Rumors About Professor Atwill
"Good thing. The last batch gave us great results."
Monday morning, right before heading to class, I got to hear Arienael's experiment results. She looked exhausted from preparing lecture materials and writing reports. Maybe as an elf, she'd never lived this busily before. Even long-lived species roll when you push 'em! I was impressed by Professor Thornton's foresight once again.
Unlike her lifeless face—which looked almost human in its fatigue—Arienael's voice brimmed with energy. And rightly so. She'd gotten the results we wanted from the least likely ingredient, the very last one.
"But absorption grass? Why this one? Is it because it helps mix the water and herbs evenly during brewing, stabilizing the potion? Or maybe some special interaction with spirits?"
"You think? Related to spirits?"
"It's possible. Is this unique to absorption grass, or do all mixing aid herbs share it?"
"Hmm... Not sure."
"Maybe it only works for stamina potions. Could vary by other ingredients too."
"I don't really..."
The vitality in Arienael's voice faded bit by bit. She wasn't hiding her exhaustion anymore. As her advisor, I was giving feedback, but her replies were getting half-hearted? There's a limit to poor attitudes!
"I'm telling you to think about it. This is your research!"
"Professor, can we do this later? I'm so tired today, please!"
"Already? It's only been a week since semester started."
"I've slept less than ten hours total since Friday. Or 36,000 seconds by your clock? Wow, that's a long time!"
Arienael suddenly unleashed a torrent of words. It made me sound like I was working her to death. I hadn't even told her to come in over the weekend, but here I was getting this treatment. Unfair, but I had to back off a step. First time—she needs adjustment period. Plus, after yesterday's talk, I felt a bit guilty about teasing her religion.
"Fine, good work. We'll talk more later. Go rest now and come back this afternoon."
"Thank you for understanding. You take care too, Professor."
Arienael was too wiped out to attend class today. With barely any sleep and her own classes this afternoon, she needed the break. She didn't need to be in my theory lectures anyway, so I approved easily.
Today was the first class without Arienael.
Professor Atwill always entered the lecture hall right on the dot and left just before the bell, sensing it somehow. Students wondered how he timed it so perfectly. They'd checked later—never late. The building didn't have a great view of the clock tower either. Coming in exactly on time was impressive enough, but leaving?
No window showed the tower.
"Clock tower?"
"Yeah, ten sharp. Half-hour class, so it'll end right on the hour."
Students had all sorts of hypotheses on 'Professor Atwill's Time Management.' Rumors he used a spellcraft master's custom spell to track time. Conspiracy theories about clairvoyance spotting the distant tower. Or maybe his rigid routine made it second nature—Arienael would've scoffed. Wild fantasies about calculating shadows from the sun's angle anywhere.
"Spot on today?"
"Nah, he'll miss."
"Eek! Were you listening?"
Plenty of mystical guesses, but the most realistic—and hardest to believe—was 'a watch.' That small thing he checked often? A portable clock. Carrying a clock tower in his pocket would let him time to the minute, explaining the tight schedule.
"Why?"
"Asked staff yesterday. Clock tower adjustment this morning."
"Adjustment?"
"Broke over the weekend, way off. Professor times by it, right? But daily?"
Students arrived leisurely. Professors usually waited for the bell. Some didn't care if late.
"A watch though? Atwill that rich?"
"Guy like that short on cash? Continent's lining up to sponsor."
"He refused all."
"Really all? Nah. Even if, he could earn plenty."
"True, but fresh PhD. Talent alone ain't enough—you need time. No chance to build wealth."
"Anyway, watch. He'll be late today. Bet?"
Making a pocket-sized clock required advanced tech and complex spell formulas. Even the university's massive clock tower took teams to maintain, constantly adjusted for breakdowns and errors.
That doomed the 'Atwill Watch Theory.' No tiny clock could match tower precision, no matter how often reset.
As if proving it, sand nearly drained when the door burst open.
"See? Late. Fork over five silvers."
"Wait. Still some left."
Last grains about to fall—and the door flew open. Betting students went silent, win or lose.
A young man in his early twenties rushed in, panting.
As if he knew lateness hit exactly when sand ran out.
"Not late. Class starts."
Students plunged deeper into confusion seeing the round object in his hand. Too many reasons it couldn't be a clock.
He'd checked something for time—but what?
* He arrived exactly on time today too. But Professor Atwill's class start felt a bit off.
He'd entered right before the designated time, as usual. A tad more rushed and winded, but he always hurried at the end.
The difference? No elf assistant shadowing him.
She did nothing in theory class anyway. Watching Arienael take notes intently, she blurred the line between assistant and student.
Still, many felt disappointed.
"Nice to see you all again. From today, we'll cover individual materials one by one. Materials first, then tools—but tools will come up midway too."
Still catching breath, he spoke in shorter bursts, pausing to breathe.
"Can't separate them anyway. Explaining magic material properties naturally involves tools."
Professor Atwill skipped any mention of Arienael and dove in. Students wondered, but hesitated to ask. It'd draw eyes—especially his. No professor liked off-topic questions, Atwill least of all.
"Professor~ Got a question!"
In this mood, raising a hand meant craving attention—or fearing it not enough.
To Atwill, Stella Rackton was the latter.
"Yes? What?"
"Where's that pretty assistant sis? Our senior!"
Atwill nearly said, 'No off-topic questions.' But swallowed it. Her absence tied to class somehow. Nothing to hide.
"Arienael won't attend today. No impact on class, so don't worry."
Some blanked at first. He'd introduced her as 'Arienael' on day one.
Obvious link between full name and nickname clicked fast.
I assumed the nickname was her real name so naturally. Introduced her that way to students.
Atwill had realized his mistake recently. Students' faces reminded him.
Her application and first meeting used the full name. How'd I miss it?
Self-reproach rose: too casual intro, like neighborhood pals. Nickname, not proper name.
"Right, let's clarify. Our class TA is Arienael."
Atwill figured TAs should command respect. But already 'sis' and buddy vibes? Problem.
Better set it straight today, establish discipline.
"It's good students feel comfortable with the TA, but she's not your friend—she's the TA. Avoid undue familiarity."
Roger Atwill never overthought how words landed. Pure intentions bred misunderstandings aplenty.
That talent tanked his reputation often.
"Especially some male students: curb it. Staring more at TA than professor mid-class? Unwelcome. Focus on the lecture."
Stella propped her chin, smiling delightedly, eyes sparkling. Atwill squinted.
What're you thinking?
"As educator, yes—but as her colleague, even more. Looked burdensome. Be cautious henceforth. It's manners."
Students read his expression differently. Plenty of gossip fodder already. But Atwill added:
"Oh, and keep today's talk from the TA's ears. Bit embarrassing."
My screw-up from the start—claiming credit feels off.
He resumed normal tone.
"Class begins."
That day, student focus tanked hard. Not just the clock thing.