"To the faculty, who throughout these six years have led us to the greatest heights we could possibly achieve, I ask that you continue to nurture the generations to come with the same commitment and care as you have done for us. Not only that, but above all... Thank you, for everything you've done, not only for myself, but for my dear classmates as well."

Good, that sounded convincing. Not bad, me! Now come on, squeeze out a little tear, make it look like you're fighting an insurmountable wave of grief. It'll set the tone for a grand finale weeks, nearly months of preparation barely finished. This will be a performance Father wouldn't dare look down on!

"T-thank you. And to each and every one of my friends, without whom I would never have seen this day with nothing but cheer, I give you my best wishes that you all find what you as newly born alchemists could only dream of. This day won't be our only farewell. It's our graduation, and one day, we will see each other again on the other side of history. The day we claim our mark in the annals of alchemical fame!"

Amazing as always. Didn't even need to resort to a packet of Tear-root. I had it ready just in case, but really, I'm just too talented for my own good~!

Ah, look at them. Those dusty old masters with nothing to do but drone on about the mundane, they're bawling like they've never seen anything so beautiful in their lives. Nary a single maiden left untouched by my speech. Even some of the boys couldn't resist tearing up. Why wouldn't they? For someone like myself, a leader, a prodigy, an idol to be looked up to by my underclassmen and pedagogues alike, it's only natural to fall for and absolutely adore an effulgent figure like that.

Not that I seek perfection myself. Still, it doesn't hurt to, you know, tweak other's expectations a little. But who am I kidding, I don't have to try like everyone else to achieve something like that.

"Well done, Ms. Caxie. Allow us to congratulate your tireless efforts as Atleos' first appointed student-director. With your precedent, I'm sure that future candidates will only look to walk in your footsteps!"

The Headmaster too? It's a little off-putting to see someone as ancient as him dripping from the eyes and nose.

"O-of course, it was my pleasure."

Looking him straight in the eye prodded my gag reflex a little too much. Fortunately, he probably took my indirectness as some kind of insecurity of mine and smiled through his beard, while lowering his voice to a confidential mutter, "It's a shame that your graduation came so soon Casseia, you were just a wee tot when your father brought you to me. You've grown up so much."

"I wasn't that young..." I whispered back.

He's playing up my accomplishments a lot, but he has a point. It's uncommon for an eleven year old to be enrolled at the academy, and it made quite a stir at the time. The ironic thing is that my underclassmen were, age-wise, my seniors. Everyone in the auditorium right now averaged no less than twenty or so. I'm the first one to graduate at seventeen, beating out the previous title holder by a year. That person being my father, of course.

Stolen story; please report.

Graduating with adults near to four years older than I felt... strange, but satisfying.

The conclusion to my end-of-academia speech prompted the headmaster to say the final words, while I gracefully yielded the podium to retire outside. My job here is done. I'm free.

Six years. I can see each and every one of them etched into the venerable halls I walked through. As the student-director I should, since I had to patrol them.

Outside of the main complex glistened the academy garden at the center of campus in a morning light. I've spent many a calm tea hour among the Fistofarls, they have such a deep, soothing scent to complement their orange-striped petals. Also rejected quite a few potential suitors behind the twin Saintess of Atleos statues over on the other end. There's a hedge between the two figures, and for whatever reason, those boys always had the same idea to bring me there whenever they scraped up enough guts to propose. Is it some sort of superstition or love charm I don't know about? Well, not that it matters now. By now, I'm sure they've all been betrothed to some old bats for who knows what kind of noble agreements, politicking and the like that would shackle them to such a depressing fate.

"Well, one last day to take it all in I suppose."

Nostalgia isn't the kind of thing to affect me too much. Moving on is something my father is very good at, to the point of sociopathy, and I think some part of that influenced me. To a certain degree, at least. It couldn't deal with the tight knot in my chest though.

There's not many people I need to say goodbye to, since I'll probably see many of them again in the near future. Alchemy is a broad field with many branches, but it's a small world that's easy to make lasting connections in. Natley Riseland, daughter of the earl whose land Atleos resides on, is one of these people, a junior and a good friend. She might chew me out for not saying anything to her before leaving, I kind of expect that. But if I don't, well, the men from the graduation ceremony will probably catch up to me. Desperate times require desperate measures. It's very likely that one of them might decide to kidnap me for an impromptu elopement, totally involuntary on my part. It has happened in the past, or so I'm told through the grape vine, to the especially beautiful, and I might not be an exception.

I suppose it's just the atmosphere that I'll miss. The library too. Supposedly, there's exactly six-thousand and forty-nine books held within its shelves, which is the largest collection of written knowledge in the region. Many of them were donated by the Riseland family, of course.

"Which should be my last victim, hm?"

As I browsed through a particularly narrow line of shelves, I found It hard to decide what topic to pick. Even if I won't have the time to finish one of them all the way, not using this chance would be too much of a shame. Still... none of them look interesting. Saying that sounds a little blasé, but in my defense nothing could match up to the resource I used for my thesis.

It's neither a bound work nor is it a published one as though exclusively reserved for the academy. Strangely enough, I've only ever seen one copy of it, with the original to remain in the custody of the author, according to the curator of all things relating to Ether-Regenerative processes. It's just a bundle of loosely arranged documents held together by a bit of leather strapping punched into the edges to act as the binding. I suppose it's the revision he officially submitted to the thesis board, though its anything but organized with how disorderly the writing is inside.

"I guess I've decided what I want then."

In it's usual spot as always, third floor, leftmost section of shelf 5B which falls under "Alchemy for Potion-making". I couldn't begin to count how many times I've pulled this thing out and plopped into a desk with it. Hours and hours of studying and taking notes. Bittersweet memories of suffering and success. That said, whoever wrote it is a genius.

"I mean, who could guess that you can't mix Ether with potion substrates without actually trying it? How much do you need to know to predict that?"

But who am I, as a lowly and unblessed genius, to say that?