Volume 1
Chapter 1: The Unmotivated Part-Time Instructor
The Alzano Empire, an imperial nation situated in the northwestern reaches of the North Selford Continent, its lands nestled in a maritime temperate climate—humid in winter, arid in summer.
In the southern region of Yorkshire lies a city called Fejite.
Fejite’s defining trait boils down to one thing: it is home to the Alzano Imperial Magic Academy, one of the foremost academic hubs on the North Selford Continent. Born alongside the academy and flourishing in its shadow, Fejite is a city steeped in scholarly tradition. Its buildings, characterized by sharply angled rooftops in a classic architectural style, create a heavy, evocative townscape. Yet, driven by the academy’s insatiable demand for magical materials and artifacts, trade with other regions thrives, and the constant flow of people keeps Fejite at the cutting edge of imperial trends—a city pulsing with both old and new.
In one corner of this town, where a faint morning mist still lingered, a young girl stood beneath a lamppost styled like an antique streetlamp, positioned along the cobblestone road.
She was perhaps fifteen or sixteen, with soft, medium-length blonde hair as delicate as cotton fluff and large, aquamarine eyes. Her skin was as smooth as fine silk, and her gentle, refined demeanor radiated from her appearance and poise. Her delicate, well-proportioned features were as lovely as an angel in a sacred painting. Though she gave an impression of fragility, there was an undeniable strength in her core—a girl who balanced grace with resolve.
Yet, despite her beauty, which turned the heads of every passerby, her attire was somewhat peculiar. She wore a breezy vest, a pleated skirt, and a cape-robe draped over her shoulders—an oddly light outfit for Fejite, where summer evenings could grow chilly. Stranger still, she wore a glove on her left hand alone.
“~♪”
The girl seemed to be waiting for someone. She fiddled with the strap of the leather satchel slung over her back, humming cheerfully to pass the time.
Then, it happened.
“…Ow!”
A pained cry from behind made the girl whip around, startled.
There stood an elderly man, wincing as he clutched his finger. At his feet lay a metal bucket stuffed with fallen leaves and twigs, alongside a dropped flint.
“What’s wrong, sir?” the girl asked, her face etched with concern as she hurried to the stranger’s side.
“Oh? Haha, well, I must’ve looked pretty foolish just now, eh, missy?” The old man’s expression softened at the sight of the kind-hearted girl, and he gave an embarrassed chuckle. “I was tryin’ to burn this trash, but wouldn’t you know it, my hand slipped, and I smacked my finger with the flint. Bah, gettin’ old ain’t no fun.”
His finger was slightly swollen and bleeding—clearly, he’d hit it hard. It didn’t seem serious, but it looked painful enough.
“Guess I’ll have my wife fetch some herbs when I get home…” he muttered.
The girl examined his injury, then glanced around to ensure no one was watching. With a mischievous smile, she pressed a finger to her lips and winked at the old man.
“Keep it a secret, okay, sir?”
“…Hm?” The old man tilted his head, puzzled.
Taking his hand gently, the girl chanted a spell in runic.
“《Let the angel’s grace be given》”
Her hands glowed faintly, enveloping the old man’s injury in soft light. The wound began to heal before his eyes.
It was the white magic spell [Life Up], which enhanced the target’s natural healing to mend injuries.
“…W-Whoa…?!” The old man stared, wide-eyed.
“There we go. And now… 《O children of fire・at my fingertips・let a small flame ignite》”
Next, she intoned the black magic spell [Fire Torch]. A tiny flame sparked at her fingertip. Dropping it into the metal bucket, she set the pile of debris ablaze with a crackling roar.
“Missy… that strange power just now… that’s what they call magic, ain’t it?” the old man asked, his voice a mix of awe and curiosity.
“Yep! Though, technically, using magic outside the academy comes with penalties,” the girl replied, sticking out her tongue playfully and breaking into a cheeky grin.
“Now that I think of it, that outfit… it’s the uniform of those odd academy students, ain’t it? Can all your friends do fancy tricks like that?”
“Mm-hm! They’re all way better than me and can do all sorts of things.”
“Well, I’ll be! That’s mighty convenient. If us regular folk could use tricks like that, life’d be a whole lot easier…”
“Haha, maybe so! Oh, but, sir, about me using magic… could you, um… keep it quiet?”
“Got it, got it. My lips are sealed, don’t you worry.”
“Thank you so much!”
“No, thank you, missy. You really saved me.”
The girl and the old man exchanged warm smiles.
“Rumia—! Sorry I’m late—!” came a shout from the distance.
The sound of running footsteps grew closer. From across the street, another girl, dressed in a similar outfit, came dashing toward them.
“Oh? That your friend, missy?” the old man asked.
“Yes. She’s the daughter of the family I’m staying with—my best friend. Well, sir, I’d better get going. Take care!”
“You too, missy. Study hard now.”
With a polite bow, the girl bid the old man farewell and hurried to meet her approaching friend.
In the quiet early morning streets of Fejite, two girls walked side by side along a granite-paved road.
“Honestly, Rumia, you’re too proper sometimes… I told you to go ahead without me!” the second girl teased.
“Ugh, but… leaving the young lady behind? A mere freeloader like me would get an earful from the master and mistress!” Rumia replied, feigning distress.
“Pfft, don’t be silly. We’re family, you know that.”
“Haha, sorry, Sisti.”
The two shared lighthearted, familiar banter as they strolled.
“Still, it’s rare for you to forget something, Sisti,” Rumia said, glancing curiously at her friend. The girl she’d joined—Rumia—had parted ways with the old man and now walked beside her companion.
“Because of that, I had to run back to the mansion, and I made you wait… I’m really sorry,” the other girl—Sistine—replied, her shoulders slumping as she trudged along, sighing glumly.
Sistine was about Rumia’s age, with long, silver hair that shimmered like molten sterling and slightly upturned emerald eyes. Her snow-white skin and sharply sculpted, elegant features exuded pride and determination, giving her the regal air of a fairy—radiant and commanding. Though her expression was currently downcast, her cool yet spirited demeanor shone through in every gesture—a girl of poise and vitality.
Rumia and Sistine. Though their styles differed, both possessed an innate beauty and grace far beyond that of ordinary town girls—a certain elegance. Their academy uniforms should have been unremarkable, yet their presence alone transformed the mundane street corner into something akin to a glittering ballroom.
“Could it be… Sisti, are you still upset about that?” Rumia asked, peering worriedly at her friend’s face. The Sistine she knew was typically flawless, not the type to forget things… usually.
“Maybe… a little,” Sistine admitted. Not wanting to worry her friend, she forced a brave smile, but a trace of melancholy lingered in her eyes.
“It’s just such a shame… Why did Professor Huey quit so suddenly?”
“It can’t be helped. Teachers have their own circumstances too.”
“Ugh, what a loss… Professor Huey’s lectures were so clear, and he always answered my questions properly. They were so helpful…”
“And he was super handsome, right?” Rumia teased.
“W-What?! That’s got nothing to do with it!” Sistine’s cheeks flushed red at Rumia’s jab.
“As the future head of the prestigious Fibel family, I attend the academy to study magic! The only thing I care about in a teacher is the quality of their lectures!” she declared, puffing up indignantly.
But Rumia just giggled knowingly at Sistine’s outburst.
“Oh, by the way, Sisti, speaking of which—did you hear? A new part-time instructor’s starting today.”
“…Yeah, I know,” Sistine replied, her tone dripping with disinterest.
“I hope they can at least give half as good a lecture as Professor Huey.”
“Yeah, after getting used to his classes, other teachers’ lectures feel a bit… lacking, don’t they?”
As the two chatted, they reached a crossroad.
“Uwoooooh?! I’m late, I’m laaaaate—!!”
A suspicious-looking man, eyes bloodshot and face twisted like a demon, came barreling out of the right-hand street toward them, a piece of bread clamped in his mouth.
“…Huh?” Rumia blinked.
“Eek!” Sistine yelped.
“What the—?! Hey, move it, brats—!!” the man roared.
An object in motion doesn’t stop easily—a basic law of physics. Following this rule to the letter, the man was about to plow straight into the two innocent girls—when—
“《O mighty wind—!》”
Sistine, reacting on instinct, chanted a single-phrase incantation for the black magic spell [Gale Blow]. A ferocious gust erupted from her hand, striking the man like a fist and—
“Huh?! I’m flying—?!”
His body soared skyward at an angle that forced him to crane his neck to see the ground. Tracing a perfect parabola, he plummeted into the circular fountain across the street.
A massive column of water shot up in the distance as the two girls stared, dumbfounded, from afar.
“Um, Sisti? …Wasn’t that a bit much?” Rumia ventured.
“Y-Yeah… haha… I got carried away. What do we do?” Sistine replied nervously.
Under their wary gazes, the man silently rose, sloshing through the water as he climbed out of the fountain. He marched up to them and said, “Heh, you ladies alright?”
“Uh, are you alright?” Sistine shot back.
The man flashed what he clearly thought was a charming smile, but it was tragically far from cool.
He was an odd character—a young man, a bit older than Sistine and Rumia. Black hair, black eyes, tall and lanky. His appearance wasn’t particularly striking, but his outfit was another story. He wore a finely tailored white shirt, a cravat, and black slacks—an undeniably stylish ensemble. Yet, he’d clearly gone to great lengths to wear it as sloppily as possible, as if the person who’d chosen the clothes and the one wearing them were entirely different beings. It was painfully obvious even to an untrained eye.
“Haha, you gotta be careful not to dart out into the street like that!”
“Uh… pretty sure you were the one darting out…” Sistine muttered under her breath.
That’s when it happened.
“No, Sisti, hold on!” Rumia said, as she stepped between Sistine and the man.
“It’s not fair to blame him entirely! You can’t just fire off magic at someone like that, Sisti. One wrong move, and he could’ve been seriously hurt!”
“Ugh… sorry,” Sistine mumbled, looking down sheepishly.
“Come on, Sisti, apologize properly to him.”
“Okay. Um… I’m really sorry. Please forgive my rudeness,” Sistine said, bowing slightly.
“Man, I’d love to see your parents’ faces! What kind of upbringing did you have, huh?!” the man snapped.
“Ugh, we apologize, and this is his attitude? What’s with this guy?” Sistine grumbled.
“Haha, easy, easy, let’s calm down,” Rumia said, trying to defuse the tension.
Turning back to the man, Rumia bowed again. “We’re truly sorry. I apologize as well—can you please forgive us?”
“Ugh, fine! I’m completely blameless here, and you two are clearly in the wrong, but since you’re begging so nicely, I’ll graciously let it slide… hm?”
The man, still grumbling, suddenly squinted at Rumia as if something had caught his attention.
“Hm? Hm?”
“Um… is there something on my face?” Rumia asked, flustered by his intense stare.
Ignoring her confusion, the man leaned in closer, his face inching toward hers. Rumia blinked rapidly, unnerved by his rude scrutiny.
“No… you… I’ve seen you somewhere…”
Tilting his head, he poked Rumia’s forehead, tugged at her cheek, ran his hands over her shoulders and waist, lifted her bangs, and peered into her eyes—until…
“What the hell are you DOING?!”
Sistine’s furious roundhouse kick connected cleanly with the back of the man’s neck, sending him flying.
“ZGYAAAAH—?!”
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He let out a pathetic scream as he tumbled across the ground. His once-stylish clothes, likely brand-new, were now soaked, torn, and filthy, a far cry from their original elegance.
“I could forgive you for carelessly running into us, but that?! Touching a girl’s body without permission?! Unbelievable! You’re the worst!” Sistine shouted.
“Wait, hold on, calm down! I was just, as a scholar, driven by pure curiosity and intellectual pursuit! I swear, I only had maybe a tiny bit of impure thoughts!” the man protested, scrambling to his feet.
“That’s even worse!”
“Gah—!”
Sistine’s fist landed squarely in the man’s side, making him writhe in agony.
“Rumia, call the guards. We’re turning this creep in. He’s just a pervert after all!” Sistine declared.
“W-Wait, please, have mercy! If I get hauled off on my first day, Celica’ll kill me! I’m so sorry! Please forgive me! I got carried away, I swear!”
There he was—a grown man, groveling shamelessly at the feet of girls clearly younger than him, throwing dignity and pride to the wind.
“Um… he seems sorry. Maybe we should let him off?” Rumia suggested hesitantly.
“Seriously? You’re way too soft, Rumia…” Sistine sighed.
“Thank you! I’ll never forget this kindness! Thank you!”
The man shot to his feet, suddenly brimming with arrogance. “Now, you two. Those uniforms—you’re students at the Magic Academy, right? What’re you doing loafing around here?”
“The second he’s off the hook, this attitude? What is with this guy?” Sistine muttered, incredulous.
“Haha…” Rumia could only offer an awkward laugh.
“Do you know what time it is? You’d better hurry, or you’ll be late! Got it?” The man paused, smirking to himself. “Man, I’m sounding like a real teacher right now…”
Ignoring his self-satisfied muttering, the girls exchanged puzzled glances.
“…Late?” Rumia echoed.
“No way. We’ve got plenty of time,” Sistine said, frowning.
“Don’t be ridiculous! It’s already past eight-thirty!”
The man whipped out a pocket watch and thrust it in Sistine’s face.
“Uh, isn’t your watch running fast? Look,” Sistine countered, pulling out her own pocket watch and shoving it under his nose.
Her watch read eight o’clock. For reference, classes started at eight-forty.
“…”
A strange silence enveloped them.
Then—
“Retreat!”
“He’s running away—?!”
Just as abruptly as he’d appeared, the man bolted, sprinting off with the same frantic energy. “Damn it! That woman tampered with my watch!” he shouted, spouting nonsense as his figure receded into the distance. The two girls could only stare after him, dumbfounded.
“What… was that guy?” Sistine asked, exasperated.
“Well… he was kind of interesting, don’t you think?” Rumia said with a small smile.
“Interesting? He’s beyond hopeless!” Sistine groaned, shaking her head at her friend’s skewed perspective. “I never want to cross paths with a pathetic loser like that again. He’s so infuriating to watch! Maybe we should’ve turned him over to the guards.”
“Haha…” Rumia laughed vaguely.
With Rumia in tow, Sistine resumed her walk toward the academy, doing her best to erase the bizarre pervert from her mind. For a mage, memory organization was a fundamental skill. Sure enough, Sistine successfully purged the man’s existence from her thoughts.
Of course, that existence would soon be seared back into her memory with a vengeance.
“Alright, let’s make today count, Rumia,” Sistine said, rallying herself.
“Mm-hm!”
As they walked, the majestic silhouette of the Magic Academy’s campus, encircled by iron gates, loomed before them as it always did.
The Alzano Imperial Magic Academy. No citizen of the Alzano Empire could claim ignorance of its name. Founded roughly four hundred years ago under the patronage of Queen Alicia III, with vast national funds poured into its creation, it was a state-run institution dedicated to training mages. The academy laid the foundation for the empire’s renown as a magical superpower on the continent, revered as the pinnacle of learning where the most cutting-edge magical knowledge could be studied. Its reputation extended to neighboring nations, and the fact that nearly every prominent mage in the empire was an alumnus cemented its status. For those aspiring to master magic, the academy was a hallowed sanctuary, a dream destination.
As a natural consequence, students and faculty alike took immense pride in being part of the academy. That pride fueled their relentless pursuit of magical mastery. They harbored no doubts. They understood that their dedicated efforts would one day bolster the empire’s foundation, securing their own status and glory in the process.
Thus, at the Alzano Imperial Magic Academy, behaviors like tardiness or skipping classes—common at lesser institutions—were virtually unheard of. For a lecturer, whose role was to meet the students’ fervent dedication, being late to class was unthinkable. It should have been unthinkable.
“…He’s late!”
In the classroom of Year Two, Class Two, located on the second floor of the academy’s east wing, Sistine Fibel sat at the front row. The room’s wooden desks curved in a semicircle around the blackboard and lectern. Slamming her hand on the desk, she didn’t bother hiding her irritation.
“What’s going on?! It’s way past the start of class!”
“It is a bit odd…” Rumia, seated beside her, tilted her head in confusion.
“Wonder what happened?”
The rest of the class buzzed with murmurs, equally puzzled by the lecturer’s absence.
“Today, a new part-time instructor will take over for Professor Huey in this class.”
That morning, during homeroom, Professor Celica Arfonia—one of the continent’s foremost mages, having reached the seventh rank, the highest tier of magical mastery—had personally announced the news. Yet, an hour later, Celica’s glowing endorsement of the new instructor as “a pretty impressive guy” was already on the verge of crumbling.
“Since Professor Arfonia vouched for him, I thought he might be worth a chance… but this is looking bad,” Sistine huffed.
“D-Don’t be so quick to judge! Maybe there’s a good reason he’s late…” Rumia offered, ever the optimist.
Sistine spun toward her friend, bristling. “You’re too soft, Rumia. Listen, no matter the reason, being late is a sign of low commitment. A truly exceptional person would never be late.”
“Is that so…?” Rumia murmured, unconvinced.
“Honestly, showing up this late on his first day as an academy lecturer? That takes some nerve. As a representative of the students, I need to give him a piece of my mind…”
Just then—
“Yo, sorry, sorry, I’m late!”
The classroom’s front door swung open with a clatter, accompanied by a voice that sounded oddly familiar.
Apparently, the much-talked-about part-time instructor had finally arrived—well past the halfway mark of the class period. It was likely the most egregious tardiness in the academy’s history.
“About time! Hey, you—what’s the deal?! Do you even have any pride as a lecturer at this academy—?”
Sistine whirled to confront the man… and froze.
“Y-Y-You—?!”
The disheveled, still-soaked clothes. The scrapes, bruises, and dirt from being kicked earlier.
The unpleasant memory came rushing back. There, in the flesh, stood the same pervert they’d encountered on their way to school.
“…You’ve got the wrong guy,” the man said breezily, brushing off Sistine’s pointed finger as he moved to ignore her.
“Wrong guy?! As if there could be two people like you!” she snapped.
“Hey, hey, missy. Didn’t your parents teach you it’s rude to point at people?” he replied, his tone mockingly gentlemanly.
“More importantly, why are you this late?! How do you even manage to be late after that mess earlier?!”
“Easy. I was panicking about being late, then realized I had time to spare, got relieved, took a break in the park, and… well, fell asleep for real. Obviously,” he said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
“That’s an even worse reason than I imagined!”
His explanation was so riddled with flaws that Sistine couldn’t even muster the energy to scold him for tardiness.
The rest of the class reacted similarly. The bizarre appearance of their new lecturer sent a wave of murmurs through the room.
But the man ignored the stir with practiced ease, striding to the lectern and scribbling his name on the blackboard.
“Ahem. I’m Glenn Radars. For the next month or so, I’ll be helping you lot with your studies. It’s a short gig, but I’ll do my best to—”
“Skip the pleasantries and start the lesson already!” Sistine cut in, her voice icy with impatience.
“Yeah, yeah, fair enough… Pain in the ass, but let’s get to it. Work’s work…”
The polished tone he’d briefly adopted vanished, replaced by his true, lackadaisical self.
“Alright, let’s kick things off. First period’s… Basic Magical Theory II, right?”
Stifling a yawn, Glenn grabbed a piece of chalk and faced the blackboard.
Instantly, the entire class snapped to attention. Even Sistine, setting aside her earlier grievances, fixed her gaze on his every move.
(Let’s see what he’s got…)
Despite his abysmal first impression, this man—Glenn—was someone Celica Arfonia, one of the continent’s top mages, had called “pretty impressive.” It’d be a lie to say Sistine wasn’t curious about his teaching.
That said, she had no intention of blindly accepting Celica’s praise. She’d judge him herself, as she always had. If anything was unclear, she’d grill him relentlessly, and she wouldn’t let him dodge with vague answers. Sure, she’d earned the unflattering nickname “Teacher-Tormenting Sistine” around the academy, but that was only because of her unwavering dedication to the noble path of magic. She refused to compromise—and took pride in it.
(Alright, let’s see what you’ve got, hotshot part-time instructor.)
With Sistine and the entire class watching intently, Glenn wrote on the blackboard.
Self-Study.
The single word, scrawled large, plunged the classroom into silence.
“Uh? Self… study? Self-study…? Huh…?”
Sistine frantically tried to interpret the word as anything other than its obvious meaning, but every attempt failed. Naturally—such a short word could only mean one thing.
“Ahem. Today’s first period will be self-study,” Glenn announced matter-of-factly.
“…I’m sleepy,” he muttered under his breath, tossing out the worst possible reason.
“…”
Silence reigned. An overwhelming silence gripped the classroom.
Leaving the stunned students behind, Glenn—acting as if the world, not he, was at fault—boldly slumped over the lectern.
Within ten seconds, snores echoed through the room.
“…”
Silence reigned. An overwhelming silence gripped the classroom.
And then—
“Hold it right there—!”
Brandishing a hefty textbook, Sistine charged at Glenn with ferocious intent.
“Please reconsider, Headmaster!”
A furious shout rang through the headmaster’s office at the Alzano Imperial Magic Academy.
The voice belonged to a bespectacled man in his mid-twenties, exuding a nervous intensity. He wore a robe adorned with the owl emblem, marking him as a full-fledged academy lecturer. His name was Harley. In a world where most mages peaked at the fourth rank, Harley, at his young age, had already reached the fifth—a prodigy among mages.
“I absolutely oppose appointing this Glenn Radars, a nobody from who-knows-where, as a lecturer at this academy, even part-time!”
He slammed both hands on the desk, glaring at the elderly man seated across from him.
“Now, now, Harley. He was recommended by Celica herself, you know?”
Despite Harley’s intensity, the older man—Headmaster Rick—remained unruffled, his kindly grandfatherly demeanor unshaken.
“Headmaster Rick! You don’t mean to tell me you approved that witch’s suggestion?!”
“Approved? Of course I did. That’s why Glenn’s here as a part-time lecturer. Sure, he lacks a teaching license, but with a professor’s recommendation and sufficient aptitude, we can make exceptions for part-time hires. No issue there.”
“The problem is his aptitude! Take a look at this and think again!”
With a resounding thud, Harley slapped a stack of documents onto Rick’s desk.
“This is the result of Glenn’s recent magical aptitude assessment. What is this pathetic performance?!”
“Hm? Well, now, let’s see… Quite unremarkable, isn’t he? Mana capacity, mental capacity—average. Elemental affinities—all mediocre. A perfectly ordinary mage… or rather, slightly below average, judging by raw ability,” Rick mused, skimming the documents.
“And his mage rank is a measly third tier! Take a look at his background!”
“Oh? Well, I’ll be—he’s an academy graduate,” Rick noted, surprised.
“Graduate is a generous term,” Harley scoffed, sneering. “He never submitted a final magical thesis.”
“Glenn Radars. Enrolled at the Magic Academy at age eleven… Eleven?!”
Rick’s eyes widened as he read the file.
“Most students enter at fourteen or fifteen! Eleven?!”
“Yes. At the time, he made quite a stir as the youngest ever to pass the academy’s notoriously rigorous entrance exam,” Harley said, his face twisting with disdain. “But that’s where his glory ends. His academic performance was utterly average. After four years in the magical bachelor’s program, he ‘graduated’—or rather, was effectively expelled—at fifteen. His final grades? Predictably mediocre. Nothing noteworthy.”
“Hm… So it seems…” Rick murmured.
“And the real issue is his path after that! Having once walked the supreme path of magical pursuit, he’s spent the last four years doing nothing! Wasting time! Imagine how much he could’ve contributed to magical advancement if he’d dedicated himself to the craft!”
Sure enough, Glenn’s resume showed a four-year gap—a blank slate.
“Well, now… Four years unemployed? What happened to him, I wonder?” Rick mused.
“You get my point, don’t you?! A low-rank, vulgar mage like him is unfit to be a lecturer at this academy!”
“Hm, I don’t recall our lecturer recruitment criteria specifying restrictions based on rank or background,” Rick countered mildly.
“It may not be written, but it’s an unspoken rule!”
Harley slammed the desk again.
“Think of the distinguished lecturers at this academy! Fourth rank is a given, and some have even reached the fifth or sixth! Every one of them has mastered advanced magic and produced significant research! How can a man like Glenn stand shoulder-to-shoulder with them?!”
“Hm…”
“And you, Headmaster! How could you approve his appointment without even reviewing these critical documents?!”
“Well, you see, it’s because Celica recommended him. Doesn’t it feel like… I don’t know, he might do something interesting?”
Rick’s lips curled into a mischievous grin.
“No, it doesn’t! You overestimate that witch! She’s a relic of a bygone era, clinging to past glories, brandishing her selfish whims, and disrupting the order we’re meant to uphold!”
That’s when it happened.
“You sure know how to talk, Harley.”
A casual voice echoed through the headmaster’s office, freezing Harley in place.
“Heh, that snot-nosed brat’s grown up quite a bit. I’m almost proud,” the voice continued, dripping with malice.
Harley turned to see Celica standing in the corner, her face alight with a wicked smile.
“When… when did you get here, Celica Arfonia…?”
“Who knows? Here’s a question for a lousy student from his teacher: take a guess,” she teased.
“Teleportation…? No, time manipulation…? Impossible… I didn’t sense any mana fluctuations or shifts in the world’s laws…”
“Bzzt, wrong. You’re still third-rate, Harley. Here’s your homework: investigate this mysterious phenomenon and write a report, three hundred pages or less. Oh, and that’s a professor’s order.”
“Grr…!”
Harley trembled with humiliation as Celica turned to Rick, offering an elegant bow.
“Good day, Headmaster.”
“Well, well, Celica! Still as young and beautiful as ever—quite enviable!”
“Heh, you’re still plenty young and dashing yourself, Headmaster.”
“Hohoho, you think so? Then how about you and I grab a drink tonight, Celica?”
“Haha, pass. Honestly, Headmaster, your vigor never fades. Time to slow down, old man.”
“Hahaha! I’m in my prime for life!”
Harley shattered the warm atmosphere by pounding the desk.
“I won’t accept this, Celica Arfonia! I’ll never acknowledge that fool as a lecturer! If anything goes wrong, you’ll answer for it!”
“…Take it back.”
Her low, chilling murmur froze the room’s air.
“I don’t care how much you badmouth me. Talk behind his back, and I’ll let it slide. But insulting him to my face? That, I won’t forgive. Take it back now and ask for forgiveness.”
Celica’s overwhelming presence ensnared Harley in an instant.
“W-What… That Glenn guy… he’s a worthless third-rate mage… that’s just a fact… isn’t it…?!” Harley stammered, his voice squeezed from the depths of his throat as cold sweat dripped down his face.
Celica regarded him with narrowed eyes, her gaze icy and dismissive.
“Think you can handle this?”
She began slowly removing the glove from her left hand.
“—?!”
The moment Harley registered her gesture, visible panic seized him, his face paling.
“F-Fine… I take it back… I was wrong…”
The second she had his concession, Celica flashed a bright smile and slid the glove back on.
“Damn it… you’ll pay for this!”
Spitting a parting shot, Harley fled the headmaster’s office as if his life depended on it.
A brief silence settled between Rick and Celica.
“Goodness gracious. Still as fiery as ever, aren’t you? I thought the office might get blown to bits,” Rick said, sighing with exasperation.
“But, Celica, even for you, this whole thing’s a bit reckless.”
“…I know. I’m genuinely sorry,” she replied.
“Forcing a mage with no accomplishments into a lecturer position… It’s not just Harley. That reaction’s likely the consensus among everyone tied to the academy.”
Celica fell silent for a moment before speaking with unwavering resolve.
“I’ll take responsibility. Everything he does—or fails to do—at this academy, I’ll answer for it.”
“You’re that committed to him? Mind if I ask… what is he to you?”
“Haha, nothing scandalous or some deep, tangled history,” she said with a chuckle. “Just…”
“Just?”
“I just want him to live with some spark in his eyes. Call it an old woman’s meddling.”
“Whoa, look at that lecturer, Rod…”
“Yeah, unreal… His eyes are dead.”
“Never seen someone so utterly lifeless…”
Whispers rippled through the classroom.
“Well, uh, probably like this… and, y’know, kinda feels like… so, basically, it’s sorta…”
At the center of the students’ scornful stares stood Glenn, a massive lump throbbing on his head, shambling like a zombie as he halfheartedly conducted the lesson.
“Man, Professor Huey was so great…”
“Why’d he have to quit…?”
To put it bluntly, Glenn’s teaching was the worst the students had ever witnessed.
His lectures were incomprehensible. They weren’t even lectures—just aimless droning. In a sluggish, drawn-out voice, he recited vague magical theory, occasionally scribbling illegible scrawl on the blackboard as if it were an afterthought.
The students couldn’t grasp a single concept, but one thing was crystal clear: this part-time instructor, Glenn, was horrifically unmotivated. Listening to his class was a waste of time. They’d have been better off studying the textbook on their own.
Still, a few earnest, diligent students tried to salvage something from the disaster.
“Um… Sensei… I have a question…”
A petite girl timidly raised her hand. Her name was Lynn, a soft-spoken girl with a delicate, almost animal-like air.
“What’s up? Spit it out,” Glenn said.
“Uh… about the runic incantation example you mentioned, on page fifty-six, line three… I don’t understand its common tongue translation…”
“Heh, neither do I,” Glenn replied with a shrug.
“Huh?”
“Sorry, kid. Look it up yourself.”
Lynn stood frozen, stunned by his brazen dismissal.
Sistine, already fuming but now pushed over the edge, shot to her feet and launched into a tirade.
“Hold on, Sensei! Is that how a lecturer responds to a student’s question?!”
Glenn let out a groan, visibly annoyed. “Look, I already said I don’t know. How am I supposed to teach something I don’t get?”
“If you can’t answer a student’s question, isn’t it your duty as a lecturer to research it and address it in the next class?”
“Ugh… Wouldn’t it be faster for you to just look it up yourself?”
“That’s not the point! What I’m saying is—”
“Oh, wait, what? You kids haven’t been taught how to use a runic dictionary yet? Guess you can’t look it up then… Fine, what a hassle, but I’ll check it out for you. Ugh, more work…”
“Tch… I know how to use a dictionary! Forget it!”
Glenn’s unrelenting apathy refused to budge.
Sistine sat back down, shoulders trembling with rage.
Rumia watched nervously from the sidelines.
The classroom’s atmosphere was toxic, with frustration simmering among the students and time slipping away pointlessly.
Thus, Glenn’s inaugural lesson ended as a barren waste, yielding nothing of value.
After Glenn’s disastrous first class, in the girls’ changing room at the academy…
Sistine, now in her undergarments after shedding her uniform and cape-robe, slammed her clothes into a wooden locker, venting her fury.
“Ugh, what is with that guy?!”
“Haha, calm down, calm down,” Rumia said, offering a vague smile to soothe her friend.
But Sistine’s anger wasn’t so easily quelled. “He’s way too unmotivated! How does a guy like that even get hired as a lecturer here, even part-time?!”
“Yeah… maybe Glenn-sensei could try a bit harder,” Rumia admitted softly.
Their next class was an alchemy experiment.
The uniforms and robes Sistine and her classmates typically wore were enchanted with the black magic spell [Air Conditioning], regulating temperature and humidity for comfort—cool in summer, warm in winter. For female students, who were encouraged to wear lighter clothing in the early stages of magical training to enhance their affinity with ambient mana, these uniforms were invaluable.
However, alchemy experiments involved hands-on work with magical materials, tools, catalysts, and reagents. Depending on the experiment, clothes could get filthy or absorb chemical odors.
Thus, the girls of Sistine’s class had gathered in the changing room, swapping their uniforms for hooded robes designed for lab work.
The room was filled with half-dressed girls, their youthful, supple skin and the delicate, alluring curves of adolescence on full display. It was a paradise of bare flesh that would’ve been pure poison to any teenage boy.
“Ugh… and that guy’s supervising the alchemy experiment too, right?” Sistine groaned.
“Yup. Glenn-sensei’s taking over for Professor Huey,” Rumia confirmed.
“My stomach’s churning just thinking about it…”
Then, a sly grin suddenly spread across Sistine’s face as she glanced at Rumia, who was slipping out of her clothes, now in her undergarments.
“This calls for some healing,” Sistine declared.
“Sisti?” Rumia blinked, confused.
In a flash, Sistine closed the distance and wrapped her arms around Rumia from behind.
“Gotcha!”
“Eek?!”
Sistine pressed her skin tightly against Rumia’s smooth back, her hands resting on the soft mounds of Rumia’s chest, still clad in her undergarments.
“Ahh, Rumia’s body is just so nice—so soft, pale, and smooth,” Sistine cooed.
“S-Sisti, stop it!”
Rumia’s face flushed crimson as she squirmed, trying to escape Sistine’s embrace, which clung to her like a playful kitten. But Sistine’s arms coiled around her like a snake, unyielding.
“Eep! Sisti, n-no!”
“Mmm… Rumia, you’re definitely developing nicely,” Sistine noted, frowning slightly as she sensed a subtle change in the soft, faintly firm texture beneath her palms. Rumia’s chest wasn’t large nor small but perfectly proportioned, as if calculated to match her petite frame with ideal aesthetic balance.
“Sigh… So nice. Why does all my nutrition skip my chest? Ugh… instead of healing, I’m just getting depressed…”
“S-Stop it, Sisti! Don’t squeeze so hard—ahh!”
“Ugh, I’m so jealous! Come on, is this the sweet spot? Huh? Huh?”
“N-No! Stop…!”
Apparently, teenage girls in such settings tended to behave in much the same way.
“That’s not fair, Theresa! When did you—?!”
“Hehe, it’s called puberty.”
“How dare you outpace me! Take this!”
“Eek! W-Wendy-san?!”
Similar playful scenes unfolded across the changing room.
The girls giggled and squealed, their lively chatter filling the air.
But then, the changing room door was flung open with a violent bang.
“Ugh, what a pain! I don’t even need to change—damn that Celica… Huh?”
Standing in the doorway, a suspicious man with a borrowed lab robe slung over his shoulder.
It was Glenn.
His eyes locked with Sistine and Rumia, who were closest to the door.
All three froze in silence.
The paradise of frolicking, half-naked girls vanished in an instant. A frozen hell descended, time itself seemingly halted, and silence reigned.
“…Oh.”
Glenn slowly surveyed the room, confirming it was filled solely with female students. Scratching his head in annoyance, he glanced at the plaque outside the door.
“Guess they switched the men’s and women’s changing rooms since my time. What a hassle.”
A palpable, murderous aura began to swirl in the room.
Faced with this unstoppable tide, Glenn sighed wearily.
“Well, well. So this is one of those ‘lucky pervert’ moments so popular in those trendy young adult novels from the capital? Haha, never thought I’d live one myself.”
Led by Sistine, the girls began to move, their eyes blazing.
Glenn raised a hand with regal authority, halting them.
“Hold it, hold it. Calm down. I’ve always had a bone to pick with these cliché scenarios, so hear me out. Consider it my last rites.”
The girls paused. Even a condemned man was allowed final words.
“Here’s the thing. Don’t you think the protagonists in those novels are idiots? They trigger a ‘lucky pervert’ moment, and it’s guaranteed they’ll get pummeled by the heroine. So why do they panic, look away, or pull their hands back? Getting a fleeting glimpse of a girl’s body in exchange for a beating? That’s a lousy deal, no matter how you slice it.”
With that deplorable preamble, Glenn made his grand, soul-stirring declaration.
“So, I’m gonna—burn this scene into my memory!”
His eyes widened with fervent intensity, arms crossed, face a mask of resolve as he stood tall, glaring at the sea of exposed skin before him—
““““You—PERVERT—!””””
That day, the girls of Year Two, Class Two unleashed a brutal act of in-school violence against a certain part-time instructor, a spectacle too horrific to witness.
Incidentally, the alchemy experiment was canceled, as the supervising lecturer was rendered unconscious.
“Ow… This really hurts… Did they have to go this far…?”
It was just past noon, lunchtime.
Covered in scratches and bruises, his clothes in tatters, Glenn shambled through the academy’s corridors like a tearful zombie. Passing students flinched at his pitiful state, but Glenn was too battered to care about their stares.
“Still, kids these days sure are… developed. What do they eat to grow like that? Well, one of ‘em was a bit lacking, but whatever. Food, food…”
Muttering words that could’ve cost him his life if overheard, Glenn made his way to the academy’s cafeteria.
The Alzano Imperial Magic Academy’s cafeteria, located on the first floor of the main building—a structure resembling a grand noble mansion—was renowned among students for its cheap, delicious food, a longstanding tradition.
“Been a while since I ate here,” Glenn mused.
The cafeteria was lined with long tables draped in white cloths, adorned with candelabras, and bustling with students grabbing lunch after morning classes.
The system was simple: order at the kitchen counter, pay, receive your food, then find a seat at any table to eat.
Glenn approached the counter and placed his order with the cook.
“Uh, herb-roasted local chicken with fried potatoes. Largo sheep cheese and Elisha sprout salad. Kilua bean stir-fry with tomato sauce. Potage soup. Rye bread. All large portions.”
Glenn was the classic skinny big-eater, a trait that had earned him no end of snide remarks from Celica during his freeloading days.
After a short wait, his food was ready. Glenn fished a few copper selto coins from his leather pouch, handed them to the server, and took the wooden tray laden with his meal.
“Now, where’s an open seat…?”
The cafeteria was packed, most seats taken, but Glenn spotted two empty chairs side by side at the far-right table’s edge.
Better move before someone else snags them. He hurried over.
Then, he noticed.
“It’s just wrong, Rumia. Last year’s magical archaeology paper by Professor Forzel? It doesn’t hold up. Don’t you agree?”
Across from the seats Glenn aimed for sat two familiar faces.
“His theory places the construction of Melgalius’ Sky Castle around 4500 Before Holy Calendar. Sure, dimensional phase magic was formalized in the mid-ancient period, but murals and artifacts unearthed around Fejite suggest something resembling the Sky Castle was already floating by 5000 BHC. Ignoring that just because it’s ‘technically impossible’ and pushing the 4500 BHC theory feels forced. His new dating spell seems like a convenient fudge to cover that 500-year gap! It’s so typical of modern mages—overemphasizing desk theories and literature while neglecting fieldwork. If mid-ancient dimensional phase magic really hid the Sky Castle, it’d have timed out by now, given the mana density of the era’s atmosphere and the extension limit—(omitted)—not to mention the two Mana Winters that triggered the ancient civilization’s collapse—(omitted)—and the mana half-life values contradict—(omitted)—plus, it’s obvious ancient ideographic languages evolved through three distinct branch systems—(omitted)—and symbolically, the conflict between divine and folk beliefs in heraldry—(omitted)—even Telex’s mythological deconstruction shows ancient civilizations weren’t monolithic—(omitted)—(omitted)—(omitted)—”
“Uh… wow…”
The silver-haired girl ranted nonstop, oblivious to her untouched food, while the blonde girl—Rumia—listened with a strained smile, a bead of sweat on her brow.
They were deep in a (rather one-sided) discussion about magical archaeology.
Magical archaeology studied the pre-Holy Calendar ancient history of a supposed super-magical civilization, aiming to revive its lost magical technologies. Mages obsessed with Melgalius’ Sky Castle were often dubbed “Melgarians.”
The silver-haired girl was clearly a textbook Melgarian.
“Excuse me,” Glenn said, sliding into one of the empty seats.
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With a cursory “excuse me,” Glenn plopped down in the seat across from the blonde girl and diagonal from the silver-haired one.
Only then did the silver-haired girl snap out of her reverie, finally noticing Glenn’s presence.
“—?! Y-You’re—!”
“Nope. Wrong guy,” Glenn said, brushing her off with practiced ease as he dug into his meal.
He sliced the herb-roasted chicken into rough, thin pieces, stuffed strips of fried potatoes and cheese salad between rye bread, and took a hearty bite. The bitter tang of the sprout salad paired perfectly with the smoky, savory fat of the charcoal-grilled chicken, making for a refreshing bite. The aroma of herbs tickled his nose, whetting his appetite further.
“Delicious. Gotta say, this rough-around-the-edges vibe is so imperial,” Glenn mumbled, savoring the flavor.
Scooping a spoonful of Kilua bean stir-fry with tomato sauce, he popped it into his mouth. The spicy kick of chili and garlic in the tangy sauce was spot-on.
Despite the recent changing-room fiasco, Glenn’s brazen attitude hadn’t wavered. The silver-haired girl—Sistine—could only gape, her mouth opening and closing in stunned silence.
The clinking of cutlery echoed as he ate.
Surprisingly, the meal didn’t devolve into an awkward, heavy silence.
“Wow, Sensei, you sure eat a lot! Do you love food or something?”
“Hm? Yeah, eating’s one of the few pleasures I’ve got,” Glenn replied.
“Hehe, that stir-fry looks amazing. It smells so good!”
Rumia, taking over for Sistine—who had fallen into a sullen silence—struck up a conversation with Glenn. Unlike Sistine, who radiated open hostility, Rumia didn’t seem to hold much of a grudge over the earlier incident. Come to think of it, she hadn’t joined in on the girls’ retribution either.
“You get it, huh? Right now’s when the academy gets its fresh Kilua beans for the year. They’ve got this killer aroma. If you’re gonna eat ‘em, now’s the season,” Glenn said.
He wasn’t the type to start conversations, but when someone engaged him, he responded readily enough. Apparently, he and Rumia clicked.
“Really? I’ll have to try the Kilua bean stir-fry next time!”
“Hell yeah, it’s a must. Wanna take a bite now?”
“Huh? For real? Won’t that be, like, an indirect kiss?”
Rumia giggled, tilting her head playfully and pressing a finger to her lips.
“Pfft, what are we, kids?”
With an exasperated shrug, Glenn pushed the plate of stir-fry toward her.
Rumia happily scooped a spoonful and popped it into her mouth, her easygoing charm and constant warm smile putting Glenn at ease. Before he knew it, a faint grin tugged at his lips.
“…”
But one person at the table radiated a stormy aura.
Sistine. She sat out the friendly chatter, her sharp gaze boring into Glenn with unrelenting intensity.
“…Hey, you. That’s all you’re eating?”
Finding her stare hard to ignore while eating, Glenn sighed and addressed Sistine. Caught off guard, she flinched briefly but quickly regained her composure, firing back with a biting retort.
“I don’t think my meal choices are any of your business, Sensei.”
“Yeah, but…”
Glenn glanced at the girls’ plates.
Rumia’s spread included polridge—a grain porridge—spiced pigeon stew, and a salad, a decently hearty meal. Sistine, on the other hand, had only two scones thinly spread with redberry jam.
“You’re a growing girl, right? Gotta eat more, or you won’t… y’know, grow,” Glenn said.
He stopped short of adding, And you clearly haven’t, even he knew better in this situation.
“That’s none of your concern. I eat lightly at lunch so I don’t get sleepy for afternoon classes. Because I’m serious about my studies. Not that you’d understand, Sensei,” Sistine shot back, casting a pointed glance at the mountain of food on Glenn’s plate.
Her provocative words charged the air between them with tension.
“…Beating around the bush, huh?”
Glenn’s voice dropped half an octave as he continued eating.
Sistine’s expression tightened, sensing the shift.
“If you’ve got something to say, just spit it out.”
“…Fine. Since it’s better for both of us to clear the air, I’ll be blunt. I—”
Sistine glared at Glenn head-on, about to unleash her thoughts, when—
“Alright, alright, I surrender. Don’t give me that desperate look,” Glenn said, abruptly raising both hands.
“Huh?”
“I didn’t expect you to be this hung up on it. You win,” he conceded.
Before a baffled Sistine, Glenn scooped a single Kilua bean with his spoon and plopped it onto her plate.
“There. You wanted some, right? I’ve got plenty, so you’re jealous I didn’t share, yeah? …Greedy little thing,” he teased, glancing at her with mock exasperation before resuming his meal.
“N-No, that’s not what I meant—!”
Humiliated by Glenn’s gross misunderstanding, Sistine’s shoulders trembled as she slammed the table and shot to her feet.
But Glenn paid her no mind, instead—
“Gimme one of yours in return.”
He reached over with his fork, speared one of Sistine’s scones, and swiped it in a flash.
“Mmm, scones hit the spot every now and then…” he mumbled, chewing contentedly.
“Wha—?! Why’d you just take it?!”
“Equivalent exchange, right?”
“Equivalent how?! How?! That’s it, you’re done—get over here—!”
“Whoa?! Watch it! H-Hey, keep it down while we’re eating—!”
Glenn and Sistine began a mock sword fight across the table with knife and fork.
Curious onlookers gathered, their stares prickling.
Rumia could only watch with a wry smile.
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