Just then, a soft gasp came from behind Damien.
He turned around and saw a young woman standing in the doorway.
She had short, silky light brown hair, and her fluorescent yellow eyes shimmered under the light. Her cheeks were slightly flushed, and she looked visibly nervous.
"Are… are you Professor Damien?" she asked, her voice trembling like it had taken all her courage just to speak.
Damien gave a small nod.
"I… I'm Hallie, your teaching assistant." She quickly bowed, then handed him a thick stack of papers. "This is the lecture script for this afternoon's class. You just need to follow it."
Damien took the script and gave it a quick glance. It was thorough, well-organized—clearly a carefully crafted "survival guide" tailored by the academy.
"Thanks," he said gently.
Hallie's face turned an even deeper shade of red. She bowed again, then practically ran out of the office.
Watching her retreating figure, Damien thought to himself, "The academy's not taking any chances."
He knew that while he'd been appointed as a professor, the academy was still sizing him up, unsure of his true capabilities.
This script? It was their safety net.
As long as he stuck to the script and didn't screw up, he'd at least look like a competent professor to everyone else.
"Fine by me," he muttered, placing the script on the desk. "If they've already written the play, I might as well play the part."
By midday, sunlight bathed the campus. Students gathered in small groups outside the main lecture hall, buzzing with gossip.
"Hey, isn't the new professor from the Thornevale family?"
"You mean the guy who hit on the duke's daughter at that banquet?"
"He's seriously teaching us?"
"I heard he's a Tier 3 Mage—broke through at a young age."
"Yeah, but hasn't made any progress in nine years."
"Probably just some spoiled noble riding on family connections."
Inside the classroom, Damien stood at the lectern, scanning the room.
The students were already seated, the room dead silent.
In the front row, he spotted a blonde girl with striking features and an air of nobility. Her gaze held a subtle, almost playful challenge.
Elara Duval.
Daughter of a duke.
And… the same girl he'd "flirted" with at the banquet two nights ago.
"Of course," Damien thought with a wry smile. "Small world."
Perched on his shoulder, Vaelric muttered under his breath, "Tsk tsk… so that's the one you were hitting on at the party? Gotta admit, she's easy on the eyes. Already Tier 2 at her age—not bad."
Damien ignored him, cleared his throat, and began, "I'm Damien Thornevale, professor at Arcanis Royal Academy. Starting today, I'll be teaching your Advanced Magical Theory course."
He opened the script, his tone calm and steady.
"Today's topic: Arcane Geometry and Its Influence on Advanced Spellcraft."
The students flipped open their notebooks, ready to take notes.
As the lecture went on, Damien found his rhythm. His delivery was smooth, his logic sharp. He even added his own insights here and there, drawing from his experience as a player to break down complex magical theories into something the students could actually understand.
Time flew by.
Forty minutes later, he glanced at his pocket watch, closed the script, and gave a small nod.
"That's all for today. Class dismissed."
He was just about to leave when a clear voice rang out:
"Professor, I have a question."
He turned to see Elara, hand raised, a faint, unreadable smile on her lips.
"Would you mind answering it for me?"
Damien's eyes narrowed slightly.
Of course. Trouble had arrived.
…
Elara's challenge wasn't exactly a surprise.
Damien had expected she'd come at him eventually—especially with an audience.
But he wasn't about to play along.
Just as she raised her hand, the bell outside the classroom rang—bright and melodic, signaling the end of the period.
Damien smiled politely, his tone gentle but firm. "If you still have questions, we can go over them next class."
He turned to leave.
But Elara wasn't letting him off that easy.
She stood up, her voice ringing clearly through the room. "As far as I know, professors are obligated to answer student questions during class."
She paused, then added with a smirk, "Unless, of course, you're just wearing the title for show."
The room went still. Every student's eyes bounced between the two of them, the air practically crackling with anticipation.
Everyone knew about Damien's "reputation." And they'd all heard the rumors about him and the duke's daughter.
Now, with the tension thick and a showdown brewing, no one was about to look away.
Damien let out a quiet sigh, rubbing his forehead with a touch of exasperation. "How rude of me."
He knew there was no dodging this now.
If he backed down here, he'd lose all credibility—not just with the students, but with the entire academy.
But that didn't mean he was going to let Elara win.
He turned slowly, his gaze sharp and cold as it locked onto her. His voice dropped, low and steady.
"This is my classroom. My rules. What I say goes."
He took a step forward, his tone laced with quiet menace. "If you're trying to guilt-trip me with some 'professor's duty' nonsense—" he gave a faint smile, but there was nothing warm in it, only a flicker of mockery in his eyes, "—you'd better give up now."
The words had barely left his mouth when he turned on his heel, ready to walk out.
But in the next instant, a flash of blue light sliced through the air. The space around him twisted, and a ripple of magic pulsed outward like a stone dropped in still water.
His vision blurred—and suddenly, he was back at the lectern.
"Teleportation Circle?" he muttered, eyes dropping to the faintly glowing sigil beneath his feet.
Elara stood in the center of the classroom, arms crossed, her expression cool and smug.
"That's what I wanted to ask about," she said, voice calm but edged with challenge. "If Professor Damien can't answer, then I'm afraid you're not leaving this room today."
The classroom erupted.
"She set up a teleportation array at the door?!"
"Is this what Arcanis's top students are like? That's insane!"
"She's only Tier 2 and she can cast teleportation magic like that?"
"This is gonna be all over the academy forums!"
Damien stood still, face unreadable, but inside, a chill crept down his spine.
He had inherited Damien Thornevale's magical rank and abilities—but not his academic knowledge.
He could cast spells, sure. But the theory behind them? The structure, the mechanics? That was a black box.
Like someone who could drive a car but had no idea how the engine worked.
And Elara had just hit that exact weak spot.
Then, Vaelric's voice echoed in his mind, calm and deliberate: "Listen to me. Do exactly as I say."
Damien's lips curled into a faint smirk. His eyes sharpened.
"Well then," he said lightly, "looks like we're having a bonus lesson."
He stepped toward the circle, raising a hand. With a flick of his fingers, glowing runes shimmered into existence in the air.
"The core of a Teleportation Circle lies in the subtle links between its sub-arrays," he explained, his voice steady as he moved. "Disrupt those links, and the entire structure collapses."
As he spoke, he inserted the runes into the circle's pattern.
The sigil began to tremble, its glow flickering erratically. Then, with a final pulse, it shattered—light snuffing out like a candle in the wind.
Elara's expression shifted. A bead of sweat rolled down her temple.
She could feel it—the connection between her and the circle was breaking apart. No matter how much mana she poured in, it was useless.
Damien snapped his fingers.
A soft flash—and the hairclip from Elara's head zipped through the air and landed neatly in his hand.
"Borrowing this," he said casually, like he was asking for a pen.
Elara blinked, stunned, watching her hairclip vanish from her head.
Then Damien reactivated the circle.
Only this time, the control was entirely his.
With a lazy wave, he teleported a flowerpot from the windowsill to the lectern. Another flick, and the wall clock zipped up to the ceiling.
Finally, he turned to Elara with a faint smile.
"You're sitting too close to the front. Not ideal for critical thinking."
With that, her entire desk blinked out of existence—then reappeared in the very back row.
Gasps rippled through the room.
"He just hijacked her teleportation array?!"
"That was badass!"
"Now that's a real Tier 3 Mage!"
Damien didn't push it further. He calmly restored the circle to its original state and set the hairclip gently on the lectern.
"Alright," he said, glancing at Elara. "You can try again."
Elara bit her lip and reactivated the circle.
But this time, the hairclip didn't return to her hand. It didn't reappear at all.
It was gone.
Damien's voice was calm, almost bored. "Congratulations. Your hairclip has just been teleported to another dimension."
Elara froze, her face pale, fingers trembling slightly.
She tried again, pouring mana into the circle—but nothing happened.
Damien didn't even look at her. He just kept talking.
"There's another way to dismantle a Teleportation Circle."
He raised his right hand. The Mage's Hand glove on his fingers lit up—six Arcane Crystals glowing in unison. Six magic circles bloomed in the air around him.
"Multi-casting?!"
"Six layers?! That's insane!"
"This is Tier 3 power?!"
Damien's expression didn't change. He pinched his fingers together.
All six circles activated at once, unleashing a surge of magical energy that crashed down like a tidal wave.
The original teleportation array shattered under the pressure, disintegrating completely.
Elara stood with her head bowed, shoulders trembling. No one could see her face.
Damien turned and walked toward the door.
"Remember this, Miss Duval," he said, voice calm but carrying a weight that silenced the room. "That was your answer. And a small lesson to go with it."
"Professors have busy schedules. I like to end class on time."
He pushed open the door and stepped out.
Behind him, the classroom exploded with applause and stunned murmurs.
But none of that mattered to him anymore.
...