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When Byleth first finds out she is going to be a teacher, she is uneasy. She doesn’t know how to teach students, she’s a mercenary, not a professor. Despite these worries, she deals. She has no choice in the matter.
At first glance, someone might think that mercenaries and teachers don’t have a lot in common, and Byleth would agree with them.
Teachers don’t have trouble talking to people.
Teachers don’t have nicknames like “The Ashen Demon.”
Teachers don’t have whispers that follow them like ghosts.
“Is she even human? I’ve heard she can slice a man down without so much as twitching.”
Byleth isn’t positive, but she doesn’t think teachers are supposed to have actual ghosts following them either. (She suspects that one is more of a personal problem than a professional one, though.)
Byleth doesn’t have a degree. She’s sure many of the parents of some of her more high-society students would faint on the spot if they knew their children were being taught by someone who not only doesn’t have a degree, but who has never gone to school at all.
Everything that she knows she’s learned on the go. History was taught on horseback, math was taught on the back of a cart, swordsmanship was practiced at whatever clearings she and her father could find, and tactics was self-taught from books.
It’s a hard thing to admit, that you have absolutely no idea what you are doing, but Byleth has never been one to back down from a challenge.
She finds herself picking things up as she goes— the first of which is that every student requires a slightly different approach.
She starts to keep candies in her desk for when Lysithea stops in during office hours to ask for guidance, she quizzes Caspar and Raphael on tactics as they run in the mornings, and she draws diagrams as she lectures for Ignatz and Ashe (who she finds are better able to retain the information when they can see the content as well as hear it).
They are all small things, but over time, they add up.
Caspar and Raphael’s less than stellar tactics grades slowly creep upwards, Lysithea’s magical talent continues to flourish, and both Ignatz and Ashe’s exam scores improve by leaps and bounds.
The second thing she learns is that in order to teach something well, you have to know it yourself.
Byleth spends many late hours split between studying textbooks, sparring, and grading papers. She even stops by some of her colleagues' office hours occasionally. (Manuela and Hanneman are at first surprised to see her, but her visits quickly become a routine of sorts.)
She picks up a little bit of everything, from reason magic, to heavy armor, to flying. While some say a jack of all trades is a master of none, Byleth would disagree. A jack of all trades is a master of adaptability.
Life is a race, and those who don’t adapt to its sudden twists and turns, who aren’t able to get past the bumps in the road—they are left behind. The thing most of her students don’t seem to realize is that while life is indeed a race, it is a marathon, not a sprint.
Everyone has different goals they reach at different paces, and it doesn’t matter how long it takes you to get there so long as you eventually do.
It’s okay if you need to take a break once in a while, too. Byleth often does. She spends most of her free days fishing, reads trashy romance novels before bed, and often stops to give attention and scraps from the morning meal to the cats and dogs.
As she sits on the edge of the dock one morning and watches the sun slowly rise over the horizon, Byleth comes to a realization.
Despite how so much has changed, she is as she always was.
Mercenary or professor—she is, was, and always will be Byleth. While many things in this world are always changing, that isn’t one of them.
Byleth will never be an avid enthusiast of reason magic, will never be someone who favors axes over swords, will never be someone who is known for being gregarious.
And that’s okay—she doesn’t have to be good at everything. She can figure things out as she goes.
Byleth turns to glance over her shoulder as she hears footsteps approaching.
“Hey, kid.”
Father takes a seat next to her, and they briefly glance at each other before they both turn their gazes back towards the water.
“You doing okay? I know this was all a bit sudden. I really wish you didn’t get dragged into this, but…” He sighs. “It is what it is.”
Jeralt runs a hand across his face. “I’m sorry I haven’t been around much to help you settle in. Rhea’s been keeping me busy.”
“I know,” she says. “It’s okay. I’m fine.”
He frowns. “Are you sure? I know you were really unsure about this whole teaching thing. Honestly, I don’t know what Rhea was thinking. If you want me to, I can try to pull some strings and possibly convince her to let you join the knights instead.”
“It’s fine,” she says. “I’ll adjust.”
She pauses, briefly.
“I always do.”
I already have.