Day one of becoming a teacher ended better than Jade had expected. Much better, actually.

  She had braced herself for chaos - children running wild, shouting across the room, refusing to listen. That was how she remembered it, anyway. She had never been trained to teach, but she had once helped her cousin supervise a private home-tuition-slash-daycare session.

  The day had been a disaster.

  Children talked over one another, ignored their homework, splashed water from their bottles, and burst into tears over stolen erasers, pulled hair, missing books - every petty injustice imaginable.

  From that moment on, Jade had sworn she would never become a teacher. Not a school teacher. Not a tuition instructor. Not even if someone begged.

  And yet -

  Here she was. Reincarnated into a young woman living in a Victorian-ish era, teaching a group of children and teenagers their ABCs in a charity school.

  Life had a strange sense of humour.

  “Don’t worry if you can’t remember what the letters look like yet,” Jade said as the lesson ended. “Just try to remember the song and the alphabet order first. Tomorrow, I’ll teach you the first ten words - one for each letter.”

  She hesitated, then added, “And if you can, help your parents with counting money at home, alright?”

  “Yes, Miss Jade!”

  The children waved as they filed out, smiles bright on their faces.

  Once the last of them disappeared down the corridor, Jade’s shoulder sagged and let out a long breath.

  Turning around, she nearly jumped when she spotted the White Robe standing a short distance away.

  Well… I guess I shouldn’t be surprised, she thought. First day of teaching. Of course the principal would come check.

  “I observed your lesson,” Father Rochester said. “You handled the children very well, Miss Jade.”

  “Thanks.” Jade scratched her cheek, unconvinced. Today had been… average, at best. If her cousin had been here, those kids would probably have gone home knowing twice as much.

  Still, given the state of the domus - right, domus, not church - and its obvious lack of manpower, it wasn’t hard to guess why she had been pressed into service.

  “Um, Father Rochester,” she said carefully, “is there anyone I can ask about the future syllabus? Like… what exactly should I be teaching them?”

  Father Rochester studied her for a moment, smoothing his moustache before nodding. “Come with me, Miss Jade. This will require a long discussion.”

  Jade followed him into the study.

  By the time he finished explaining, silence hung heavy in the room.

  Then Jade shot to her feet.

  “Wait - so you’re sayin’ I’m in charge of everything?!”

  “Yes,” Father Rochester replied, his expression faintly weary. “Everything.”

  He folded his hands. “Domus Lucis of Wyrnfield is the first institution in this region to offer impoverished children anything resembling formal schooling. Though our facilities are still under construction, the intent remains.”

  He continued evenly, “Most ragged schools rely on volunteers teaching neighbourhood children wherever space can be found. As you might imagine, such efforts come with little structure - often no syllabus at all.”

  So… there’s nothing to reference,” Jade muttered.

  “Precisely,” Father Rochester said. “Even Mr. Anderson, who teaches the other class, has struggled with how best to proceed.”

  He inclined his head slightly. “Miss Jade, I must apologize for placing this responsibility upon you so abruptly.”

  “Oh - no, no, it’s okay. I mean - I’m fine,” Jade said quickly, flustered. “The kids are nice. I can handle them.”

  She hesitated, then added honestly, “Um… as long as you don’t mind if they pick up some of my not-so-proper way of speaking. I really can’t teach them how to talk the way you guys do.”

  “That will not be an issue,” Father Rochester said gently, clearly mistaking her concern for self-doubt. “Our purpose is to teach children until they can read, write, and count. Beyond that, our ragged school is ill-equipped to offer more - unless we can receive additional funding from patrons or donations, which is, regrettably, difficult.”

  He paused, and added more seriously, “Miss Jade, I must apologise for failing to inform you about the children you taught today.”

  “The children?” Jade blinked, puzzled. “They were fine. No problems at all.”

  Father Rochester shook his head. “No, Miss Jade. They were placed in your class, rather than Mr. Anderson’s, precisely because they are difficult to manage.”

  “Huh?” Jade replayed the lesson in her mind. Two hours had passed smoothly - surprisingly so. She had half expected to bolt from the room mid-lesson. “I think there might be some misunderstanding.”

  “I’m afraid not,” Father Rochester said. “They were unable to follow Mr. Anderson’s instructions. They disrupted his class, ignored discipline, and refused to cooperate - even after physical punishment.”

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  “Physical punishment?” Jade echoed. “You mean… hitting their hands or their butts with a stick?”

  “Not a stick,” Father Rochester corrected calmly. “A trimmed willow switch.” He gestured toward the willow tree visible through the study window. “It causes pain, but no lasting harm. We discipline the children - we do not torture them.”

  Jade stared for a moment.

  Huh. That’s… oddly familiar. Very Asian. Unlike what I remembered about Western education.

  She suppressed a chuckle.Back in primary school, one wrong answer meant one strike across the palm. Miss the passing score, and the punishment multiplied. Pan had been an efficient teacher - one she still remembered all too well.

  Father Rochester continued, “Those children - if they cannot accept you as their teacher - will have no choice but to leave the school.”

  “Leave?” Jade asked quietly. “To where?”

  “Other ragged schools, perhaps,” Father Rochester said, though his tone suggested otherwise. “More likely, they will stop attending altogether and enter factory work.”

  He sighed. “Most children above the age of eleven are already employed. Many resent schooling, which is why they rebelled so fiercely in Mr. Anderson’s class.”

  “Work?” Jade said, disbelief creeping into her voice. “At that age…?”

  The realization hit her all at once.

  Ill-fitting clothes. Dirt-streaked faces. Hair, dry and brittle like straw.

  These were solid proof of poverty. Hunger, Lives measure in pennies earned rather than lessons learned. Knowledge was a luxury for those who could afford to sit still.

  Jade felt a bitter tightness in her chest.

  But this was how life worked here. And she had no illusion that she could change it.

  For heaven’s sake, she could not even guarantee her own future.

  She had awakened in this body after drowning in a flash flood - swept away along with the old wooden bridge she had been crossing while evacuating her village. The water had taken everything in its path.

  Including her.

  At first, Jade had thought herself fortunate. The current had slowed, just enough for her to grab hold of a floating log and struggle toward the riverbank.

  But the moment she crawled out of the water, she knew something was wrong.

  Very wrong.

  She was wearing an old-fashioned dress. A corset pressed against her waist and chest, though not tightly, but the feeling of her torso being wrapped was evident. The river itself looked nothing like the one near her village. And most importantly - her hands were not her own. The skin tone was different.

  Paler. Younger.

  She was surrounded by Westerners, all speaking English - but not the English she knew. Their speech was refined, ornate, almost theatrical. So much so that she struggled to follow their words at first.

  For heaven’s sake, she had thought then. I worked in Melbourne, and I never had trouble understanding English!

  Confusion swallowed her whole. Her confidence shattered. She stopped trying to piece together the conversations around her and followed the instruction of the man in white robe in a daze - under her senses finally caught up to her.

  She had reincarnated.

  Her first thought had been simple, if ridiculous.

  Victorian era.

  The impression came entirely from Sherlock Holmes novels and Black Butler episodes. Yet after several days in this world, she had revised that conclusion.

  This was not the Victorian era.

  It was Victorian-ish.

  Domus Lucis stood where churches should have been. Velport mirrored London. Floland echoed England. For reasons she could not begin to guess, the language was still called English - and thank heavens for that. Had it been anything else, she doubted she would have survived even a week.

  She remembered the day she was pulled from the river - the violent coughing, the water pouring from her lungs. Enough, she suspected, to have drowned the original owner of this body.

  There was no way back. No instruction manual. No dramatic summoning ritual.

  She had likely died in the flood.

  Which meant this life - this name, this body - was now hers.

  And before she had even finished processing that fact, she had been assigned a role in a charity school as a teacher.

  “We offer a meal - bread and soup - to children who attend classes here,” Father Rochester said, gazing thoughtfully into the distance. “However, factories provide better wages. Two and a half hours. That is the maximum time they will allow children to attend school.”

  He sighed softly. “Most of the children in your class work at the textile factory fifteen minutes from here. They arrive at eight in the morning, study for two hours, then leave for work by ten.”

  “Two hours a day huh…” Jade murmured.

  She weighed the situation carefully. The risks. The limitations. The alternatives - which were, frankly, nonexistent.

  Staying here was the best option available for her.

  Taking a breath, she asked, “Will I need to become clergy to continue teaching here?”

  “No,” Father Rochester replied with a warm smile. “Though I would gladly welcome you as a sister bathed in the Light, you are free to hold your own beliefs.”

  Good, Jade thought, relief washing over here. No need to become a nun.

  She pressed on, determined to understand her position fully. “So… I have control over what I teach them? I set the syllabus?”

  “Yes,” Father Rochester said, nodding. “However, we would appreciate a record of what you plan to teach beforehand, so we may provide the necessary materials.”

  “Sure, just gimme a few days to draft the syllabus,” Jade said, mentally listing what she intended to teach. She wasn’t certain whether her ideas would align with local common sense. The last thing she wanted was to draw attention to herself - or worse, be accused of witchcraft.

  She remembered all too clearly how witch trials often targeted intelligent women through the information she received while surfing the internet. Even those so-called “witches” were usually nothing more than poor, elderly women who knew a little about herbal remedies - midwives who helped others through childbirth. Who was to say someone wouldn’t think she was strange if she behaved too differently? Did people here still burn witches?

  She quickly pushed the distraction aside and refocused on the conversation. “Or, I could give you a brief draft today, and then submit a detailed version in… three days. Would that be acceptable?”

  “I appreciate your consideration, Miss Jade. That would be very helpful,” Father Rochester replied, his eyes widening slightly.

  “Great,” Jade smiled, satisfied. “Um, before I go, may I ask one more question?”

  “Of course.”

  “This school operates entirely on donations, corrent?” She continued after seeing him nod. “So, if - hypothetically - we were to run out of funding…”

  Father Rochester let out a heavy sigh. “Then I’m afraid the school would have to close.”

  And I’ll lose my job! Jade panicked internally, though her expression remained composed.

  “Do not worry too much about that,” Father Rochester said with a chuckle. “I will do my utmost to secure reliable patrons for the domus. In fact, our primary benefactor was quite impressed by your teaching this morning - so much so that he sent an additional cheque for ￡20, on top of the ￡100 he donated several weeks ago to establish the school.”

  It was the first time Jade had heard of this generous patron - Lord Ashborne - and she was utterly stunned when she realized just how much ￡120 could accomplish in this Victorian-ish era.

  It was nothing like the value of $120 in her previous life!