anticipated.
Good night, Professor. I pray your dreams tonight will be far more pleasant than my own accursed nightmares.
Oh. My. Goddess. That is by far, one hundred percent, the most romantic letter I've ever read. This level of overdramatic pining is the stuff you can only find in Adrestia's best sellers!
While the owner remains a mystery, who's the lucky professor that it's addressed to? It has to be Professor Byleth, right?
— Signed, a deeply curious Hilda
Well, it certainly can't be Professor Hanneman or Seteth. Seteth almost makes sense with the counseling aspect, but… Yikes, I'm getting chills just imagining the kind of person who'd crush on someone like that. Has anyone ever seen the guy smile when he's not with Flayn?
— Sylvain
Well, Sylvain, he does have that hot domineering daddy vibe, you know? Some women like that.
— Affectionately, Dorothea
Ugh. Gross. I came to put up a request, and this is what I find?
— With profound disapproval, Lysithea von Ordelia
Looks like someone's finally writing with their brain.
— F
Decorum! Decorum in the court, I say!
— Hilda
You can't just declare decorum, Hilda. That's not how that works.
— Sylvain a decorum-less flirt
Very funny, Hilda. Can you hear me laughing through the paper? Hardy har har.
— Sylvain
Imaginary laughter aside, could the letter perhaps be addressed to Professor Manuela?
— Ignatz
Not to say that my esteemed house professor isn't a stellar counselor in her own right — if only because she'll poison me if I do say so — but I think that you're giving her benevolence a tad too much credit. No, I believe that Professor Byleth, as crazy as it sounds, is the intended recipient.
It's a simple deduction. We're not exactly doing trebuchet science here.
— Linhardt von Hevring
You think so? The professor — that's to say, Professor Byleth doesn't smile much, either. And she's not the first person you think of when you picture emotional intimacy. She's got all the facial range of a goddess statuette.
Speaking of which, I'm surprised that the original author didn't write a thing about her goddess-granted beauty. I know that I would have.
— Sylvain
Well, then, it'd have to be someone close with her, right? Or someone who spends a lot of time with her?
— Intrigued, Dorothea
Such rumor-mongering is unbecoming of all of you. Settle your discussion soon or in person. The bulletin board is overladen with papers.
To be frank, I believe it best to refrain from such gossip in the first place, but I will end my statement here. I wish to have no further involvement in this matter.
— Dedue Molinaro
Seconded. It feels wrong that I even read this, but… but still, this letter's so romantic that I can't stop myself from swooning.
Should we toss it? I feel like we should toss it.
— Annette Fantine Dominic
Everyone, the notes are really starting to pile up, and we all know that only faculty are allowed to take them down; the pins are enchanted to work that way. Shouldn't we just make this into a request instead?
— Ingrid
Ooh, good idea, Ingrid; I'll write the request! Hopefully, it'll be enough to solve this mystery once and for all.
— Annette Fantine Dominic, Expert Investigator
Looking for the owner of this love letter found outside the dormitories. If you're not the owner, could you please find the person who is?
Requestor: Annette F. Dominic
Reward: 20 gold, plus some hand-grown flowers of your choice! Wink wink.
Can you really claim to be an expert investigator if you're making someone else do all the labor for you?
Furthermore, only some layabout with nothing better to do would take on a charity case like yours.
— F
Hmph! I don't see you providing any evidence that proves my title to the contrary, Felix, and I definitely don't see you offering anything better as a reward.
Besides, Professor Byleth already accepted my request.
— Annette Fantine Dominic, Generous Expert Investigator
"Dimitri, does this belong to you? It resembles your handwriting."
"Hm? I—" Crack. "—Damn it. Ah, I mean — please, allow me to take that off of your hands, Professor. It is not mine, but I know who this belongs to."
"Really? I could have sworn that the handwriting is—"
" —Yes, really. Thank you, Professor. I'll deliver it to the owner immediately after I've disposed of this training sword. Good day, Professor."
"Well… okay. Thank you, Dimitri. But, before you go — will I see you at practice later?"
"Absolutely! You can count on it. I wouldn't miss sparring with you for the world."
Sorry, I couldn't quite complete the request. You can give the rewards to Dimitri.
— Professor Byleth Eisner
Byleth blinked at the sight before her. Did... something happen? She'd never seen her students act this lively before, swarming around a flustered Dimitri like hungry cats around a freshly caught Airmid pike.
She really should break up this gathering; it was already time for class to begin, but... Dimitri did look rather adorable with that blush on his face.
Perhaps she could admire him for a moment longer?
…No. No, she couldn't — she was a professor, she reminded herself, shaking her head. These feelings were unbecoming. Unprofessional.
And unreciprocated, probably, even if Sothis claimed otherwise.
"Attention, everyone," she announced, heels clacking against the paved stones. "Please return to your seats. I'm afraid that I have some bad news about our bulletin board privileges for the next two months."
Oh? That's quite the lavish bouquet on her desk. Who left it there?
Sothis snickered, wearing that vexatious I-told-you-so expression. "Looks like that letter was intended for you, after all. And to think that you did not believe me the first dozen times that I informed you! Oh, how my heart weeps at your undue distrust."
"Sothis, you can take your smug satisfaction and stuff it with your overdue naptime."
"Why, I never—"
[A note found slipped under the door to Dimitri's quarters.]
I've heard of some crazy coincidences in my day, but you conveniently knowing that love letter's author and delivering flowers to Professor Byleth on their behalf? That's borderline suspicious.
In any case — you and Teach, huh? You know, if word breaks out, this could very well become the scandal of the year. It sure would be unfortunate if the whole monastery were to hear of it.
I can keep a secret, though, if you can slide over some gold.
[A note found in Claude's letterbox dotted with smudges of ink, splattered as though the quill snapped several times in the making of it. The note is tied around a leather purse carrying no less than 5000 gold.]
To my considerate and charitable friend Claude,
Meet me in the training grounds tomorrow morning before class. I'll give you something to write home about.
— D