For Isaac Shawcrosscross, students could be found anywhere. Anyone who had ever attended his lectures could be called his student.
But a disciple was another matter entirely. To a man of letters like him, a disciple was an heir to his legacy, a person as important as his own child. In all his years, he had only ever accepted one. That person had been exceptionally talented, but alas...
Many years had passed, and he had lost the desire to take on another disciple. That was why the students at the Veridian College of Liberal Arts all called him Professor, but none were permitted to call him Master. What he truly wished to pass on was not his literary skill and achievements, but the medical arts handed down from his ancestors—a knowledge etched into his very bones.
His own children had no interest in studying medicine, and his one and only disciple had proven to have an improper Heart Skill.
He was a lonely man at heart.
