Dante listened without interrupting, the faintest sign of approval in the way his eyes lingered on her.
"And," she added, "I think it's also time Class D had a proper syllabus. The old one was incomplete. If they had their own books—not heavy, serious ones, but light and colourful ones they'd actually enjoy—they could follow lessons better and feel more connected."
He considered her words. His own early education had been nothing like this—strict academy halls where strength and skill were everything, where the weak fell behind and the gifted rose quickly. No gentle lessons. No songs. No bright picture books.
"I will see to it," he said finally, his tone decisive. "If something needs improvement, tell me directly."
"Thank you, sir." She gave a genuine smile before turning to leave.
