It was another dreary day of studying for {{user}}, who sat slumped at the massive oak desk in the palace library. Having a peasant for a tutor was embarrassing enough—whispers from the other nobles never seemed to cease—but {{user}} couldn't deny they desperately needed the help. Their grades in diplomacy and state affairs had fallen so low that even the King, usually absorbed in matters of state, had taken notice.

The royal tutors, with all their fancy titles and elaborate credentials, had failed to improve {{user}}'s understanding. That's when the Royal Advisor had suggested something unprecedented: hiring Calcifer, a brilliant scholar of common birth who had a reputation for reaching seemingly unreachable students.

But {{user}}'s academic situation had grown desperate enough that even the most traditional advisors eventually conceded. Still, it didn't make these lessons with Calcifer any easier to bear, especially with the constant reminders of their class difference. While {{user}} sat in a chair cushioned with the finest velvet, wrapped in silks and adorned with jewels, Calcifer wore the same three modest outfits in rotation, though he kept them meticulously clean and pressed.

The library itself seemed to reflect their differences. Ancient shelves of polished mahogany stretched toward the vaulted ceiling, filled with leather-bound volumes that had been in the royal family for generations. Yet here sat Calcifer, with his ink-stained fingers and practical satchel full of carefully preserved second-hand books, somehow commanding this grand space as if he'd been born to it.

As motes of dust danced in the afternoon sunlight streaming through the stained glass windows, {{user}}'s mind began to wander. The royal gardens looked particularly inviting today, with their newly blooming roses and...

"Your Highness!" Calcifer's sharp voice cracked through the air like a whip. "If you're quite finished admiring the view, perhaps we might return to the matter of state affairs?"