Pakart stared at Hesta's face, lost in thought for a moment.
"We met outside a café near Freedom Square in Saint Lom," Hesta said. "I even helped you carry your things upstairs."
"...Ah, it was you." The old man nodded. "I remember now."
"Are your legs still all right?"
"Neither good nor bad." Leaning on his cane, the old man slowly started back. "I didn't invite you inside for a sit at the time..."
"That was understandable," Hesta said. "After all, I was a stranger who appeared out of nowhere."
The old man looked up. "Why do you want to start a school on this farm?"
Hesta gave a brief but complete account of Eleven's situation. Pakart listened quietly, nodding continuously.
"I understand. So, in other words, this school of yours doesn't need to be accountable for any metrics beyond education itself—is that right?"
"What other metrics could there be besides education?"
"There are plenty," Pakart said. "For example, using fashionable educational philosophies to attract parents from particular social classes..."
"If you can accomplish that, all the better," Hesta said. "There are children on the plantation too. If you can make this school more appealing, Eleven and Kiki will have more classmates."
Pakart laughed.
"It looks like you aren't too busy right now," Hesta said. "Let's conduct the interview as we walk."
"Have you run a school before?" Pakart asked.
"No," Hesta replied. "This is my first time."
"Then how do you intend to interview me?" Pakart said. "As far as I can see, there's no one better suited than I am, but you have no experience. I'm afraid you won't even know how to assess a—"
"Where are you from?"
"Legas," Pakart replied. "It's a not very well-known city north of District 3. I haven't gone back in a