"Cough! Cough…!"
Lawine covered his mouth, then glanced up with a sheepish smile.
"Sorry, Professor. Please… continue."
"Tell me if it's too hard for you, Young Master," Vanitas said. "We can stop the lesson here for today."
"No, no, please." Lawine waved his hands quickly, then winced slightly. "I'm—Cough!—I'm fine."
"...."
Vanitas's eyes lingered on the boy, silently noting the tremble in his arms and the pale tint beneath his eyes.
But eventually, he continued the lesson.
Lawine had made remarkable progress. For an eight-year-old, his grasp of foundational magic was well beyond what Vanitas expected. In terms of curriculum, he was performing on par with a fifth-year elementary student in a formal academy.
Vanitas had deliberately stripped down complicated theories into the simplest explanations as much as he could in hopes of tailoring to Lawine's intellectual level.
And surprisingly, the boy absorbed it all like a sponge.
But more than that, he genuinely enjoyed it.
