"Bob, go to the human realm and become the instructor of the royal academy."
"Fuck no."
The teacup in Magnus's hand froze midair.
In the far corner, Sister Marianne, still in her crisp black-and-white habit despite her new "maid" status, looked up from her polishing with a raised brow. She didn't gasp. She never gasped. But her silence screamed judgment.
Beside Magnus's throne, Reyana nearly dropped the sugar cubes. "Ow. That's… bold, Bob."
Magnus turned his half-lidded eyes toward his secretary scapegoat. "Did you just decline my mission, Bob?"
Bob didn't flinch. "I'm your secretary, not your sacrificial lamb to the education system."
The Demon King sipped his tea—calmly, slowly, like a man with infinite time and zero motivation. "I'm allergic to classrooms."
"You're allergic to standing."
"Tch."
Without looking, Magnus handed his empty cup to Reyana. "Refill. Peppermint. I need my brain refreshed before I argue further with this fool."
Reyana sighed, already pouring. "Should I pack snacks for Bob? Or just bandages?"
"I'M NOT GOING!" Bob snapped. Then, muttering under his breath, "…yet."
Magnus leaned back with a smug yawn. "Bob… why don't you go?"
"No."
"I'll send Reyana with you."
"…You think that's gonna convi—"
He stopped mid-sentence.
Magnus smirked. Reyana blinked, sugar tongs still in hand.
Bob's ears turned red. "I-It won't work."
Magnus rested his cheek on his knuckles, voice lazy and amused. "You paused, Bob."
"I didn't."
"You paused."
"I was pausing… for dramatic effect!"
Reyana raised a brow. "Should I pack your uniform, sir instructor?"
"I hate everyone here."
----
The halls of the Demon King's palace were eerily quiet, save for the soft click of heels and the steady thump-thump of annoyed footsteps.
Bob walked with a deep scowl, suitcase in hand. Reyana strolled beside him, humming a light tune, carrying nothing but a small satchel of tea leaves and a dangerously smug smile.
Ahead of them stood the Travel Point—a swirling, rune-carved circle etched into the ground, pulsing with lazy violet light. It shimmered like a sleepy star, hungry for energy. It was a special spot, one of the few fixed teleportation gates in Mugthos. The farther the destination, the more magic it demanded. Long-distance jumps, like from the Demon Realm to the Human Kingdom's capital, needed serious juice.
Bob sighed. "Stupid oversized warp circle. I'll probably puke halfway."
"Then don't puke on me," Reyana said, sidestepping slightly—just enough to make him feel like the problem child.
They walked in silence for a few beats. Then she peeked up at him.
"So," she said casually, "do you like me?"
Bob tripped.
Not on a rock. Not on his own feet. On air.
"I—what—the hell kind of question is that?!"
Reyana giggled. "Oh, nothing. Just wondering why you turned the color of a boiled beet when Magnus said I'd come with you."
"I did not turn red!"
"You did."
Bob glared. "I don't like you. You're smug, chaotic, and you over-steep the chamomile."
"You said it was perfectly calming."
"I was trying to be polite!"
Reyana tilted her head, eyes gleaming. "Aw. So you're polite around me? That's cute."
He groaned and picked up the pace, trying to speed-walk away from the conversation. "I take it back. I'd rather go alone. I'll risk noble brats and hero spawns without backup."
She easily kept pace. "Too late."
"…Damn it."
The Travel Point's glow flared as they approached, reacting to their presence. It hummed hungrily, threads of magic reaching out like fingers.
There was a pause first.
"First, transform your body. A demon in the human realm? You'll get us killed."
Bob sighed like a man with a migraine and an unpaid parking ticket. "You don't have to remind me. I studied the damn law book Magnus wrote on diplomacy. Chapter three: 'Don't be ugly in public.'"
Reyana snorted. "It said 'non-human forms may trigger unrest among civilians.' You're paraphrasing."
"It meant what I said."
He snapped his fingers, and a flicker of silver light wrapped around his frame. Horns receded, tail vanished, his eyes dulled from demon-red to a dull stormy gray, and his angular ears smoothed to something more human. His hair turned a few shades darker, tamed but still stubbornly windswept. He somewhat became handsome. Even more handsome that magnus.
Reyana watched with a satisfied nod and a slight blush. "Much better. Still grumpy, but passable."
Bob smirked. "Don't worry. You still look like a troublemaker."
Reyana winked. "I'm going for charming menace."
They both stepped into the center of the circle. The runes flared, violet light rising in lazy arcs. Magic surged, rippling the air, distorting the edges of the world.
And then—
FWUUUM.
The world folded.
---
Bob landed with a grunt, suitcase thudding beside him.
The teleportation platform beneath their feet was made of stone, but polished to a mirror sheen, etched with silver-gold runes that still crackled from the energy surge. The air was warmer, thinner, heavy with smog and spell particles.
They had arrived.
Osheid.
Capital of the Velnius Kingdom. Heart of the human realm. The city that never shuts up...or something like that.
Bob blinked.
Even he had to admit—it was stunning.
Sprawling boulevards stretched before them, lined with elegant streetlamps powered by ambient mana. Carriages hovered inches off the ground, steered by reins and glowing control orbs. Steam trams clattered on elevated railways above the city, and enchanted signs flickered with glowing advertisements—one promoting a floating parasol that played lullabies, another a mana-powered phonograph that sang in twelve languages.
Buildings rose tall and proud, their architecture a delicate balance of classic 1900s charm and arcane absurdity. Copper and brass domes, arched windows with enchanted glass, flowerboxes blooming with seasonal magic. Chimneys puffed soft smoke into the sky beside wind turbines spinning with enchanted wind.
And in the distance—Osheid Castle. A titanic structure of ivory and obsidian, floating islands circling its spires like moons. Magic pulsed from its core, even from afar.
Bob muttered, "This place looks like a wizard had a sugar rush."
Reyana grinned. "It's a mess. But a gorgeous one."
The people were just as dazzling—nobles in tailored coats with glowing cuffs, inventors in soot-streaked robes pushing carts filled with magical gadgets, and mages with crystal-embedded monocles examining spellbooks while walking. Children darted past with broomsticks that hovered half a foot off the ground. Cats with tiny wings napped on warm pipes.
Everything sparkled with a layer of magic and barely-restrained chaos.
"Come on," Reyana said, nudging Bob forward. "The Academy's just past the noble quarter. Try not to glare at anyone important."
Bob adjusted his coat and muttered, "If I get stabbed by a student, I'm blaming Magnus."
Reyana's laugh rang through the streets like a warning bell.
---
The office was ridiculous.
That was the only word Bob could muster—ridiculous.
The Manager's Room of Osheid Royal Academy looked like someone had thrown a bureaucratic fever dream at a palace ballroom. Gilded pillars coiled with glowing vines framed the marble walls. A chandelier made entirely of frozen lightning hovered above their heads, crackling softly, flickering between moods—currently set to mild interrogation. The floor was a mirror-polished obsidian slab etched with fractal runes that shimmered like oil in water, reflecting distorted versions of everyone's feet.
Books floated in lazy orbits around the room, occasionally smacking into each other with a passive-aggressive thump. A massive desk carved from dragonbone and enchanted oak dominated the room's center—one corner had a chipped mug that read "#1 Principal (Debatable)", and another had a magical quill scribbling notes on its own with an impatient tsk-like scratching.
Bob and Reyana stood on a circular rug embroidered with a sigil he swore was twitching when he wasn't looking.
Behind the desk sat Rubma Idick.
Yes. That's his name.
He had a face carved from skepticism and spite, with wire-thin glasses perched at the end of his long nose. His robe was blue, gold, and bureaucratic misery. His hair was slicked back so tightly it looked like he was trying to escape his own thoughts.
He stared at Bob's file.
Then Reyana's.
Then them.
Once.
Twice.
Thrice.
Pause.
Then again.
Bob cleared his throat. "Sir?"
Rubma did not blink. "This resume says your previous job was….. I am the forgotten Hero reincarnated as a rock, now I am surrounded by dragon girls who want to lay their eggs on– get the fuck out of here."
Bob opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.
Reyana was already covering her face, shaking with barely restrained laughter.
"I—That's not mine!" Bob spluttered, yanking the page from Rubma's hands and flipping it around. "Who the hell snuck a light novel synopsis into my file?!"
Rubma didn't flinch. "It was attached to your transfer scroll. And signed in your handwriting."
"That's forgery!" Bob hissed.
"Forgery... of a literary masterpiece," Reyana whispered, tears forming in the corners of her eyes. "Dragon Girls and the Rock of Destiny—I'd read it."
Rubma finally blinked. Slowly. Painfully. Like he was allergic to stupidity.
"I have met many idiots in this office," he said, folding his hands. "One once attempted to bribe me with enchanted muffins. Another insisted the Academy needed a battle mascot—a wyvern in a tutu."
He leaned forward, glasses glinting.
"But you. You bring me an overqualified resume, a cursed teleport signature, and a fictional harem background. I don't know whether to reject you or give up my position."
Bob cleared his throat. "If it helps, I don't even want to be here."
Reyana nodded. "We were violently volunteered."
Rubma stared at them. Then stood. His chair creaked like it was groaning in existential despair.
"Fine," he said. "You'll be assigned as Instructor of Class S"
Bob frowned. "What's Class S?"
Rubma stared over his glasses, his voice colder than a snow-covered spreadsheet.
"Class S," he said, "is not for the faint of heart."
Bob narrowed his eyes. "What's so special about it?"
Rubma turned, tapped a rune on the wall—and a shimmering display ignited midair. A list. Not long. Just seven names. But each one pulsed with a flicker of dangerous magic.
"These are the strongest students enrolled in this generation. Chosen by raw stats, battle potential, and... occasional Children of the king and dukes."
"Pukes?"
"Dukes"
He walked slowly around the desk.
"They are geniuses, monsters, and political nightmares wrapped in teenage skin. Each of them could lead a guild, destroy a battalion, or start a war right now—if they weren't too busy failing algebra."
Bob blinked. "You're putting me in charge of that?"
Rubma nodded gravely. "Congratulations. You're now the glorified babysitter of the apocalypse."
Bob's soul quietly left his body.
Reyana patted his back like one might comfort a dying man. "Look on the bright side. At least none of them can legally kill you."
Rubma raised a finger. "Technically."
Bob turned to Reyana, dead-eyed. "I take it back. I want to go home. Send me back. I'll even brew Magnus's tea for a month."
"You already do that."
"I'll do it happily."
But Rubma was already handing him a folder thick enough to stop a divine blade. "Their profiles. You'll find them enlightening. Or terrifying. Possibly both."
Bob flipped it open with a sigh. Inside:
#1: Aster Vellion.
Crown Prince. Sword prodigy. Can cut through magic with a smile. Once dueled a dragon to a draw… at age twelve. Currently under probation for "accidental" property damage involving a volcano.
#2: Kaelith Nox.
Duke's daughter. Specializes in dark and spatial magic. Has three cursed artifacts sealed in her dorm room for "extra credit." May or may not be haunted. Once reported for summoning an eldritch being to do her laundry.
#3: Liora Solmaine.
Top healer. Also a sadist. Famous quote: "I only fix what I break." Holds a perfect academic record and a war hammer taller than herself. Once cured a professor's flu by terrifying it out of his bloodstream.
#4: Zeph Larkson.
Rogue, thief, charmer. Caught breaking into the royal vault "just to see if he could." Expelled. Re-enrolled. Expelled again. Still here. Nobody knows why. Or how. Or if he's even enrolled.
#5: Mira Glacien.
Half-elf, half-banshee. Can scream people into unconsciousness. Allergic to loud noises. Somehow always has headphones on. GPA: 4.0. Social skills: Error 404.
#6: Rain Everflame.
Pyromancer. Flaming temper. Literally. Set the library on fire because someone borrowed her favorite book. Twice. Now banned from more than three fire spells per day. Currently petitioning to raise it to five.
#7: ???
Name redacted. Identity classified. Only note: "Do not provoke."
Bob shut the folder. "You're sending me into a nuclear warzone."
Rubma shrugged. "You'll be fine. Probably. Unless you die. In which case, I'll personally file the obituary."
Bob gave Reyana a desperate look. "You're coming with me, right?"
She smiled sweetly. "I'll be your assistant."
"Oh, thank hell."
"Also your co-instructor."
"Even better."
"Also the one writing your reports."
"…Less excited."
Rubma clapped once, the chandelier flickering like a thunderclap. "Good. Orientation begins tomorrow. Survive the week, and we'll talk salary."
Bob sighed, dragging the folder under one arm. "What if I quit?"
"You'll be reincarnated as the janitor," Rubma replied.
Reyana waved as they walked out. "Cheer up, Bob. Worst case, we all explode and take the campus with us."
"Not helping, Reyana."
Her grin widened. "Helping in spirit."
As the door creaked shut behind them, the faint sound of floating books smacking each other echoed like laughter in the wind.
Class S… had just gotten its newest victim.