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The first day of a new semester.
The best of days.
The worst of days.
In one classroom, the freshmen take their seats in class with a sort of earnest, bright eyed enthusiasm that only comes around once in a university career. Down the hall meanwhile, their upperclassmen counterparts slink into the familiar halls, resigned but with a dash of I haven't given a fuck since sophomore year and you can’t kill me in any way that matters to round it all out. [1] They know their fate. They’ve accepted that their lives are dedicated to late nights at the library and Red Bull binges. But if they’re stuck in hell, they’re sure as fuck going to have a good time while they’re at it. And so, though the bags under their eyes are deep — caused in part by essay all-nighters and partying until dawn — and their shoulders are hunched and worn, still they bound into their seats with the sort of enthusiasm that only comes with resigned recklessness.
As for the professors, the professors are of a different sort entirely. They burst through the side entrance of these hallowed halls like they own the place. Don’t be mistaken. It’s not because they have an inflated ego or sense of self importance. Its purpose is twofold;
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It is first and foremost a tragic attempt at a coping mechanism. Perhaps they think if they walk in the room like a rock star walks onto stage, then the showmanship and grandeur will help gaslight themselves into thinking they actually want to be here. That they aren’t mourning the loss of their meager summer vacation;
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Second, it acts as a shield. A defense. For if they puff their metaphorical gills and square their shoulders, and hold their heads obnoxiously high, then maybe, just maybe, they can stave off the odd student or two — or archons forbid, fellow colleague — from shoehorning them into — shudder — friendly small talk.
Diluc has perfected both of these techniques, and it’s the former that he employs when he strides down the hall, heading for the classroom that all freshmen must first pass through on their journey through this illustrious university: Room 104. He narrowly avoids a direct run in with his colleague, Raiden Ei. The last time they spoke, it ended with Diluc frantically taking a peek at his wristwatch then sprinting from the room to an appointment he was terribly late for that he had made up just to escape. Try as he might, Diluc only has so much social energy to expend in a day. Luckily, it’s clear that she desires to talk to him no more than he wishes to speak with her and they gracefully dance around each other when they cross paths. His luck runs out though when he spots another colleague up ahead; Kaeya. By the grace of the gods, Jean appears out of nowhere behind Kaeya. When she spots Diluc, she gives him a friendly wave before dragging Kaeya away before he can so much as speak a word.
He passes by classroom G2 next. It’s here that the upperclassmen sit and wait on their own professor to arrive. Though it’s quick, he manages to make eye contact with one of the seniors, Xiao, and feel the weight of his terrifying gaze laden with a deadly combination of don’t fuck with me; I have the power of god and anemo on my side [2] and you could spill soup on me and I’d say sorry [3]. He barely resists the shudder that threatens to wrack his entire body, but fails to stop himself from walking just the tiniest bit faster after making eye contact. Mistake #1, Diluc thinks to himself, never show them your fear.
From his seat in classroom G2, Xiao catches the eye of Doctor Ragnvindr when he power walks past the open door. From this simple, most mundane of interactions, Xiao finds himself forced to remember the unique hell he endured at the end of last semester when he queued up the wrong presentation for his class final. A mistake anyone could have made, but one that will flood Xiao with a self-deprecating humiliation every time he must unwillingly recall the memory. His head drops onto the table and he groans. He is never going to live this down. Not now. Not next semester. Not even when he graduates and gets the hell out of this place.
“The memories,” he mutters, “so dark.” [4]
“Guys,” Itto says with a nervous trill, “is Xiao alright?”
Hu Tao, a bubbly girl who strikes fear into the hearts of even the strongest of the gods’ soldiers, bounds across the small classroom to poke Xiao in the cheek. “Don't worry, Itto. I'll take care of this. Xiaooo. Oh Xiaooo. Wakey wakey.”
Yoimiya and Thoma giggle. Giggle.
Xiao groans and says a silent prayer, begging the archons to smite him where he sits. To damn him straight to hell. But alas, despite his best efforts, no pits of hellfire open beneath his feet, nor are any meteors called down from the sky. It makes sense, he thinks, since what could be more hellish than this waking nightmare?
University, Gorou determined, is terrifying. A mere fifteen minutes ago, as he made his way up the stairs toward the front entrance, he swears on his life that he saw an upperclassman pour an entire can of a Monster energy drink into their still steaming coffee. Shaken and disturbed, he tried telling his fellow freshmen about this harrowing experience once he arrived to class, but not a single soul believes him.
“Maybe it was some kind of imported coffee creamer,” Noelle suggests with a sweet smile. “Surely no one is foolish enough to forsake their heart’s health for a bit of caffeine.”
Yes, I know what you’re thinking, something along the lines of Oh Noelle, you sweet, sweet summer child. She, like all the others, will learn in time. Best not to burst her bubble yet.
“Yeah!” Bennett shouts. "Who would be crazy enough to add toxic levels of caffeine to their coffee?" The answer, of course, is sophomores, juniors, seniors, and the occasional TA. But like Noelle, best not to crush Bennett's idyllic view of the world. In time he too will find himself addicted to Monster energy drink macchiatos.
Defeated, Gorou slumps in his seat and makes a mental note to ask Kokomi later about what he witnessed outside. She has an entire year of university already under her belt. She’ll be able to set the record straight. He knows what he saw, cursed and toxic as it was.
[In two days time, Gorou learns the unfortunate truth as he witnesses Kokomi pour a can of Red Bull into her cafe americano, extra shot, and chug it down without so much as a grimace. He will never be the same again.]
Doctor Ragnvindr sweeps into the room two minutes after class was supposed to start with a flourish that impresses even Xingqiu’s idyllic and chivalric standards. Of course, tardiness is never chivalric, especially when making a first impression, but Doctor Ragnvindr has the energy of a person who is extremely, tragically busy. Sometimes chivalry means cutting someone a break when they so clearly need it.
“Good morning,” Diluc says. “Welcome to VIS 101: Introduction to Vision Theory. My name is Diluc Ragnvindr. In these —“ He shakes a stack of packets in his hands. “You’ll find everything you need to know about the course: Required texts, exam dates, and the reading schedule are all there. You’ll also find my expectations for your time in my class, the university’s statement on academic integrity, a list of mental health resources provided by the university — which you should 100% take advantage of, by the way. You’re paying for it in your health and wellness fee whether you drag your ass to therapy every other week or not. Give this a thorough read and I’m confident we won’t have any problems.” He claps his hands for emphasis then leans back on the desk behind him. “So, any questions?”
No one raises a hand. Not even Xingqiu. Rest assured, he has plenty of questions he is carefully filing away for later. It’s just Doctor Ragnvindr really looks like he could use a nap and Xingqiu isn’t the type to seek assistance from someone when they aren’t at their best. Xingqiu, as the baby freshman that he is, doesn’t understand that this is simply the look for those that have dedicated their lives to academia. The bags under Diluc’s eyes? Designer.
“Excellent. Then let’s get started.”
“If it wasn’t already obvious,” Diluc says not four minutes into his PowerPoint presentation on the main theories in the field of vision studies, “Doctor Barbatos theory on the distribution of visions is utter nonsense. I’m required to cover it according to the curriculum, but don’t bother studying it for any exams. I’m never going to test you on something so utterly wrong. Aside from the one required reading assignment, I won’t be covering it in class.”
“Pssst,” Chongyun says, leaning close to Xingqiu so that he can hear him. “Isn’t Doctor Barbatos one of our other professors?”
“Yeah,” Xiangling says, leaning in on Xingqiu’s other side. “But he only teaches the upper level courses.”
Diluc flips to the next slide. He pauses a moment. Doctor Barbatos theory swims in front of his eyes as contempt wells up in his stomach. The kind of disdain that can only come from years and years of academic quarreling. Ripping each other to shreds in book reviews, in letters to the editor of esteemed disciplinary journals, and many, many arguments fought in these hallways, the offices, even in front of a class on a time or two. The spiteful feeling bubbles into his chest. It keeps going until it’s reached the top of his head, his fingertips, his toes.
His fingers twitch.
He flips back to the previous slide.
“Actually,” he says as he slams his hands onto the tabletop in front of him, “I am going to cover it. Here. Now. It just occurred to me how important it is you learn how ridiculous the theory is. The idea that visions are distributed based on standardized personality traits.” Diluc makes a face befitting of a child trying to anger a sibling. His lips twist and eyes bug out in a horribly unflattering way, not that anyone would dare say this aloud.
“Preposterous. As if people could ever be simplified into a few errant qualities. Not to mention the methodological issues with collecting that sort of data.” He runs a harried hand through his hair, ruining the ponytail he so meticulously tied up this morning.
To the new students, it appears like Diluc made a split second decision to “cover” his colleague’s theory in more depth. What the students don’t know is this happens every year. That’s not to say Diluc is putting on an act; He never plans to backtrack and rip Doctor Barbatos to shreds, but old habits die hard. Everyone is entitled to their vices.
Zhongli has had a long day. An incredibly, stupendously long day. When he voices this to his class of bright eyed but dead inside juniors and seniors on a blustery fall day in October, Hu Tao is quick to put him in his place.
“Professor, it’s 10:00 AM,” [5] she says with a smile that is anything but sweet.
“Thank you Miss Hu. You are helpful as always.” Zhongli glances at the clock on the wall in the back of the classroom, relieved when he realizes class is over, then snaps the textbook in his hand shut. “I’ll see you all on Wednesday. Don’t forget your weekly annotated bibliographies are due on Friday.”
“Doctor Morax,” Yoimiya says as she gathers her books into her arms, “can we submit the assignment via email?”
Zhongli sighs with his whole body. This is why it is a long day. “Like I said last week, and the week before, and the week before that.” And so on and so forth. “A hard copy must be submitted in class or in my departmental mailbox before 6:00 PM or else the assignment will be marked late. The same way it has been since the start of the semester.”
When the students are gone, Zhongli falls back into the chair and lets his eyes drift shut. For the briefest, most fleeting of moments he lets himself daydream of sunny beaches and drinks with little umbrellas. Of a hot, young, red-headed, Snezhnayan professor of abyssal studies sprawled out next to him.
He sighs again.
Oh to sleep, to dream, perchance to fucking retire. [6]
The illusion crumbles to dust when the first of his freshmen stagger through the door for his next class.
At first, Zhongli is alarmed when not one or two or three, but all of them arrive looking as haggard as some of the seniors. Fischl, Bennett, Chongyun, Xinyan. The list goes on. It’s only October. It can’t be that bad yet, can it? Maybe he should talk to the department head about their work loads. Or the mental health counselors. Oh! Or better yet, maybe he should call the dog shelter and invite the therapy dogs for an afternoon. Last year the students were thrilled when the shelter brought Azhdaha, Dvalin, and Durin for an afternoon. Anything to shield these young, impressionable freshmen from whatever collegiate horrors are hiding under their beds.
If his colleagues were here to witness this thought spiral of Zhongli's, it would be to absolutely none of their surprise that he has forgotten a key fact in his assessment of this situation. Though Zhongli’s knowledge on the history of visions is unmatched, he frequently fails to see what is right in front of him. He is, as the kids say, head empty.
For you see, it is October. Late October to be specific. And what happens in late October?
Midterms.
Despite their tired appearance, much like a toddler bounces back after a treacherous tumble at the playground, so too do freshmen bounce back from even the most horrific of midterm exams. By the time they’re all seated, most of them are amicably chatting amongst themselves. When Zhongli catches snippets of their conversations about their weekend plans and all the — ahem — adventures they plan to seek, he tunes out their voices by forcibly sending himself back into this dream world and far away from future conquests of the youth.
Later, when the lecture is over, Xiangling tentatively raises her hand. Ever the inquisitive child, albeit an odd one, she often has questions that test the very edges of his knowledge. These are the kind of questions that make any professor’s heart sing. And to think, she’s only in her first semester.
Today, however, it is not the exciting kind of question that Xiangling asks him.
“Doctor Morax,” she says earnestly, “I was wondering if you knew anything about Doctor Ragnvindr and Doctor Barbatos?”
“I — unfortunately — know more than I care to admit about Doctors Ragnvindr and Barbatos. What is it that you wish to know?”
“Is there a reason why they hate each other?”
“Ah.” So it’s begun, Zhongli thinks. He, like all others in the department, has a role to play. “I take it you’ve heard one or two of Doctor Ragnvindr’s notorious rants—“ Zhongli coughs. “—I mean lectures?”
“One or two? It’s all he talks about!” Bennett shouts. “Doctor Barbatos this. Doctor Barbatos that. And when he’s not talking about Dr. Barbatos, he’s talking about his husband Venti! I still don’t even know what a theory is, but I know the way Venti fixes his coffee for him in the morning.”
“I assure you, I am more than aware,” Zhongli says in the tone of a man who has seen too much.
“What’s with all the beef between them?” Gorou asks. “Did something happen?”
Zhongli rubs his temples. There is no succinct way to explain this. Yes, something did happen. A long, long time ago. A schism that rocked not just Diluc and Barbatos, but the entire department. Today, those that were there to see the department ripped apart without mercy by powers among high call it the cataclysm. [7] Their department was rocked to its very core. Only three of the original faculty survived the fallout: Diluc, Barbatos, and himself. The Department of Vision Studies has bounced back in the past decade. Now they are surrounded by colleagues who have no memory of that awful time. If only Zhongli could be one of them.
For the first time in his life, he has no desire to lecture. That time is one he shudders to recall. Add in Diluc and Barbatos and ugh, it’s just too much. Zhongli loves a good lecture, but he draws the line at lecturing about Diluc and Barbatos. Only they could be powerful enough to get Zhongli to stop lecturing.
“In all academic fields you will find rivalry that festers until it can longer be contained. No one knows this better than Doctors Ragnvindr and Barbatos. Difficult to believe as it may be, there was one a time when they had an amicable relationship. But all things must bend to the will of time eventually. There is no outrunning erosion. Eventually, it all fades to dust.”
Across the room, Xingqiu elbows Chongyun in the side. “Do you have any idea what he’s talking about?”
“It sounds like a bunch of nonsense to me,” Xinyan whispers from behind Xingqiu.
Chongyun shrugs. “It sounds like they broke up.”
Xingqiu lights up and does his best not to yelp. “Chongyun, you’re a genius! We need to call a meeting STAT!”
The meeting has been called. The freshmen of the Department of Vision Studies may be scattered all over campus, but they all do their utmost duty to answer the call. Noelle is in the library when she receives the message. Without wasting a moment, she hurriedly repacks her bag and sets off for the basement of the student center where Xingqiu, Chongyun, and Xiangling are waiting. In her haste, she fails to notice that she’s about to collide with Doctor Ragnvindr until it is too late.
Like the perfect gentleman the reviewers on ratemyprofessor.com proclaim him to be, he catches her before she trips completely with a steady but gentle grip on her forearms and helps her right herself again.
“Careful there,” he says with a gentle smile. “Wouldn’t want you to fall and break something this close to fall break.”
An astoundingly terrible dad joke, but somehow Noelle remains unaffected. Did she simply miss it? Or is she the gods’ strongest soldier capable of withstanding even the worst puns?
“My apologies, professor! I should have been watching where I was going more closely. It won’t happen again.”
“It’s no trouble. You’re safe and that’s what matters,” he says as he takes a step back. [8]
“Right. Of course. Thank you.”
He shoots her a soft smile before wishing her goodbye only to immediately run into Itto, one of the upperclassmen in the Department of Vision Studies.
“Woah, Doctor Ragnvindr has anyone told you that your sweater is totally poggers?”
To Noelle’s shock, Diluc’s smile widens and becomes all fond and mushy. It’s a stark contrast to his chronic RBF. “Thank you, Itto. Funny, that’s exactly what my husband, Venti, said when he gave it to me.”
The exchange is stupefying to a freshman like Noelle — as it would be to any freshmen. It takes all her willpower to find the strength to look away and scurry from the library. She has to rush to the meeting, all the while praying she won’t be late. As she books it across campus, she wonders how someone with such kindness in their eyes for a loved one can also hold such a murderous vendetta for a fellow colleague.
“It’s obvious!” Xingqiu shouts once they’re all assembled. In attendance to this crucial meeting is every first semester freshman in the department. At the head of the group stands Xingqiu with Chongyun flanking him on one side and Xiangling on the other. More than one person in the crowd finds themselves wondering if they are ever apart. The answer, of course, being to sleep and shower. Otherwise, Xingqiu, Chongyun, and Xiangling are a bonafide example of the phenomenon known colloquially as DO NOT SEPARATE!
"Doctor Ragnvindr and Doctor Barbatos are scorned lovers! Torn apart by the very academic ventures that likely fostered their relationship in the first place. A Shakespearean tragedy. A tragic love story to rival the classics.”
“Don’t tragedies end with everyone, you know, dead?” Gorou asks from his spot hidden away in the corner.
“Maybe they’re dead inside,” Chongyun suggests in between licks of his popsicle. Nobody knows where he keeps them. Nobody dares ask. “Like psychological death. We covered that in intro to lit, I’m pretty sure.”
“Exactly!” Xingqiu says triumphantly.
These people are all insane, Gorou thinks as he slumps in his chair.
“Uhh,” Razor says with his hand in the air.
Fischl swats at it until he puts it down. “Xingqiu isn’t a professor. Don’t inflate his ego by treating him like one. Go ahead, Razor.”
“Isn’t Doctor Ragnvindr married?”
“Yeah!” Gorou says from his spot in the corner. Finally someone with some fucking sense. “He’s married to that Venti guy! Doesn’t exactly sound like a tragic love story now, huh? Either way, if he’s still happy in the end, then what does it matter?”
He’s definitely asking Kokomi about this later. Maybe she will finally be able to lend some of that sophomore wisdom Gorou is holding out hope she has hidden away. After the Red Bull incident…Well, he’s never been able to look at her the same. Before he was in awe of her. Now, he’s terrified of her untapped power. He’d ask Itto too, but when he tried asking Itto about Doctor Ragnvindr or Doctor Barbatos once before, he got all shifty eyed and ran off. The last thing he wants to do is send the guy he’s trying to hook up with running in the other direction.
“It could be a front,” Bennett says. “A lie to cover up his real feelings.”
“Exactly!” Xingqiu punches the air. “That’s the kind of critical thinking I’m looking for.”
Noelle hums. “I don’t know. When I talked to him just a little bit ago he seemed pretty in love. He’s wearing a sweater today that his husband bought for him. For a moment he even looked...gentle.”
“Lest we disregard that this would be a farce of gigantesque magnitude for Doctor Ragnvindr to perdure,” Fischl says.
“He could be a good actor,” Xingqiu says. “Maybe he was into drama before he settled on studying visions.” He gasps. “What if Doctor Ragnvindr was torn between drama and visions, but he followed Doctor Barbatos into vision studies to stay close to him. Oh, it’s so romantic.”
“I hate to break it to you, but not everything is like your novels, Xingqiu,” Xinyan says.
“Even if this is true,” Yun Jin says, speaking for the first time. “What does it matter? If they are former lovers, it’s in the past. There is nothing to be done.”
“Not with that attitude.”
And so it goes. The meeting lasts hours. A near all-nighter. In the end, nothing is decided. No one can even agree if Doctors Ragnvindr and Barbatos were ever a thing.
There is a universal truth among university students. It matters not where they attend university nor if they are freshmen or upperclassmen. All live by the same rule: If it’s fifteen minutes over a class’s scheduled start time, then legally they are allowed to leave. Not even the archons themselves can stop them. It’s their gods given right as university students. And yes, even the law students standby this ancient collegiate tradition.
Currently, it is thirteen minutes past the scheduled start time for Diluc’s freshman class and the students are sweating. Nothing could ever compare to the anxiety that accompanies watching the clock countdown, getting closer and closer to the sacred fifteen minute mark. Each second that ticks by is a second closer to sweet, sweet freedom that rivals even that of Mondstadt. But each second is also a chance for Doctor Ragnvindr to sweep through the door with all his usual magnificence and ruin it all. The anxiety is unbearable.
It’s fourteen minutes past when Barbatos walks through the door with a spring in his step and his trademark green hat on his head.
“Hello fellow kids,” he says as he hops onto the desk and slides across the top. [9] “I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Doctor Barbatos.” Doctor Barbatos settles in the middle of the table, folds his legs criss-cross applesauce, and shoots them a blinding, wide smile. “Ehe, betcha thought you were going to get to leave, huh? Sorry to disappoint; Dr. Ragnvindr asked me to fill in for him today.
“Before you shoot the messenger, know that I tried — really I did — to convince Doctor Ragnvindr that it is a right of passage to show up to class only to find your professor absent, and it would be cruel to deprive you of such euphoria for something as mundane as a quiz. I will, of course, accept any and all of your criticism for my failure today. But only after you finish the quiz.
“Any questions?” He asks after passing out the papers.
“Doctor Barbatos,” Bennett says timidly, “don’t take this the wrong way, but what happened to Doctor Ragnvindr?” Bennett swallows as the rest of the room sucks in a deep breath. Bennett has done what all of them feared. He has voiced the question on all of their minds. The entire room waits with bated breath.
Barbatos sighs. “Oh Doctor Ragnvindr. Sweet, sweet, horribly misguided Doctor Ragnvindr. It’s nothing major. Just a little injury that has him stuck in bed for a day or two or else miserably hobbling around on crutches. He’ll be right as rain next week.”
In the back of the room someone gasps and another mutters a quiet “…do you think Doctor Barbatos…pushed him?”
In the front of the classroom, Xingqiu eyes Doctor Barbatos like the cat who caught the canary. There’s a story here. He can feel it. And he’s going to find it. “Doctor Barbatos,” Xingqiu says, leaning out of his seat in anticipation, “but why did Doctor Ragnvindr send you?”
“Xingqiu,” Xiangling scolds. She throws her plush guoba at him and nails him in the neck. “You sound like a dick.”
Barbatos laughs. “It’s unfortunately simple, if not boring.” He pauses to sigh. His gaze drifts to the window. “I owe him a debt. One I’m pained to report I will likely never be able to repay.”
The wheels in Xingqiu’s mind are already turning, producing one wild, fanciful scenario after another. Chongyun sighs. It’s going to be a long night.
“Now,” Barbatos says as he hops off the table. “Does anyone have any more questions before we start the quiz?”
“I maintain an inquiry for your appraisal,” Fischl says.
Barbatos gestures for her to continue.
“Doctor Ragnvindr often bequeaths us with speeches on your illustrious theories but spoken with a fervent disdain not even the gods themselves could dream to match. In thine own opinion, what art thou’s view on this tenacious matter? What do you think of Doctor Ragnvindr? Are you too consumed by a vitriolic hatred capable of razing entire cities?”
Razor blinks then mutters a quiet, “what?”
Bennett leans over. “I think she asked if Doctor Barbatos hates Doctor Ragnvindr.”
“Ah, Razor sees. Thank you, Bennett.”
“What do I think of Diluc? You mean his latest paper on vision acquisition and the glory of the archons?” Barbatos pauses to pull a bundle of paper out of his bag. He, of course, always has a bundle of scrap paper on hand for important but unexpected situations such as this. “It’s fucking BULLSHIT!” He heaves the paper onto the ground then stomps on it for good measure. “That’s what!”
To think the freshmen thought Diluc was the one with a drama background.
“Ah,” Yun Jin says. “I guess that answers that.”
Razor does not make a habit of hanging around the departmental office unless he has to be there. And definitely not without Fischl or Bennett tagging along aside him. But today he pushes open the double doors alone and in search of Doctor Ragnvindr. It makes him a little nervous; He’s never been to a professor’s office hours before and there’s a tiny voice nagging at the back of his head that tells him he’s stupid for needing help on this assignment. Everyone else — even Fischl and Bennett — proclaimed it was the easiest points Doctor Ragnvindr offered all semester, but all Razor sees when he reads over the page is a confusing jumble of words he doesn’t understand even after referencing Oz: Teyvat’s Most Extensive Dictionary’s app.
You can imagine Razor’s horror when upon finally locating Doctor Ragnvindr’s office among the many doors in this maze of offices, it’s to find a piece of printer paper messily taped to the door with equally messy writing declaring: Office hours cancelled for the remainder of the week. Upperclassmen - for assistance with any assignments, go bother Doctor Barbatos. Underclassmen - for assistance, shoot me an email and I’ll respond as soon as a I can. Razor blinks, swallowing thickly. He can always ask Bennett or Fischl for help, but he’s always asking them for help and he really doesn’t want to keep bothering them with stuff that’s supposed to be easy.
Razor is facing one of the biggest dilemmas of many young college student’s careers: Imposter syndrome. He was accepted into the Department of Elemental Vision Studies freshmen class just as Bennett and Fischl were. But would they have let him in if they knew how much Bennett and Fischl had to help him with his application? Would they have accepted him if they knew he would struggle on the easiest assignment in the easiest class? Maybe it’s for the best that Doctor Ragnvindr isn’t in.
What Razor doesn’t know, as he adjusts his backpack and contemplates what to do next, is that Bennett and Fischl are always happy to help him. They’re all in the same class working on the same assignments, they might as well work together. To them, it makes perfect sense and has never once felt like a burden.
In the end, Razor decides to settle down in the departmental conference room. The doors are left open when it’s not in use for students to hang out sleep study in. Maybe being around the books haphazardly shoved onto the shelves lining the rooms walls will impart knowledge on Razor by way of osmosis. He reads over the assignment again, chewing on the end of his pencil as he does — an unfortunate nervous habit he picked up some time in high school. As they had every time before, the words swim in front of him, letters jumble together into configurations that don’t make any sense and whose definitions he can’t find in Oz.
There’s a knock on the door. “Razor?” Razor swivels around to find one of the upperclassmen peering at him with a kind smile on his face. Razor stammers, a lump forming in his stomach when he realizes he can’t remember the guy’s name. “It's Thoma,” the guy says as he drags out the chair across from Razor. “It’s alright if you don’t remember. We’ve only met once and names can be tricky.”
Razor relaxes.
“Working on an assignment?”
Razor nods as he glances back at the paper with a grimace. “It’s...hard.”
“Mind if I take a look?”
Thoma slips around to Razor’s side of the table, taking the empty seat next him and reading over the paper quickly. “Ah, I remember this assignment. It took me a whole week to get it right. What’s giving you trouble?”
Though it makes him feel the tiniest bit better to learn Thoma struggled with this too, it's still unbelievably frustrating. Especially since it's all giving him trouble. How is he supposed to figure out the answers when he can’t even understand the questions? “Razor — I mean, I don’t understand the questions.”
“Hmm, that sounds frustrating, but I bet together we can work it out.”
They aren’t working for long when they’re interrupted by Barbatos blowing through the double doors in a whirlwind. He flits by the open conference room door going one direction then doubles back and passes by again. Then again. And again. And again. With each lap he grows more and more frenzied.
Thoma frowns at Barbatos seventh trip up and down the hallway. “Doctor Barbatos?” Barbatos grinds to screeching halt in front of the doorway.
Barbatos, for lack of a better term, looks absolutely horrific. His hair is dishelved and his usual bright green hat is no where to be found. The bags under his eyes could only come from multiple nights without sleep and though he’s smiling, it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
“Are you alright?” Thoma asks.
“Who me?” Barbatos puffs out his chest and does his upmost best to look like the respectable professor he is. “I’m great.”
The thing is, Barbatos is a terrible liar. He knows it. Thoma knows it. He knows Thoma knows it.
Barbatos has been a professor for well over a decade now. He won’t — no, he can’t be so easily analyzed by a student. But under Thoma’s kind gaze, Barbatos doesn’t know how long he can hold out. Curse Thoma and his uncanny ability to detect vulnerability.
“Are you sure?” Thoma asks, quirking a brow and giving Barbatos the same disapproving stare he gives Kokomi every time she drinks one of her signature coffees. “You seem a little…on edge.”
Barbatos slumps against the door frame. His facade crumbles too easily. “My husband is out of town for the WHOLE week and I miss him.” The look Barbatos gives them is so pitiful Thoma can’t help but be reminded of the 🥺 emoji Itto is known to overuse.
“Oh,” Razor says, “Doctor Ragnvindr is away too.”
Barbatos wrinkles his nose. “Doctor Ragnvindr can get lost.”
Thoma laughs and in a moment Barbatos joins in too. Razor, meanwhile, groans. He feels like he’s missed the punchline to the joke which is just great. First his homework, now this too.
“Oh!” Thoma says, “right. Your homework.”
“Homework?” Barbatos perks up and takes a peek over Thoma's shoulder at the worksheet.
“Razor is having trouble with Doctor Ragnvindr’s assignment. I was helping him.”
“Oh!” Barbatos says, pulling up the chair on the other side of Razor. This is exactly the kind of distraction he needs right now. “I’ve been telling Doctor Ragnvindr that he needs to reword this assignment for years now. Does he ever listen to me? No. But have no fear, Doctor Barbatos is here to help!”
The weekend after fall break is the weekend reserved for the annual welcome to the department BBQ held at Diluc’s house. Colloquially known as the congrats-you’ve-made-it-halfway-through-the-semester-without-dying-now-let’s-roast-a-pig-to-celebrate BBQ.
Xiangling is minding her own business, trying to find the bathroom in Diluc’s sprawling mansion — seriously how does a professor barely on the other side of tenure afford this place — using the half baked instructions Kazuha gave her. Her first mistake was listening to Kazuha. He doesn’t even belong to the department. Her second mistake was taking a left around the last corner instead of a right.
She opens the door in front of her, praying neither Kazuha nor her short memory have played her horribly, and is horrified to find not the bathroom but Doctor Barbatos, limp and dead to the world atop a tall dresser. Xiangling barely manages to slap a hand over her mouth before she screams. This is not the bathroom.
“Wow,” Chongyun says five minutes later once Xiangling composed herself enough to frantically track down both Chongyun and Xingqiu. “He really did it, huh?”
“It appears Doctor Ragnvindr has committed the most unholy of sins,” Xingqiu says with a frown.
“I can’t believe Doctor Ragnvindr murdered Doctor Barbatos!” Xiangling wails. “To think we’ve been learning from a murder all this time! He had to be plotting this for ages and we’ve just been sitting there!”
“It could have been a crime of passion,” Chongyun suggests. “Maybe he didn’t plan it.”
Xingqiu nods solemnly. “You are correct, my dearest Chongyun. Personally this strikes me more as such than as a planned endeavor.”
“Do you think there’s a possibility he’s just sleeping?” Xiangling asks.
“We’re in Doctor Ragnvindr’s home, the notorious arch enemy of Doctor Barbatos, and we found Doctor Barbatos passed out, or probably worse, hidden away in a closet in Doctor Ragnvindr’s GIANT MANSION. It’s not looking good for Doctor Ragnvindr,” Xingqiu says.
Chongyun nods. “Not looking so good for Doctor Barbatos either.”
Xiangling elbows him the side. “Not funny.”
“I sensed something was amiss and endeavored to ascertain the whereabouts of our fellow underclassmen with haste,” Fischl says when she, Razor, and Bennett arrive on scene. “But it seems that though our efforts were earnest, they are still in vain.”
“Ah jeez,” Bennett says, “now we’re really in a pickle.”
“He finally did it,” Hu Tao says with a shuddering gasp upon finding them — and Doctor Barbatos — once their absence from the party became a concern. Hu Tao falls to her knees and clutches a hand to her chest. “We all knew it was coming, but to think now of all times.” She shudders. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this,” she says as she wipes a tear on her sleeve. “Not at the congrats-you’ve-made-it-halfway-through-the-semester-without-dying-now-let’s-roast-a-pig-to-celebrate BBQ.”
“What are you all…” Xiao trails off when he spots the body. “Ah, I see.” Hu Tao, still in a heap on the floor, smacks him on the shin. “I mean — Why would Doctor Ragnvindr do this?” Xiao nails the script. But to Hu Tao’s chagrin, he fumbles the emotion. It’s very lucky for Hu Tao that this year’s freshman cohort share one brain cell they hot-potato between them.
“Poor Xiao,” Xiangling says with a sniffle. “He’s so overcome with emotion, he sounds like a robot.”
“Yeah, that’s exactly it,” Hu Tao mutters. “It’s not because he’s a terrible actor or anything."
“I heard something needs fixing,” Thoma says with a grin. “That’s my job. What can I do for you guys?”
Xiangling, having sunk to the floor with Hu Tao several minutes ago, says nothing. With downcast eyes, Xingqiu gestures toward the closet where Doctor Barbatos’ form is still sprawled on the dresser.
Thoma peeks inside then gasps. When he turns around, his eyes are glassy. “So it’s true then. I thought…” He bites down hard on his fist in a vain attempt to stop the tears from welling up but it’s a fruitless endeavor. A tear escapes, leaving a thin trail down his face before falling to the ground.
The thing about a bunch of college students stumbling across their probably murdered professor, is that stupidity breeds stupidity and boy oh boy are college students stupid. Upperclassmen. Underclassmen. It doesn’t matter. Idiots. All of them. Which is exactly what Diluc is thinking as he climbs the stairs to the second floor looking for his husband, who at this point is over an hour late to his own party, and spots half of the student body crowded in front of a closet.
He sighs. What the actual fuck are they up to now?
To his surprise, when he makes his way to the assembled crowd and gets a look into the closet, he finds exactly who he was looking for. A soft smile breaks out across Diluc’s face as he says, “there you are,” in a voice so tender that it can’t possibly belong to the now infamous Doctor Ragnvindr, right?
Wrong.
Like Moses parting the Red Sea, the students separate to form a path for Diluc as he strides into the closet. Xiangling squeaks when he passes by her, but he pays her no mind. There is only one amongst the throng of people congregating in or around his second floor closet that he has eyes for at the moment.
“Love,” Diluc says as he nudges Doctor Barbatos on the shoulder.
In the hallway the freshmen wait with bated breath. Though none of them dare to speak, one thought circulates throughout all their heads; Perhaps, Doctor Barbatos wasn’t brutally murdered after all. They are correct, of course, in this appraisal. But their newfound understanding of the situation does nothing but fill their minds with even more questions. First and foremost, why the fuck did Doctor Ragnvindr just call Doctor Barbatos love?
When Barbatos doesn’t move, Diluc continues. “Darling. Dear. Light of my life. My one and only.” With each pet name he pokes Barbatos in the cheek but all he earns in response is one loud snore.
“So he’s not dead?” Bennett asks in the hallway.
Razor elbows him in the side and shakes his head. “Later.”
“Sweetheart. Sugarplum. Lover boy. Schmoopy. Honeybun. Star shine. Roast leg of lamb. Sir-loves-a-lot. Overgrown thistle. Muscleman.”
A smile breaks across Barbato’s face and his shoulders shake from the force of laugh held in.
“Pumpkin. Dreamboat. Little chipmunk. Wind sprite. Rabid goose.”
“Stop! Stop!” Barbatos flies upward, flailing his hands wildly in front of him and nearly smacking Diluc in the face. Given this is not the first time this has happened, Diluc doesn’t so much as flinch. “We have got to work on your pet name game.”
“If someone had just woken up, then I wouldn’t have run out of good pet names. Do you think I find any joy in calling you —“ Diluc shudders. “Sir-loves-a-lot?” [11]
“Oh Diluc, Diluc, Diluc. Hasn’t anyone told you cringe culture is dead? Live and let live. Embrace the freedom of being cringe.” [12]
“You just said I needed to improve my pet name game!”
“Yeah, because you were using them like a stone faced robot!”
“You’re incorrigible.”
Venti grins, grabbing onto the lapels of Diluc’s jacket and tugging him closer. “And yet you love me anyway.”
“Archons help me, I do.”
The rest of the world falls away as the two of them stare into each other’s eyes. Then with practiced ease, Venti shifts, wrapping one hand around Diluc’s neck as the other cups his cheek. Diluc’s hands settles on Venti’s waist then he presses closer and closes the gap between them.
It’s not a long kiss. Not like those kisses in romantic comedies that go on for a just a little bit too long and make everyone uncomfortable. However, given their current circumstances, the kiss needn’t last more than a few seconds to make everyone in attendance more uncomfortable than any romcom.
When they pull apart, Venti hops off the dresser but stops short when he spots half of the damn Department of Vision Studies staring back at him. “Hey, Diluc?” Venti stage whispers. “What the actual fuck?”
Out on the lawn, Zhongli, Tartaglia, Ei, Kaeya, and Jean sip on wine coolers and watch the show that reruns only once every year.
“It seems the truth has come out at last,” Zhongli says.
"The truth will always come out when the truth is eternal," Ei says. "As is both their marriage and their spite."
“The murder this year was a nice twist,” Tartaglia says with a grin. “Haven’t seen that one before.”
“Indeed,” Jean says. “The creativity of this years freshmen is impressive. I look forward to witnessing how their academic minds develop.”
“You know,” Kaeya says, “if either Diluc or Venti was going to murder the other, my money is on Venti.”
“I’ll take that bet, comrade.”
“So what? This was all just one big comedy of errors?” Xingqiu asks.
Chongyun nods solemnly and pats Xingqiu on the back.
“To think,” Bennett says, “we weren’t just clowns, but the entire circus.” [13]
Though their hearts were mostly in the right place, the freshmen certainly missed the mark when trying to uncover the truth behind Drs. Ragnvindr and Barbatos’ unique relationship.
“Let me get this straight,” Gorou says. The whiplash of the past hour still has his head spinning, and he needs answers, dammit. Not that you, or anyone else, can blame him. It’s a quite an adjustment to go from believing one of your professors has been murdered by another to watching them shamelessly suck face right in front of you not a moment later.
Diluc runs a hand down his face. He’s tired. But in the time since he discovered Venti in the closet, it’s come to his attention that prior to his arrival the students thought he was some kind of homicidal maniac. It’s with a resigned sigh that he agrees to answer Gorou’s questions, if only to clear up this monumental misunderstanding.
“We know now that you didn’t murder Doctor Barbatos—“ Gorou starts before he’s interrupted by Itto.
“HuhhH!? Doctor Diluc? Murder Doctor Barbatos? That would be totally not pog.”
“No, I did not kill Doctor Barbatos nor do I have any plans to. Just so we are clear.”
“Oh Diluc,” Venti swoons. “You have such a way with words. You make my knees weak.”
“But, we thought you hated each other?”
Diluc quirks a brow. “If I hated my husband, I would get a divorce like a normal person, not murder him, invite fifty people to my home hours later, then leave his body on top of a dresser.”
“Doctor Ragnvindr,” Xingqiu says, “apologies for arguing with you — and also for momentarily accusing you of a felony — but you spend half of classtime shouting about how ridiculous Doctor Barbatos’ theories are. What were we supposed to think?”
Diluc’s face darkens. “That’s because Doctor Barbatos’ theories are ridiculous. No self respecting scholar of vision studies would ever use them.”
“As if yours are any better!” Venti snatches the hat off his own head and throws it on the ground. “Visions granted by the glory of the archons — pah — what kind of religious bullshit is that?”
“Vision studies is inherently tied to religion, Barbatos, you can’t separate one from the other. It’s all religious bullshit.”
“There’s one thing I still don’t understand,” Gorou says. He’s 👌 this close to throwing in the towel and beginning the arduous task of convincing himself that he cares about none of this, the truth included. But the masochistic part of this brain urges him onward, seeking answers to questions that are starting to feel more cursed than using Red Bull as coffee creamer.
“Ask away!” Venti says cheerfully.
“You guys are married.”
“Pardon,” Diluc says after a moment of awkward silence passes, “what’s the question here?”
They’re fucking with him. He knows it. Is this how all professors are? Are all academic departments this dysfunctional?
The answer, of course, is yes, but it will be a long while before Gorou witnesses this truth with his own eyes. For now, he will simply have to learn to accept that university, for better or for worse, often is the weirdest, most batshit crazy time of your life.
“I’m just a little…confused. You’re married. But you hate each other. How—How does that work?”
Diluc shrugs.
“Oh that’s easy!” Venti says brightly. “I detest Doctor Ragnvindr, but love Diluc with my entire heart.”
“The sentiment is mutual,” Diluc says, stone faced.
“Awww,” Venti coos. “My darling dearest Diluc, do you have a crush on me?”
"Shut up."
Gorou ignores the shameless flirting and forges onward. “And the closet? Sleeping on the dresser?”
“He gets migraines,” Diluc says. “The closet is one of the darkest spots in the house. As for the dresser, I’ve offered to put a cot in there instead, but he insists the dresser is good for his back.”
“Yep! That’s true!”
“Huh,” Gorou says softly. That solves it, he supposes. He’s still a little lost in the sauce when Itto bounds up next to him and puts a gentle hand on his shoulder.
“Let’s get you out of here,” Itto says as he directs him toward the exit. For a moment, Gorou relaxes and some of the tension finally begins to drain out of his body.
“You look like you could use a Red Bull Americano.”
Gorou snaps to attention. “What!?”
Itto throws his head back in a laugh and claps him on the back. “Just kidding! We can get whatever you want.”
Oh, thank the archons.
“Can we get boba?”
“Yeah! So it’s a date!”
It’s a date.
Though on the outside, Gorou remains composed, on the inside he halts, his brain hits the rewind button, freeze-framing on Itto's last sentence. Gorou blinks.
Wait.
Oh shit.
It’s a date!
And so, another freshman cohort is inducted into the department. The cat is finally out of the bag. Tonight, when the freshmen are all snug in their beds, they will wonder how they ever thought a man who calls his significant other pet names like schmoopy could commit murder. Meanwhile, over grape juice and wine, Diluc and Venti will have a good laugh and remember why they fell in love each other in the first place. The upperclassmen will be busy pulling an all-nighter having forgotten the test Ei so kindly reminded them about this afternoon. At last, the world is righted once more and perfectly balanced, as all things should be.