The students looked at each other and nodded. Kera muttered under her breath, "Well, it is expensive…"
"But it's worth it," Selin said firmly. "I mean, this realm is the best I've ever been to."
Calien raised both hands. "Right? Unlike other Arcane Realms where you need to go through stupid synchronization sequences and imagine yourself in tune with your teacher's visualization like some weird shared lucid dream. That stuff's slow, clunky, and completely lame."
"Exactly!" Erik agreed. "In your realm, sir, we just enter. No mumbo jumbo. No six-minute channeling. Just raw, high-intensity survival training. It's perfect."
Nolan made a humble, gracious nod—but inside, he was internally grinning like a devil with a winning hand.
"See, even if it's expensive," Selin went on, "it's absolutely worth it. We actually learn something. Not like those other instructors and their idiotic riddle lectures."
But then, Ruvin tilted his head again, squinting thoughtfully.
"…That's all, sir? That's the reason?"
Nolan froze, only for a fraction of a second, but it was enough.
He knew he needed to deepen the bait.
No, he needed to set the hook.
He quickly adopted a tragic look, eyes narrowing in fake recollection.
"No… that's not all."
The classroom dimmed as the overhead simulation crystals shifted into standby mode, casting long shadows.
Nolan's voice dropped low, dramatic.
"There's more… So much more."
He stepped forward, each footfall like the memory of an ancient betrayal.
"They… the other teachers," he said, voice cracking slightly, "they laughed at me."
The students straightened, their expressions tightening.
"They… they called me a Side-Class Reject. Said I wasn't even qualified to be an assistant examiner."
Selin gasped. Kera covered her mouth.
"Even during my presentations," Nolan went on, "when I tried to explain the practical advantages of combat-ready simulations over theory lectures… They whispered behind my back."
He began pacing, a hand over his heart.
"They gave me mock nicknames. 'Flashlight Boy.' 'Knife Clicker.' One of them… one of them called me 'Professor Toy Soldier.'"
"What?!"
"Unacceptable!"
"They even voted to give me the broom closet office. I shared my desk with a leaking pipe!"
"They didn't," Kera said, horror-struck.
"Oh, but they did," Nolan continued solemnly. "And the lunches… I had to eat alone. At the maintenance wing! With the rune janitors!"
He placed a hand dramatically over his forehead.
"They made me use the student restrooms. I wasn't even given access to the instructor lounge!"
"Those monsters," Selin hissed.
"They called my Realm a 'circus game.' One even asked me if my 'students would be fighting with flashlights and soup spoons'—in front of the Headmaster!"
"Soup spoons?!"
Calien nearly choked.
"And just because I don't make my students chant ancient phrases while humming backwards through their nostrils during training…"
"Sir…" Ruvin muttered, fury rising.
Nolan turned his back, staring at the window as if witnessing his past humiliation play out.
"They laughed… when I submitted my knife-throwing curriculum. They said I was wasting everyone's time. That no one would attend my courses. That I might as well retire."
The room was silent except for a growing tension.
Then Nolan turned back to face them.
"I don't care about fame. I don't care about praise," he said. "But tomorrow's assessment? If you show up… if thirteen of you appear—then I become eligible to be a real instructor."
The students were all standing now, fists clenched.
"Unbelievable," Erik spat.
"Idiots! How can they not see you're the best teacher here?" Kera shouted.
"They make us sit through three hours of dull aura theory with old farts who fall asleep mid-lecture, and you get mocked?!"
"Unforgivable," Calien growled.
Selin looked like she might scream. "Who's in charge of this crap? We should report them."
Nolan lowered his head, pretending to wipe a tear.
"You're too kind…"
But behind the facade—he grinned.
That's it. That's it, my good students. Get angry. Let the injustice burn your hearts. Let it weld your loyalty.
He let the moment breathe, then added with a carefully placed dagger of guilt, "And since I hadn't taught anyone anything during my test period… they just dumped me here. Into your class."
There was a pause.
Then all of them, at once:
"WHAT?!"
"Teacher?!"
"Why would they do that?!"
"You're saying we were the backup class?!"
"You were assigned to us as some kind of punishment?!"
Nolan gave a sheepish shrug, widening his eyes innocently.
"Yeah… that's kind of how they phrased it. Something about 'if no one cares about the class, then give it to the teacher no one wants.'"
The silence that followed was thick.
Suddenly, the whole class erupted into a chaotic storm of shouting and confused murmurs.
"What do you mean dumped into our class?!"
"That can't be true!"
"Why would they send you—the best teacher—to us?!"
Nolan raised his hand slowly, and with a grave look in his eyes, he nodded solemnly.
"There's… something else you all should know."
The room fell silent again, as if a storm had stilled just long enough for a second, more devastating wave to form.
Nolan lowered his voice and began pacing again.
"I didn't want to tell you this, but… during the instructor evaluations, there was a rumor going around. Whispers. Snide comments. I didn't believe them at first, but I heard it again and again..."
He took a breath.
"They said… Class 33—that's you all—was just a dumping ground. A place for noble-born troublemakers. Spoiled brats from wealthy families in Silver Blade City. Students who are supposedly 'talented' in Mana Conjuring, but have no discipline, no work ethic, and no affinity with Knighthood training whatsoever."
The reaction was immediate.
"What?!"
"Who the hell said that?!"
"That's a damn lie!"
Calien stood up so fast his chair screeched across the floor. His fists were clenched, shaking with rage.
"I'm from Silverhart," he growled, "The Knight-Blooded Line of Silver Blade City. My family trains knights—not conjurers! We forged our names on the battlefield, not in some library holding glowing stones!"
Nolan blinked. Oops.
The students turned, eyes now burning with fury.
"That's it," Erik snapped, his voice sharp and furious. "Sir, please… tell us who said that."
Nolan looked cornered. "Ah—well, they're instructors of the Academy. Higher-ups. I really can't—"
"They dared insult us, and they hold positions of authority?!"
Erik slammed his palm on his desk. "Good! That makes it easier. Their background won't protect them. In Silver Blade City, my family has enough influence to kick them out, and if we wanted to… we could even execute them for the slander."
The class roared in agreement.
"They think because we're nobles we're weak?"
"They think conjuring makes us less?!"
"Those rotting, empty-bellied frauds!"
"Let's make an example of them!"
"Let's purge the Academy of those kinds of trash!"
The fury had snowballed. Now it was an avalanche, barreling toward irreversible destruction.
Nolan was frozen in place, eyes wide, hand clutching his chest as he felt a dangerous spike of panic rise.
These kids aren't bluffing… they're serious! What the hell did I just start?!
He felt his heart throb wildly in his chest. His mouth went dry. His nose nearly bled from the sheer pressure of suppressed anxiety.
Oh no… too much. That was too much. I just wanted them to attend class, not declare war on the faculty!
He forced a tight smile.
"W-Wait. Hold on. I didn't say it was exactly them. I just said I heard things, alright? It might not be true."
But they weren't listening.
"We should challenge them to a public duel!"
"No. They don't deserve honor. We should drag them through the streets!"
"We'll wipe their names off every registry in Silver Blade City!"