At her words, Cinderella did not hesitate in the slightest.
"Okay." One word, crisp and decisive, without the slightest trace of dragging her feet.
The old teacher was visibly stunned. He raised his head, his eyes behind his glasses widening into circles, as though he had not heard clearly—or had heard clearly but could not believe it.
"Y-you agreed?"
"I agreed." Cinderella nodded. "When are we leaving?"
The old teacher opened his mouth, then closed it, then opened it again. He wanted to say something, but before his thoughts could catch up, his mouth had already moved.
"Y-you don't need to think it over?"
"No." Cinderella's tone was as calm as if she were commenting on the weather.
"I haven't had much going on lately, so I can help out."
The old teacher fell silent for a moment, then smiled. That smile carried the relief of a burden lifted, along with an indescribable sense of emotion.
"Then... shall I go speak to the dean right away?" He stood up, not knowing where to put his hands. He rubbed them together, lowered them, then rubbed them again.
"When are you free? You decide the time, and we'll work around you."
"I'm free anytime recently," Cinderella said. "It depends on when the academy is available."
The old teacher nodded hurriedly. "All right, all right, I'll go tell the dean now. Sit tight and have some tea. I'll be right back."
With that, he hurried out, moving so quickly that he hardly seemed like a gray-haired old man. His boots struck the stone floor of the corridor in a rapid succession of dull thuds.
The other teachers in the office exchanged looks, unsure what to say for a moment.
They looked at Cinderella with complicated expressions. There was comfort, sentiment, and a faint,