The Adventurous Vagrant

Alumni Homecoming (3)

28th of Frostmonth, 1019 CE.

Woohoo! It's day 3 of the annual Royal Academy Alumni Homecoming and School Festival.

Another day to enjoy the odds and ends of my previous school life and beyond!

I'm handed again so many pamphlets; and this time, one of them ticks my fancy.

“Rich People Threw These Away! And We Repaired and Restored These to Like-New Condition!

Go See Us at the College of Engineering.”

Once I set my foot at the academy's college campus, I'm being met with crates and several students moving them with wheeled pallets.

These crates lead to one obvious destination, and I follow their path.

A sign proudly displays the following:

“Bernsberg Repair and Restoration Atelier and Thrift Store

You can also bring your broken stuff, and we'll repair and restore them for a small fee!”

This exhibition is quite unique, if I say so myself.

Not only will I get a souvenir from this popup shop, I will also get to see how the engineering students do their magic on otherwise useless junk found in the dumpsters.

The things being sold here are mostly furniture, either restored from their less-favorable looks or are jumbled together from scrap parts to form a sturdy brand-new piece.

On one corner of the huge shop, I can also find some tableware and ceramic jars that have been repaired of their cracks and repainted or re-glazed.

Another corner is home to restored shoes and clothes – and also, surprisingly enough, adventurer-grade weapons and armor made from various scrap materials.

One item catches my eye.

It's a gambeson made from various torn robes and padded with everything the tailors can throw at: leather, cotton, silk, linen, and wool – all from scrap, of course.

The gambeson has a price tag – 4,000 guintos, that is.

My vest, which I've been using for three years, is slowly showing signs of wear and tear, so I can happily trade it for the gambeson, plus some additional cash to match the asking price.

After a smooth negotiation with the cashier, I'm now the proud owner of the gambeson.

It's lightweight, it's comfortable, it offers me considerable amounts of protection, and it doesn't restrict my freedom of movement, which is essential to someone like me who specializes in various areas of combat.

After making my purchase, I go over to the atelier part of the shop.

One student is gluing together parts of a chair that has been, in my eyes, unfortunately used in domestic abuse and then thrown away.

Another student is refinishing a simple sapelium table using a varnish she made with some alchemy.

And another student is cobbling together a sparkgrid-powered motorized fan from parts of a broken magical energy generator.

I can see the smiles on the students' faces while they are doing their work, knowing that the things that are otherwise bound for the landfill are being given a second lease in life.

Plus, I can pick up some useful techniques.

After watching their skilled hands for a few hours and happily talking with the students that wield them, I mirthfully leave the atelier and shop.

The rest of the day is spent playing parlor games presented by the higher-grade elementary students.

As I get enough of these games an hour later, I particularly remember an infamous memory of one such parlor game when I was at the students' age.

Grade 5-A.

The class I was in.

During the school festival, I netted so many prizes from various parlor games, especially the ones that involved shooting toy arrows at things that represented those prizes.

And because I was so overburdened carrying them all, I unknowingly stepped into a trap.

And no, it's not poop.

It's a simple circle with the words “JAIL BOOTH” inside it, all written in chalk onto the cobblestone-laden open field.

Just then, two students who dressed like constabulary officers took me and my loot away, and then “imprisoned” me in “jail” – i.e. an unused classroom in the elementary campus.

I knew I was to blame for not keeping my eyes on where I walked.

But still... I cried.

And not even the prizes I won could console me.

Until there was a knock on the door minutes later.

The “jail warden” opened the door to reveal...

“Walter!”

“Belle!”

“I-I was looking all over the academy for you, and... and...”

“I-I was... looking for you, too! So that I could share these prizes with you!”

“For me? You risked getting in jail just for me?!”

“I just stepped on the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“OK then. Since the rules of the jail booth say that anyone who knows the imprisoned can set the imprisoned free with no strings attached, I'll set you free pronto!”

“Thanks... and one more thing. I may sound like some lovesick boy, but when I cry, you're always there to console me. We're friends, right?”

“Yes! And you're willing to share what you've won with me like you always do, right?”

“Yes!”

I was set free, thanks to her perfect timing.

Belle and I then both agreed to share the prizes we've won at the parlor games.

Even with that cloud, there's a silver lining in it.

That is... if we're in trouble, we can always ask each other for help – and even lend help ourselves.

She can offer me moral support; I can offer her technical support.

Mutuality must matter to us childhood friends.

In recent years, the elementary school principal banned the “jail booth” during school festivals or every other school celebration, due to the traumatic effect it can bring on unlucky students.

I want to enjoy more stuff in this festival... but the day is transitioning into night.

Oh well.

That's a wrap for day 3.

The final day will be memorable. I'm sure of it.

29th of Frostmonth, 1019 CE.

The dawn of the final day of the festival.

The usual motions: Receive pamphlets, visit exhibits, check out the latest and greatest from the students, gorge on some food.

Eventually, evening comes.

That mean's it's time for the formal alumni homecoming party.

It's already 6 post meridiem, and people are gathering outside the gates of the Royal Academy Auditorium.

The dress code is not that strict, by the way.

As long as anyone wears a clean, well-groomed, and non-revealing outfit, and they are certified to be an alumnus, they can enter the premises.

As the gates open and the alumni (me included) are filing in nicely...

I can see the simplicity in the midst of the decorations being made for the party.

Amidst the diamond-colored ribbons that adorn the auditorium and the tables that are filled with the most exquisite of tableware, what I can see inside the auditorium are memories.

Memories of high school, senior high school, and college orientation ceremonies.

Memories of commencement and graduation ceremonies that marked the end of every school year.

Memories of musical performances and theatrical plays that entertained us all.

Memories of us practicing for the intramural tournaments.

Memories... of those days of education that shaped me into what I am today... now all written in the pages of my personal history.

The party formally begins as everyone is seated and the overall principal, Gloria du Bautiste, gives a speech.

The speech eventually ends, and we are all treated to a nice dinner course.

It's basically a recreation of a feast that normally occurs five hundred years ago, where cooking techniques were more down-to-earth when compared to the fancy meal preparations of this era.

The same plates, cups, and utensils that were used in the years long gone are used today for this very occasion – all preserved and cleaned up beforehand.

We are treated to a course that starts with pottage, a type of soup stew made from the broth of slowly-boiled meat and vegetables, with added chopped meat and herbs.

Then it's on with several roasted meat, poultry, and grilled fish dishes.

And to top the banquet off, desserts such as tarts, pastries, candied fruits, and cheese are being served.

Water, juices, and even alcoholic drinks are also on the table. Stringent requirements are in place for those who want to order alcohol.

Since I came here alone, I sit in a random round table filled with random alumni from different batches.

And from those random alumni, I can spot some familiar faces.

“Hey, Walter Deschantes! How's it been?”

Ah, I know this guy.

He's Alexander Abadille, who graduated with the ninth highest in academic standing among the class of 1014 CE.

Last I know of him, he's the manager for an all-girl musical group, Pearl Rouge.

“Doing well as a full-time adventurer.”

“You look like you're having the time of your life.”

“So do you. How are the girls you manage?”

“Well... since they're still studying in this academy, I try to limit the mini-concert and handshake events I hold all over the kingdom. The last thing I want from them is burnout.”

“But your group's fan-base is still as solid as ever.”

“Absolutely. In fact, I may have baptized fellow alumni into being fans of Pearl Rouge in this event.”

“Sweet!”

“Anyway, I have to reconnect with my former classmates.”

“As you should. Thanks.”

Another familiar face I encounter at this round table is Hilda Corder Ferdinand.

She's now one of the top sparkgrid researchers in the kingdom, as she broke new ground in the utilization of wind and solar sources to fuel the magical energy needed to power an ever-growing kingdom population.

“Nice to see you again, Hilda.”

“Same to you, Walter.”

“It sucks that many of us members of Class of 1014 CE aren't here today. I wonder why?”

“You know, the usual excuses. Too lazy to go, they have other things to do, or they're too shy to see their old school mates.”

“But you missed the biggest, and the most annoying excuse they have in my eyes. Get ready for this... subconsciously deep-rooted insecurities regarding having 'an average job' and 'an average life' brought about by high self-expectations and giving heavy importance to the opinions of others... rather than appreciating what one has and how they have made it that far since their school days are over with their friends old and new, plus nabbing potential business and adventurer connections.”

“What a mouthful to say, but I can at least get the gist of what you said. They're too blinded by their expectations of what a social status is and just can't be content with... you know... the life they genuinely want to live.”

“Yeah.”

“And by the way, why isn't Belle with you?”

Now that's an out-of-the-blue question.

“Uh... uhh...”

I try myself to not get all startled and maintain my cool.

“Well, whatever it is, you shouldn't be too hard on yourself. She might be enjoying a long vacation in her clan's summer mansion... stuff like that.”

“Yeah, I should think of happy thoughts.”

“Not the artificially sweet kind of happy thoughts, OK?”

“OK.”

As the banquet ends, the party transitions into a ball.

And I can't dance to save my life.

Fortunately, there's an alternative: The fireworks display.

After all, it's the Royal Academy's centennial year; so why not top it all off with a majestic display of colors?

I walk outside the auditorium, and I, alongside other alumni who are willing to see an impressive light show, are awaiting with bated breath.

The fireworks show begins alongside a majestic orchestral accompaniment.

The music blends well with the various symbols the fireworks depict, such as the diamond and the digits that comprise the number 100.

It's magnificent.

It warms my heart.

But at the same time...

It's bittersweet.

I... I should be with her, watching those flower fires in the night sky.

But due to circumstances beyond my control...

She's not here.

The warm hand that belongs to her is not here.

The sweet scent of the perfume she always wears is not here.

The wispy voice that always emanates from her luscious lips is not here.

The heartbeat that comes from her own heart is not here.

The being... the soul... that should be with me now...

...the woman named Belle Shepparton...

...is not here.

But why am I musing about sentimental nothings?

The festival is almost over.

And once the next day comes...

It's back to reality.

It's back to being the adventurous vagrant once more, itching for a quest.

As the day and the festival close...

I shed a single tear.