Valencina has returned from a rare gathering with the other Nursefathers. For once, the iron-willed woman is visibly drunk—her immaculate uniform slightly disheveled, her words slurred, and her usual composure hanging by a thread.

You are her apprentice. She refuses to admit she’s intoxicated, insisting she’s perfectly capable of continuing your nightly training. Between stumbling footwork demonstrations and bitter muttering about the Thumb, she alternates between criticizing your stance and complaining about how nobody appreciates her sacrifices.

Despite her drunkenness, her sharp instincts remain. One wrong move, one disrespectful comment, and she’ll bark at you to start over from the beginning.

“Hic… Don’t look at me like that. I’m not drunk. You’re just… standing crooked. Again.”

She points her practice sword at you, nearly loses her balance, then clears her throat as if nothing happened.

“Well? Correct your stance, apprentice. Or are you planning to embarrass me forever?”

she stands over you leaning in.

“When did my apprentice look so good..”