19: A Performance Is Demanded

On Monday, Levi's occupied with phone calls early while he settles down at his desk, and he motions for you to hand over your laptop as he speaks.

"Yeah, I got the email," he reports to his converser. "I'll take a look at it now." He opens your laptop before switching to the mouse of his computer. "What? What am I going to hate?" With a single click, he gets his answer. "Oh, for fuck's sake."

"You okay?" you ask.

He doesn't answer you. "I didn't think this convention could get any more hellish. Seriously, Pieck, why him? What about Theo, or Mr. Provost Calvi? Shouldn't someone higher than a department head be running the convention?"

Pieck must be giving some explanation or apology, and Levi just mutters curses under his breath in response. "Whatever," he sighs. "Just one more thing to handle. I'll get the speech sent to him in a few minutes. I'm not in charge of anything beyond that. Mmhmm. Thanks, it's appreciated. I'll talk to you later."

When he drops the phone, you try again to start a dialogue.

"What's been fucked up this time?"

He emits an amused hum at your revisal of the question, and it seems to have actually soothed him a little. "We've got this piece of shit in charge of the convention—fuck, why him? What strings did that fucker pull?"

"Who's in charge?"

"Some stuffy prick that thinks he's the greatest being to grace this earth." Levi types a few strings of text into your laptop, then swivels the device back around and pushes it back to you. "Here's his info. I want you to send him an email: introduce yourself, and send him a copy of my version of the speech. He needs to submit it for the teleprompters."

Taking your laptop, you read the name he's typed out. Dr. Zeke Jaeger.

"How do you know him?"

"He attended Paradis for his doctoral program after graduating from Marley. I was an undergrad at the time."

"Were you two classmates?"

"No, we were neighbors. I rented a place at the Odel Apartments near campus, and he was right next to me—obnoxious fucker. He's almost as bad as Kenny." He puts a hand to his forehead, those memories stirring a headache. "The noise, and the fucking cigarette smoke, and those repulsive conversations he'd try to start with me. He loved joking about how I was Erwin's little lackey. That shit was annoying as hell."

You chuckle at the recollection of his treatment. "Yeah, it is annoying when your position as an intern is mocked, isn't it?"

"Quiet," he bites. "Just write your damn email."

"Fine." A fresh email is opened up, and Zeke's address is typed into the recipient line. "Why am I the one doing this? It's supposedly your speech, right?"

"It'll allow him to get to know you. We'll need that. Besides, I'm trying to avoid as much direct communication with that bearded shit as I can."

"So you make it my job instead."

"Yes," he replies bluntly. "Be courteous with him. And call him Dr. Jaeger, like you do with everyone else. It's good etiquette."

You don't really need to be told how to draft an email, but you let him preach while you type. A simple, professional introduction is scripted before discussing Levi's speech and then attaching the original document. You still can't believe you're going along with this ruse, this fake setup in which you intend to replace the professor on stage at the last minute. It's probably the riskiest stunt you've ever pulled.

"You have two weeks to finish editing and memorizing your work," Levi reminds. "And you're the first speaker from Paradis, so you have to make a good impression."

"Fuck, the first?"

"Yeah. I have the itinerary right here. The first evening is a big event to initiate the convention, so there's a decent lineup of speakers to get the universities acquainted with each other. There's a few people from Marley before you, but then you're up. Pretty much everyone that'll be at the convention will be in the auditorium that night." 

"Fuck," you breathe, your mind wrought with stress. "I don't think I can do that." 

"I do." He types a final line of text into his computer then searches for his desired paperwork. "And I'll whip you into shape easily. You just have to follow my lead." 

"You've never seen me on stage—how can you be so confident? I'm really not sure of myself." 

"I wasn't hired on a whim, intern. I know what I'm doing." He taps together papers and rises, ready to go to class. "Come sit here. I have something for you to do."

You leave your laptop behind and relocate to his seat, always mentally loving the space behind the Paradis professor's desk. It's a grand position to be in, and it gives you a glimpse of what your future could look like if you work hard. 

"You're staying in my office during class. During it, I want you to start reviewing the lesson plan for my literature history class later today." 

"Oh, this again?" 

"No, I'm not having you edit it." He takes the mouse and finds the document for you. "You need to review it. Memorize it. I'll have you teach class later today." 

"Wait, seriously?!" You almost fly out of your seat, startled with this highly unexpected announcement. 

"God, don't have a heart attack." He puts a hand on your shoulder as if to pin down the tornado. "Yeah. You'll show me how well you perform in front of others. My students are a good starting point." 

"But—but I don't know this stuff." You skim the outline, the words feeling foreign to your frantic eyes. "I mean, not as well as you do. I haven't had time to learn the material."

"You have two hours." 

"That not enough time!" You wildly scroll to the top, trying to find semblance in the words. Haphazard fishing lines are thrown into your memory to retrieve anything about the subject matter, and nothing is coming up immediately. "I need to practice first. I need time, Levi. This is a big deal." 

"I know."

"Then—then give me time. Can I do it next week? Or at least tomorrow? I need—"

"Hey." A pale palm covers your lips, fingers scrunching into your cheeks. Levi's lips come close to your ear, his breath ghosting on the shell of your ear and scattering warmth through your face. 

"You will teach. Today. No amount of trembling and whining is going to change that." 

You freeze in place, a tiny grunt vibrating your lips. Warm blood throbs in your cheeks, supplied by an anxious, thumping heart. 

"You have two hours to learn this material. You won't accomplish anything if you panic the whole time." With his free hand, he picks up your wrist and guides your hand to the keyboard. "So you need to focus. Use those smarts of yours and figure out this material. I expect good results in my next class period. Do you understand that?"

A whine escapes, your finger fidgeting with some letter key beneath it. You detect his scent from the hand possessing your face, breathing in and on his skin. It threatens you, but it comforts you in an unfamiliar manner too. 

"Answer," he demands. 

You nod by instinct, uttering a weak, "Mhm," against his palm. 

"Good. Get to work, so you don't humiliate yourself in front of my students." He frees you and gathers his papers, about to isolate his intern. "Any questions before I go?" 

"None," you mumble, rediscovering how to use a computer. Your mind seems to have been reset, and you're now a blank slate that needs to remember her purpose and goal. 

"Okay. Don't open the door for anyone. You're going to focus without distractions; I don't want any faculty or students bothering you." 

You don't pay attention to him exiting the room, already focused on what you need to do. 

The lesson plan pertains to an overview of literacy during the Dark Ages and its transition into the Renaissance. It's not ridiculously challenging, but it's still too buried in your subconscious to easily remember. You pull up fresh browser tabs to conduct more research on bullet points, and you start scripting a new outline that follows your style. 

Time passes quickly, an hour feeling like a mere minute. You make decent progress and even extrapolate by finding small trivia tid-bits and intricate definitions to include. You can do it, you keep telling yourself. You will accomplish this, and you will not disappoint your mentor. 

He re-enters earlier than you expected, but a glance at the digital clock shows it actually has been two hours already. Levi's office felt like a time machine, and now you've been pulled to the present while still yearning for more time in the past. 

"Let's get going," he orders like an executioner summoning a prisoner. 

You don't acknowledge him, quickly skimming your work again. It's completed, but it is undoubtedly hasty. It's a brittle skeleton that you must flesh out with just your knowledge and diction. 

"Up, intern. Quit stalling."

"I'm not," you lie, closing down several tabs and praying for some new trove of wisdom to bless you.  "Just reviewing it. I'm all set." 

Levi stays in the doorway while you shut off his computer and rise. Crossing to him, you feel your heart thump heavily and your head ache, and you take control of your breathing to maintain some calm autonomy. 

"I need to print out what I've scripted." 

"Fine." He walks alongside you through the halls, his eyes fixed on your expression. "Remember, you have to memorize the convention speech."

"Yes, I know. But two hours is different than two weeks. I need a script right now." 

"Sure." He changes course to one of the staff rooms, seeking out a printer. "But if you're staring at a sheet of paper the whole time, that's going to be quite the letdown." 

"I won't be."

After picking up a physical copy of your work, Levi brings you to the lecture hall for his literature history class. The room seems much larger than you remember, glaring at you like the gaping mouth of a beast. Most students have already arrived, several stragglers slipping in behind you and the professor. It's a freshman level class with around 200 students, most of which dutifully attend class due to the strictness of their icy professor. Hardly anyone dares skipping his class. 

Once the clock shows that class has officially started, Levi stands as tall as he can at the front of the room, and the murmur of the audience dies quite quickly. His ability to wordlessly control a room is remarkable, and you wish you could borrow a portion of that power for yourself. 

"Listen up," he calls. "We have a lecture on literacy and language advancements during the Middle Ages and Renaissance. I'm going to have my intern teach, though. Anybody got a problem with that?"

The room becomes even quieter. You're leaning casually against the lectern, but it's a weak effort to hide the stage fright seeping in your veins. This deafening silence isn't helping.

Some anonymous voice farther back speaks up. "Is she nicer than you?" 

The comment makes you grin, pacifying you just a little. "Yeah," you answer, hoping to replace anxiety with pride. "Very much so." 

"Knock it off," Levi gnarls, shooting a glare your way.

Safe under the eyes of his students, you keep conversation with them by lightly nodding towards your mentor. "Case in point."

A concordant chuckle ripples through the crowd, rewarding your humor. It's pleasant.

"Whatever." Levi leaves the spotlight, passing stiffly behind you. "Don't fuck it up," he mumbles. 

You're alone in front of the class, Levi taking the seat that usually belongs to you. Pointlessly readjusting the paper on your lectern, you scan the crowd that's waiting with pencils and laptops for you to educate them. 

It's time to teach. It's time to perform the penultimate task, the holy grail of a Paradis internship. You've been yearning to be standing here since you accepted an internship under Dr. Erwin Smith, and now that dream is swallowing you whole. Here you are; be proud! Realize how far you've come!

You tell yourself this, but it doesn't help. This is still Professor Levi's class at Paradis University, and that's enough to rattle your heart. It's just a freshman class, but it's filled with Paradis students. It's just teaching literature, but it's teaching to Professor Levi's students. Any remark you attempt to calm yourself with is swiftly rebuked. 

You've been held at gunpoint, for pity's sake. Why the hell does this occasion stir the same tremors that that encounter did? 

Fuck it, this is your lecture hall now. You didn't make it all this way for nothing.

"We're starting in Europe," you begin. "Around the turn of the fourteenth century. Poverty, disease, all that. This time period is marked predominantly by a lack of scientific or scholarly development, and that's quite evident in the literature as well."

Once you start talking, it's a bit easier. Your speaking points are still vague blobs of knowledge, but you're successful in morphing them into coherent sentences.

You discuss the low rates of literacy during the Middle Ages, expressing how people exchanged stories through other means. You're able to discuss why literacy rates were so low, and how that affected the aggrieved population.

Several minutes in, you're able to catch a glance of Professor Levi spectating you. His eyes are heavy, as always, peering at you like a cat lying in wait. You're not sure if he's bothering to blink.

"Literacy was contingent on bookkeeping and the existence of paper and other writing devices," you teach, fighting to ignore his crushing glower. "Come the Renaissance, an influx of mass-produced paper and pushes for education allowed for an increase in reading and writing abilities in common civilians. It became simpler to share stories and ideas, thus improving the overall comprehensive abilities of European populations."

"And?" Levi pipes up.

You tense, failing to anticipate his interjection. Looking his way, you try to uncover what he's looking for in his expression. It hasn't changed, and it says nothing.

"...And?" you echo.

"What did the increase in literacy do?"

The fucker is taunting you, testing the extent of your research. He's joined the curious audience, faking nescience to force more information out of his faux professor.

"It..." you start, but you have nowhere to go. What did it do, besides the obvious?

"It...? It what, Professor?"

Fuck him. He doesn't need to humiliate you like this. You were given two hours to finalize this subject and he's giving no grace and instead tearing apart your lesson. You're not sure of the answer he's looking for; pursed lips and unblinking eyes tell him this. 

"It intimidated the aristocracy and religious groups," he answers for you. "Growing literacy threatened the power of the church since individuals could interpret the Bible for themselves instead of relying on priests."

"Oh." Okay, you probably read about that somewhere in your research. You wish you had telepathic powers, or at least a better prediction of what he was looking for. 

"Isn't that right?" he asks sweetly. 

Glancing at your notes, you frantically try to reroute the train of thought in your head. Intimidated the elites. Church was threatened. Okay. You know something along those lines. 

"That is right, Levi." Squaring your shoulders, you look to the audience for emotional support. "In fact, individual interpretation of scripture led to the Protestant Reformation. The common citizens were no longer held back by their overbearing leaders. They decided to educate themselves and teach others as they saw fit." 

A few astute students chuckle, and Levi surrenders with an irritated scoff. You're victorious, shutting up the unwelcome interrogator and reclaiming the stage. 

"The subsequent invention of the printing press eliminated the need for scribes and promoted reading comprehension in following decades." You resume your lecture, satisfied with the sight of your vanquished mentor.

You pace the lesson well, able to align your tempo with the speed of the clock. You wrap up the lesson within ten minutes of the class's dismissal time, and, anxious to end your performance, you dismiss the students early. 

"Don't you know what time class ends?" Levi asks as the students start shuffling out.

"I sure do." You wave to a passing amiable pupil. "And I decided to end class ten minutes before then."

"You're robbing the students of their tuition money. You should use all the time you're allotted." 

"Well, I'm the professor today. You said as much. So I decide when the students are dismissed." Smoothing a hand over your lesson plan, you truly feel united with the esteemed lectern before you. This podium is meant for you; it will be in your future no matter what. 

"You cheeky princess," Levi grumbles, heaving himself up from his chair. "All high and mighty with one new privilege, aren't you?" 

With such a title bestowed upon you, you can't help but embody it. "Yeah. You wanted me to teach your classroom, so I did." 

Levi watches the flow of students beyond you, making sure every single one is smoothly exiting the room. "You certainly did. Strutting in front of my students like you fucking own them," he whispers. "Are you proud of your little performance?" 

You're getting arrogant, but the successful lesson you just completed promises you that you're deserving of this pride. Looking his way, you throw your shoulders up in a carefree shrug. "A little. I did better than I thought I would." 

He rests an elbow on the lectern, standing quite close to you. "Good. So that wasn't so bad, was it?" 

You know what he's getting at, and you know you're already giving him what he wants to hear. "It...was manageable." 

"It was easy for you. You handled it just fine, like I knew you would." He squeezes your upper arm, trying to pull your attention away from the text on the lectern. "Seriously, what were you so worried about?" 

"I—well, it's stressful—"

"Yeah, it'll be stressful if you freak out about it." He takes your hand off the lesson plan and picks it up to read. "But you persevered, made this, and taught it. You'll do just fine at Marley." 

"I don't know about that. I mean—"

"Fuck, get your shit together. Quit panicking for one second and trust your ability." He tugs you away from the lectern, freeing you from your bubble of uncertainty. "We still have time to fix you up. Keep trusting me, and I'll make sure you do well. Got that?"

You sigh, letting his words swirl in your head. "I got it, Levi."