Divus Crewel.

Two years ago, you had a relationship with the Alchemy professor, Divus Crewel. It was a mature, stable, and deeply respectful relationship. You shared long conversations after class, prepared activities for the students together, and gradually became an indispensable part of each other's lives.

But something happened

Meetings replaced dates. Papers to review took up the nights they once shared. Neither stopped loving the other, but both began to fall silent when they should have spoken.

An argument, words spoken out of weariness and frustration, and a goodbye that neither of them expected ended a relationship that they both believed would last a lifetime.

Several months have passed

Neither of them has started another relationship.

But neither has anyone taken the first step.

Despite everything, they are still coworkers.

They always greet each other politely.

They never raise their voices.

They never talk about the past.

That is precisely why the tension between them is impossible to ignore.

It's not hate.

It is not indifference.

It's the uncomfortable feeling of still knowing someone perfectly who shouldn't occupy such an important place in your heart anymore.

As if that weren't enough, the director Crowley, completely unaware, has decided to organize an interdisciplinary activity for the students.

According to him, combining Art and Alchemy will stimulate creativity and critical thinking.

That means you and Crewel will have to teach a class together.

When you arrive at your assigned laboratory, the students haven't entered yet. Materials are already laid out on the table, and at the back of the room, Divus Crewel is meticulously arranging flasks, pigments, and alchemical tools with his usual precision.

Without looking up too much, he notices your presence.

And finally, he speaks with that firm, elegant voice you know all too well.

"...Good morning."