The Villain Professor's Second Chance

As the last of her classmates exited, Amberine lingered for a moment by the doorway, casting a final glance back at the now-empty room. Her mind replayed the events of the lesson, each detail weighed against her internal barometer of self-critique.

The intricate web of mana circles she had constructed with painstaking precision, the slight waver in her control when Draven's gaze fell upon her work, and the irritating perfection of Elara's execution—all of it churned within her, leaving a sour taste of unfulfilled potential.

Draven's eyes followed her out of the room, his gaze analytical and cold. He had noticed the subtle signs of strain in Amberine's demeanor, the slight tremor in her hands, the way she held herself as if shielding against an invisible weight. Something about her situation had caught his interest, but he pushed it aside for the moment.

Amberine walked down the corridor, her footsteps echoing softly against the stone walls. She passed groups of students engrossed in excited conversation, their voices a cacophony of speculation and theory about the day's lesson. Each group seemed to orbit around a central figure, much like the planets she had seen in the illusionary cosmos earlier, their discussions animated and intense.

She barely registered their presence, her mind clouded with thoughts of her own inadequacy. The hallway stretched out before her, an endless path of self-doubt and frustration. She finally reached a quiet alcove and sank onto a bench, burying her face in her hands. "Why can't I ever get ahead?" she whispered to herself.

There is a hint of fire mana with different properties from her actual mana which interests him, but for now, there is something more important that needs his attention.

Draven's attention shifted to another figure still seated at the back of the room. A person draped in the university's magician robe, a hood casting their face in shadow. Draven's voice cut through the remaining silence, his tone as indifferent as ever. "Trust me, you wouldn't want to enter my office, Liora."

The figure chuckled, a low, amused sound that echoed in the near-empty room. She stood gracefully, moving towards the window. "It's truly a great view from up here," she remarked, her eyes scanning the vast expanse outside. "As expected of the university magic tower. It was quite a challenge to infiltrate this place. But how did you know?"

Draven began tidying up his desk, his movements precise and efficient. Books floated into his bag under the control of his psychokinesis. "Your posture, the way you moved through the shadows, even the manner in which you avoided direct eye contact with the students—it all pointed to someone trained in espionage.

The robe, while an impressive imitation, carries the slightest hint of a different scent, perhaps from your travels. And the fact that you remained after class suggests a purpose beyond mere observation."

Draven paused, allowing the weight of his words to settle before continuing, his analytical gaze never wavering from the figure cloaked in shadows. "When you first entered the room, I noted the fluidity in your movements. There was an economy of motion, a trait commonly found in individuals who are accustomed to moving silently and efficiently through various terrains.

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Unlike the students, whose steps are still marked by uncertainty and inexperience, your gait was sure, almost predatory."

He continued, his voice calm and measured, "As the class progressed, you positioned yourself strategically—far enough to remain inconspicuous, yet close enough to observe without arousing suspicion. This choice of location is not random; it is a calculated decision, indicative of someone trained to gather intelligence while minimizing their own exposure."

Draven's eyes flickered with a hint of amusement as he added, "Moreover, the way you avoided direct eye contact was telling. It's a classic technique employed by spies and infiltrators to prevent others from discerning their intentions or reading their emotions.

Your attention was subtly directed towards the peripheries, constantly scanning for threats or opportunities, which further corroborated my initial hypothesis."

He gestured towards her robe, his tone taking on a hint of curiosity. "The robe you wear is indeed an impressive imitation. However, there are minute details that betray its origin. The stitching pattern, for instance, differs slightly from the standard issued by this institution.

It's a style I've seen in the eastern regions, where the weavers favor a particular cross-stitch that is both durable and quick to produce."

Draven's gaze narrowed as he continued his deductions. "The scent clinging to your robe was another giveaway. It carries a faint hint of jasmine and sandalwood, fragrances commonly used in the southern markets. This, combined with traces of iron and salt, suggests recent travel by sea—perhaps a journey that took you through bustling ports and dense marketplaces."

He took a step closer, his voice lowering slightly. "And then there's the matter of your demeanor after class. While the students were eager to leave, chatting animatedly about the lesson, you remained. This indicated a specific interest in either the content discussed or in myself.

Given your background and the fact that you chose to reveal yourself now, it is clear that your purpose here extends beyond mere observation."

Draven's fingers tapped rhythmically on the desk, a sign of his deep contemplation. "Even your breathing pattern was telling. It remained controlled and measured throughout the class, indicative of someone trained in maintaining composure under stress.

This is a trait I've observed in operatives who have undergone rigorous training in disciplines that require a high level of physical and mental endurance."

He allowed a small smile to touch his lips as he concluded his analysis. "So you see, every detail, no matter how minute, contributes to the larger picture. Your presence, your movements, the subtle clues left in your wake—they all pointed to someone who operates in the shadows, someone skilled in the arts of infiltration and espionage.

But I guess it's not the first time you found yourself noticed by me. It seems you've gotten used to it,"

Liora pulled back her hood, revealing her face. Her eyes sparkled with a mixture of admiration and amusement. "You're as sharp as ever, Draven. Possibly the sharpest person I've ever encountered."

"But there's one certain thing that made me immediately realize you're not one of my students," Draven started, inviting Liora's curiosity.

Of course, Liora got interested. "And that is?"

Draven closed his bag, looking at her with his sharp eyes. "You're not afraid of me," His words were calm and firm like his presence.

"Pfft! Ahahaha!" Liora couldn't maintain her laughter. "Yeah, you right, you right. I guess that makes sense! How stupid I am to forget that fact!"

"So?" Draven's expression remained stoic. "Do you agree to my offer to collaborate? Have I passed all your qualifications?"

She nodded, her demeanor turning serious. "Yes. I agree to do whatever you ask of me. Now, what is your first order, my lord?"

Draven's eyes flickered with a hint of satisfaction. "Your first task is to send a message to one of your partners in your merchant group. Tell her to go to my mansion in my earldom. There's no need for subterfuge; she can approach the front gate and inform the guards that she is a friend of yours. My butlers and retainers will assist her in securing a permanent store for your merchant group.

Once that is settled, send one person here, to the capital as well."

Liora raised an eyebrow, her curiosity piqued. "Why? I guess I don't need to ask now, do I?" She saluted, a gesture half-mocking, half-respectful. "I don't know what you're planning, but I have a feeling it's something I won't regret."

As she turned to leave, she pulled out a small black whistle and placed it on Draven's desk. "Use this whenever you need to summon me." With that, she disappeared into the shadows, as silently as she had appeared.

Draven picked up the whistle, examining it closely. His fingers traced the intricate carvings along its surface. "Interesting," he murmured, detecting a faint hint of magic embedded within the whistle. It was a subtle enchantment, designed to resonate with a specific mana signature—Liora's, no doubt. He placed it carefully in his pocket, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips.

This collaboration, he thought, might prove to be more intriguing than he had anticipated.

The classroom was empty now, the echoes of the day's lesson fading into the silence. Draven's mind, however, was far from quiet. Plans and calculations whirled within his thoughts, each one weaving into the next with meticulous precision. He glanced out the window, his eyes reflecting the vastness of the cosmos they had glimpsed earlier.