The Villain Professor's Second Chance

It had started in the royal castle, far across the city. Whispers of Draven's private magic tutoring sessions with Queen Aurelia spread like wildfire through the noble circles. It wasn't long before those rumors reached the university, where Draven held an almost mythic status among the students.

The fact that he was tutoring the Queen herself—the lazy, fiery, and unpredictable ruler—added fuel to the speculation.

"I heard he doesn't even sleep," one student murmured as they passed through the courtyard, their voices low and conspiratorial.

"He's always here, isn't he? And yet he's been seen at the castle almost daily for private sessions with the Queen!" another added, their tone both impressed and suspicious.

"Maybe he's not even human... maybe he's undead," a third chimed in, eyes wide with exaggerated horror.

The rumors only grew wilder with each passing day. Some said that Draven was part of some secret royal conspiracy, while others insisted he had become the Queen's personal advisor. Yet others believed he had mastered dark magic to such an extent that he no longer needed rest or sustenance, and that his cold, emotionless demeanor was a result of his transformation into something beyond human.

Despite the chatter, all of it came to a sudden halt when Draven himself appeared on campus, his figure cutting through the crowd like a knife. As he walked, the students quickly averted their eyes, their whispers dying in their throats. Draven's mere presence commanded silence.

It wasn't just his towering figure or his sharp, piercing eyes—there was something else, something unnameable, that radiated from him.

He moved with precision, his steps deliberate, each one measured as if he was calculating his path through space and time. His black cloak billowed slightly in the cold wind, and though he was clearly in motion, there was a stillness to him, as though nothing could break his focus.

It was as if the very world bent to his will, and all those around him were merely spectators in a game they didn't fully understand.

No one dared approach him. The capital city was vast, but even within its sprawling expanse, the university and the royal castle were separated by a significant distance. Yet Draven moved between them as though it were nothing—no sign of exhaustion, no falter in his steps. He had been tutoring the Queen just that morning, and now, he walked the halls of the university as if it were any other day.

The rumor had shifted. People now wondered not if he was tutoring the Queen, but rather if Draven even felt fatigue like a normal person.

"Does he ever tire?" a student asked in a hushed tone.

"He's not human. He can't be," another whispered back, stealing a glance at Draven as he disappeared into the grand lecture hall.

But Draven remained indifferent, as he always did. The world around him could gossip and speculate all it liked—it made no difference to him. The only thing that mattered was the task at hand, and right now, it was time for another lecture.

Inside the grand lecture hall, Amberine, Maris, Elara, and the other students were seated, waiting for the class to begin. Amberine glanced toward the door, her fiery temper simmering just beneath the surface, as usual.

"Do you think he's exhausted?" Maris asked quietly, concern etched in her voice. The formerly timid girl had grown braver, but she was still full of empathy. "He's been at the castle all morning. Maybe he's pushing himself too hard."

Amberine frowned. It wasn't in her nature to worry about Draven—after all, she still harbored that deep resentment toward him—but something about Maris's concern made her wonder. Could he really keep up this relentless pace?

But before Amberine could respond, the door to the lecture hall swung open with a sharp creak. Draven entered, his movements precise, his expression as cold and unreadable as ever. Whatever exhaustion Amberine had thought he might feel was nowhere to be found. He looked exactly the same as he always did—perfect, inhumanly composed, and completely focused.

Maris exhaled softly, relieved. "He looks fine."

Amberine scowled, her fiery temper bubbling again. "Of course, he does. He's Draven."

Draven took his place at the front of the room, his piercing gaze sweeping across the students. Without missing a beat, he spoke in his usual cold, direct tone. "The lecture will begin."

Amberine straightened in her seat, as did the others. The class had become accustomed to Draven's style—there was no time for small talk or pleasantries. When Draven said it was time to begin, it was time to begin.

He gestured to the large blackboard behind him, where complex diagrams of mana flows and magic circles were already drawn in meticulous detail. "Today, we will be reviewing your barrier spells. Specifically, the assignment I gave you all. I asked each of you to create a shield barrier that is uniquely suited to your mana signature.

This will demonstrate not only your ability to construct a basic defensive spell, but also your understanding of how to tailor magic to your own energy flow."

Amberine shifted uncomfortably in her seat. She had spent hours perfecting her barrier spell, but something still felt off about it. Her fire magic was powerful, but it was wild, hard to control. The barrier she had created reflected that—strong, but unstable.

Draven's cold eyes scanned the room. "Stand, one at a time, and deploy your mana barrier when I call your name."

But then, he stopped. "Before that,"

Draven's eyes moved slowly across the room, settling briefly on each of the students, as if weighing their capabilities with nothing more than a glance. The air in the lecture hall grew heavy with anticipation. Silence dominated the space, save for the occasional crackling of mana as nervous students unconsciously let their magic leak into the atmosphere.

His presence alone was enough to stifle even the most talkative students, and no one dared utter a word.

Without any preamble, he turned to the blackboard, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade. "Today's demonstration will focus on precision. Most of you rely too heavily on brute strength, neglecting the finer details. That ends now."

The chalk in his hand moved quickly, drawing the familiar intricate diagrams of mana flows, but his explanation was not necessary for those who had been paying attention. The spellwork was beautiful in its simplicity—elegant lines and curves that detailed the precise nature of barrier creation. Yet, Draven knew the complexities beneath the surface would challenge even his most capable students.

He faced them again, his gaze sharp. "A barrier is not merely a wall. It is an extension of your will, tailored to the threat it faces. If you cannot control its form, you will fail. And failure, in this world, means death."

Amberine, sitting closer to the front, crossed her arms, her fiery temper barely contained behind her scowl. She could feel the weight of the lecture pressing down on her, gnawing at her insecurities. Control had always been her weakness. The fire spirit, Ifrit, stirred beneath her robe, a reminder of her wild, uncontrollable power. She let out a huff but said nothing.

"Observe," Draven commanded, not bothering to wait for their responses. From within the folds of his black cloak, he produced a small, gleaming needle, barely the size of a finger. At first glance, it seemed insignificant—just a simple metal object, unthreatening, harmless. But in Draven's hands, nothing was ever so simple.

Without a word, Draven released the needle into the air, and it hung suspended, floating between him and the students, as if awaiting further instructions. His cold, precise mana wrapped around the needle, infusing it with psychokinesis, and suddenly, the needle shot forward with incredible speed, its form blurring into motion.

It sliced through the air like a bullet, aimed directly at the blackboard behind him. There was a soft, barely perceptible hum as it moved—then a sharp crack as it embedded itself into the wall, piercing through the thick wood with ease.

The students flinched, but Draven remained unfazed, his voice level as he spoke. "That was a simple spell. The projectile moved fast, but with the correct shield, it would never reach its target."

He raised a single finger, gesturing toward the needle embedded in the wall. "You will face this today. Each of you will create a barrier to block the needle before it reaches you. The projectile will be enhanced with psychokinesis, which means it will move faster than you are accustomed to. You must control your mana with precision, adapting your barrier to defend against this specific threat.

A large shield won't work. You need to make it small—focused."

Maris shifted in her seat, her face pale but determined. She had always struggled with confidence, but since Draven had saved her, she had grown stronger. Her illusion magic was her greatest weapon, but illusions alone wouldn't stop a physical attack. She clenched her fists, reminding herself that she was stronger now. She had to be.

Elara, sitting next to her, was still and calm as ever. Her golden eyes barely flickered toward the needle before settling back on Draven. There was no visible sign of worry on her face—no fidgeting, no nervous energy. Her mana flowed through her with such control that she didn't need to react outwardly. She was always prepared.

Draven's cold gaze turned to Amberine, who glared back at him with defiance in her eyes. "Amberine," he said, his voice low but authoritative, "you'll go first."