2: Transfer Of Possessor And Power

One full week passes under Nanaba's instruction, and it might've been your best week at Paradis yet. If Erwin's tutelage had been combined with your devotion to literature, that would've summed up just how fantastic Nanaba's mentorship was. She was kind to both you and her students, and she was always quick to check in on you, both as an intern and as a student. Your own studies at Einrich College were conducted fully online, though you didn't have many to be taking in the first place. Your final year of your master's program was dedicated to gaining experience and finishing your thesis as opposed to running through tedious classes. It was easy to do without the necessity of attending Einrich's campus elsewhere, giving you the freedom to rent an apartment near Paradis to pursue your internship.

It's Monday morning, and you're settling down in Nanaba's office to review paperwork before class begins. She's finishing up an email on her computer, though still making small talk with you while she types. It's an easy way to shake any nerves about attending class, or in this case teaching class alongside her. You've reviewed the coursework for her creative writing class enough times, and she's declared you're ready to instruct the students yourself with her guidance. Quick progress, to be sure, but you're deserving of the acceleration. 

"I'm only concerned about discussing the material of the assigned reading." You express your qualms while she types, currently reviewing the lesson plan yourself. "Should I point out the world-building aspects, or the point of view choice? Aren't the students learning about both right now?"

"They certainly are." She keeps glancing down at her keyboard to ensure she's striking the right letters. "And you could teach both. However, since they're still in the early stages of drafting their own story, I'd recommend focusing on the overarching lesson first: world-building. Point of view, along with characters, will come in time."

"Right." You underline a sentence regarding as much. "That makes sense. I can talk about how the story created its setting, then utilized—"

The door flying open causes you to flinch, your speech halted. You barely have enough time to pull your wits together before the intruder speaks.

"Nanaba," Levi calls. "I'm taking her back." 

He's tense, frighteningly so. His suit-clad body looks quite rigid, and the papers in his hand might disintegrate with how tightly he's gripping them. That typical irritation plaguing his face has heightened to vexed anger, an expression he has no issue displaying to his subordinate, nor her intern.

"What?" Nanaba's caught off-guard, just like you are. She removes her hands from her keyboard and faces him in her seat. 

"The intern. She's going back under my tutelage." Levi gestures to you.

Your blood runs cold from his sentence. He wants you back? Why? You were doing just fine under Nanaba, right? There's no need to return to the less-than-amiable department head. A tiny part of you wants to protest right then and there, but you stay tautly silent.

"Um, has there been a problem?" Nanaba won't vehemently fight her superior, but she wants at least a little more detail.

"No," Levi denies. "You're doing fine. I'm just taking her." He beckons to you, commanding you to oblige. "Get up. We're going back to my office."

"Why?" you risk asking, siphoning as much innocent curiosity into your tone as possible. 

"Because," he answers uselessly. "Nanaba, I'll finish up the transfer paperwork and get it sent to you. For now, though, I'm taking her."

"Are—are you certain, Levi?" Nanaba's ready to stand up, but Levi puts up a prohibiting hand. 

"Yes. Intern, you're mine. Let's go." He nods to the door, waiting for you to rise. 

"Uh," you utter as you get to your feet, completely uncertain of who you should stay with. You want to resist, or at least receive more of an explanation, but it's clear you won't be able to get a word of denial in. Might as well just follow him, for now. "...Okay."

"Come on." He turns and exits the office, moving swifter than you can process.

"Um, sorry, Nanaba," you say to the professor. "I guess I gotta go."

"That's alright." She waves an understanding hand. "Keep in touch. I'll help if you need anything."

"Great." That's incredibly reassuring, and you feel strongly comforted from her support. "Thank you, Nanaba. I'll see you around."

You join Levi in the hall, already falling several paces behind him. You're quick to catch up, anxious for answers. "Um, Levi, can I ask why I'm being transferred?" 

His steps are rapid and fierce, the man solely focused on his swift march. He doesn't want to answer you and decides to give you nothing more than a peeved huff.

"Did...I do something wrong? Or...right?"

He arrives at the staircase descending to the second floor and begins pattering down the first flight. You're behind him, formulating different questions to retrieve answers from him.

"You should have told me," he snaps once he reaches the first landing. His body rotates quickly to face you, his feet stopping in their tracks. 

You halt suddenly, perplexed. "Told you what?"

"This." He holds up the few papers he's holding, showing them to you. A quick glance at the sheets reveals your name running along the header, followed by a column of your education history and academic achievements. It's your curriculum vitae, complete with multiple pages' worth of accomplishments and acknowledgements to attest to your academic skill. 

"My CV?" you ask, utterly confused. "What about it?"

"You—did you not think it important to show this to me?" He jostles the papers before lowering them, rereading the information he's begrudgingly learned about previously. "Your academic record is pretty damn important to know, wouldn't you think?"

"I—what—I'm sorry, but I thought Dr. Smith was giving it to you. He said he was handling the paperwork." You're startled, yet firm, yet apologetic. It hadn't been your responsibility to finish the transfer paperwork; Erwin had promised he'd handle all of it. Levi heard him declare as much.

"I was supposed to know about this sooner." He returns his fistful of papers to his side, turning his eyes to you. "I should know about the background of the literature intern."

Sure, he should, but it's not your fault he didn't. He does now at least, doesn't he? "I'm sorry...? I'm sorry. I—of course—want you and the other literature professors to know my background. I thought Dr. Smith—"

"He gave it to me this morning. I know now." He turns sharply and continues down the next flight to the second floor.

So there shouldn't be a problem now. You still can't figure out what his issue is, but there's not time to sit and think about it. You follow. 

"Levi," you call as he rounds the corner to begin the flight to the first floor. "Was there something wrong with my CV?" 

He says nothing once he slows on the next landing.

"Levi?" You're behind him, waiting for an answer. "Was there a mistake?"

He whips around, scoffing at just the sight of you. "You think you're being cute?" 

"Wh—I'm sorry?" 

"No, there wasn't a damn mistake with your CV. It was fine." He stomps a foot in front of you. "It was perfect, actually. Extensive, and detailed, and prestigious as hell."

"O-oh." You weren't expecting this fierce compliment, and you can't decide if you want to be honored or offended. 

He glances down at your CV again, the papers absolutely infuriating him. "You must think you're real hot shit, hm?" 

You physically recoil at his accusation, slapped with abhorrent disrespect. "Excuse me?" 

"This." He waves the paper aggravatedly. "A pretty, perfect scholar, waltzing into my office like she owns the damn place. Is that what was going through your head?"

"What? Not at all!" You want to step back, but your ankle collides with the stairstep behind you. "I wasn't thinking that! I just—I'm just an intern. I-I was happy to join the literature department! Um, I don't know what you want me to say; it's just—"

"Enough." He drops his tone. "I've heard enough. I get it." Turning on his heels, he takes a few steps away from you, distancing himself from his target. "Let's try this again. You are my intern now," he declares as he glances back at you. "Is that clear?"

"That's—yeah, that's fine. Okay." It's a rash confirmation to give, but turning him down in a fit of anger won't end well. You want an internship at Paradis, and the head of the literature department holds the most control over your opportunity. 

"I'll put your damn prestige to the test. A scholar like you will work underneath me just fine, and without complaints. Right?" 

"Uh, yeah. Probably." You're too shaken to think clearly, left to blindly accept whatever he's saying. If it doesn't work out, you'll back out later. 

"Good. Then come on. We're going back to my office; I'll give you things to do." Levi continues his march, lost in his own world of fury and giving little attention to you. 

An hour later, you're following your sudden mentor into a lecture hall in some other building, preparing for his literary analysis class. He hadn't given you much preparation beforehand, telling you not much more than to stay quiet and watch. Sit and watch. That's all. He wouldn't offer any more insight or participation beyond that. 

There's a lectern at the front of the room, along with a single desk in the front corner. Levi directs you to the desk, instructing you to take a seat in the single chair occupying it. You do, soothing yourself mentally while watching him write lesson plans on the whiteboard. 

You're okay. You have to restart your progress in your internship, but that's okay. You'll earn his trust, and soon prove yourself capable enough to handle bigger tasks that will progress your academic career. It'll just take time, and a steadfast determination to withstand his sternness.

His sternness is—well, it's unprofessional, to say the least. You can't believe someone has as much gall as he does, even to an intern beneath him. You don't need to be regarded as royalty or anything, but even an intern deserves an ounce of respect. It's simple common courtesy at the bare minimum.

Perhaps it'll wane, with time. He'll come around to treating you properly soon. He's only known you a week, after all. Nanaba didn't seem too startled by his ferocity, so maybe his demeanor is typical. Does that mean his staff is wholly indifferent to his attitude? You hope not.

Soon, class begins, and you end up witnessing Levi's teaching style. He's not cheery, but he's much less aggressive with his students than he was with you. You watch him slowly pace in front the lectern that's too tall for him as he speaks, his eyes wandering the students.

His lesson, though, is incredible. He teaches effortlessly, answers questions in a heartbeat, and extrapolates beautifully on ideas in such ways that you can't even begin to wrap your head around. He's a damn good professor, and you catch yourself admiring this remarkable god of literature. 

"We're looking for an audience," Levi explains as he writes on the whiteboard. "Take a moment and reread the text. It seems as though it's catering to a younger audience, but I want you to develop an argument as to how the audience could also be adults or seniors. Go ahead, get working. Synthesize with your peers if necessary."

The room raises in volume as students begin murmuring to each other about the assignment. You observe them work while Levi meanders up the aisles, watching his pupils. He stops when one has a question and turns his attention to her.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see a hand raise. The hand belongs to a reluctant teen, his face of concern crowned with a perfect bowl-cut of hair. He's waiting, but you notice Levi is still busy with a different student across the room.

There can't be any harm in helping a student. You slip out of your chair and head closer to his spot in the first row.

"Hey, I'm Levi's intern." You quickly give your title, hopefully proving your credibility. "He's still working with another student, so I can try to help you if you'd like."

The student nods. "Yeah, that's okay. I'm Marlo."

"Hello, Marlo. What's your question?"

It's truly a manageable question. He asks about the validity of a perspective he developed, and you feel as though your prior schooling experience is adequate enough to explain the pros and cons. He's satisfied with your answer, thanking you and expressing how impressed he is with your knowledge.

"No problem." You stand straight, searching for the professor. He's begun making his way back to the front, though his eyes are stuck on you. A quick glance at the desk then back to you is enough of an indication of what you're being told to you. You return to your seat, and he returns to his lecture.

Class finishes an hour later, and you still haven't moved from your seat. Levi begins erasing his work on the whiteboard while giving an occasional goodbye to the students, his farewells consisting of not much more than short hums or brief nods. You wait tensely, nervous to be left alone with the potentially ticked off professor.

Levi returns the eraser to its shelf as he watches the last of the students filter through the door. Left alone, the dread of his aura seems to flood the room again, free from the oppression of the students he keeps himself composed around. He turns to face you.

"Did I not make myself clear enough?" He stalks towards you, his expression contorted with anger. "I said no interruptions. You were expected to remain at this seat."

"A student had a question, though." You don't stand up, your body too petrified to do so. "I just wanted to help them."

"I didn't give you permission to help students." He stops before you, able to loom over you despite his height.

"I was able to answer him. It wasn't hard. Besides, you were busy with another student. I wanted to be efficient."

"Listen to me." He learns towards your face, gripping the armrests and trapping you in the chair. "This is my classroom. These are my students. I teach them how I see fit, and that does not involve snippy interns poking their nose where they shouldn't go. Understood?" His voice is low, simmering with restrained fury.

It takes a great deal of strength to not break eye contact with him. "Levi, I just—"

"Shut up," he snaps. "I don't want an explanation. Do you understand?"

You blink. "Yes, I understand."

No, you don't. Not in the slightest. If he has a way of doing things, you're willing to adhere to it. But helping a student is overstepping it? Surely you and your perfect CV would prove that you're capable enough to do the bare minimum. He can teach how he sees fit, but you can offer assistance of your own accord.

Is that really overstepping it?

"Good." He doesn't back away yet, keeping his face close to yours as he eyes your features. He's inspecting you, scouring for fear or deceit or subservience or something that he wants to discover. You don't know what, but you won't open yourself up to him. 

You refuse him entry.