When I was left to repeat the year at the Academy of Deaths, I had no idea what that could mean. And it turned out—pedagogical work, a new topic for my thesis, and brand-new troubles. With me, Julietta Morse, there can’t be anything else—and even a rector who’s in love (or almost in love) won’t save me.
To become a certified death, I won’t only have to write a new research paper, but also complete teaching practice within the Academy’s own walls. I already had to deal with the secret of immortality I missed out on—now I also have to somehow hammer valuable knowledge into the younger generation. Which, by the way, actively resists.
But if the students have taken their scythe to my classes, I’ll have to prove to them with my own example that learning is light, and failing to learn is death—without a diploma.