The Villain Professor's Second Chance

"This concludes our lecture series for the half-semester," he announced, his voice cool and deliberate. Immediately, a ripple of murmurs spread across the room. Draven could feel the anxiety in the air, an almost palpable wave. He saw students exchanging glances, eyes wide with unease, others slumping in their seats, clearly wishing for another week before the exams.

"There will be a test next week," he continued, his words delivered with an unflinching bluntness. "If you've followed the classes closely and remember everything well, you will pass with flying colors."

A wave of nervousness visibly washed over the students, and Draven could see it from the way their shoulders tensed, from the shuffling of papers as they glanced at their notes. His gaze scanned over the lecture hall, resting on a trio that stood out among the rest—Elara, Amberine, and Maris. Even they, despite their usual composure, seemed slightly uneasy.

Amberine, especially, looked like she was ready to combust under the pressure—perhaps literally, given her affinity for fire magic.

Draven paused for a moment, letting the silence stretch. He observed the panic and anxiety etched across the faces of his students, even among his most promising ones. Then, he decided to give them something to ease their minds. His eyes narrowed, a hint of calculation behind the icy blue.

"A hint," he said.

The shift was immediate. The anxiety seemed to drain away as students straightened in their seats, their attention laser-focused on him. The room, which had been buzzing with murmurs and whispers, fell dead silent, the tension suddenly replaced by anticipation. Continue reading at empire

"Understand the concept," he said, his voice calm but firm. "Don't just memorize the material. Understand it, and you will pass with flying colors."n/ô/vel/b//in dot c//om

For a moment, silence followed his words. It was as if his students were all absorbing that single line, processing its implications. He allowed them the moment, his sharp gaze lingering on each face, lingering particularly on his three peculiar students.

Amberine's eyes widened slightly, her lips pressed into a line as if she was trying to gauge how useful that hint would be for her. Maris, beside her, leaned forward, her eyes reflecting determination, her pen poised to jot down notes even though no specific details had been given.

Elara, in contrast, seemed to be lost in thought, her eyes focused somewhere beyond Draven as she absorbed his words in silence.

The anxiety had lessened, and that was enough. Draven turned towards his notes, his sharp gaze flicking over them one last time before giving a curt nod. "Class dismissed."

Chairs scraped against the floor, and a cacophony of noise erupted as students began to gather their things. Draven paid them little mind, his eyes already moving to the papers in front of him, mentally organizing his next tasks.

He stepped down from the podium, his robes flowing around him as he made his way toward the exit. His assistant, Yuli, a small figure with chestnut hair tied into a neat bun, quickly walked up beside him, her eyes darting around nervously. She was always like that—quiet, hesitant, never quite able to keep eye contact.

Draven had accepted that about her; she was capable, which was what mattered to him.

"Professor Draven," she called, her voice almost drowned out by the noise of students moving about. "Um, about the exam... would it be possible for me to have a look at the test papers in advance?"

Draven turned his head slightly, his eyes falling on her. Yuli visibly flinched under his gaze, her shoulders tensing. He regarded her for a moment before giving a curt nod.

"You will have access to the notes," he said, his voice cool and detached. "They should help you better understand the concepts yourself. It will be beneficial for the students as well."

Yuli's eyes widened slightly, and then, to Draven's mild surprise, her face brightened, her usual timidity momentarily replaced by genuine excitement. "Yes! Thank you, Professor!" she said, her voice filled with enthusiasm. It was a rare display from her, and Draven noted it with a fleeting thought—it was unusual, but perhaps good for her.

He walked through the halls of the Magic Tower University, the students giving him a wide berth, no one daring to disturb the formidable professor. His steps were purposeful, his stride long as he headed for his office. The doors opened automatically with a flick of his hand, and Draven stepped inside.

His office was a large, dimly lit room, the walls lined with shelves upon shelves of books. Artifacts and magical items were displayed on pedestals and tables, each carefully placed. It was meticulously organized, every object having a place. Draven was not someone who tolerated chaos—order was essential for efficiency.

As soon as he stepped inside, his psychokinesis went into effect. The books floated off the shelves, aligning themselves into neat rows. Papers shuffled themselves into stacks, the quills and pens organizing into perfect lines on his desk.

Draven had recently discovered a more advanced way of utilizing his psychokinesis—he could now save the condition of his room, setting specific configurations for different tasks. It was like having a dozen different versions of his office, each tailored to a particular activity.

He closed his eyes for a moment, his mind giving a simple command: Research.

The room seemed to come alive. The bookshelves moved, the books he needed sliding out and floating to his desk, pages flipping open to the exact chapters he had last been working on. His whiteboard cleared itself of the notes from his lectures, new symbols and equations scrawling themselves across its surface. Papers floated around him, organized neatly by category.

Yuli stood at the door, watching in awe as the room rearranged itself. "Amazing..." she muttered under her breath, her eyes wide. Draven, as usual, paid her no heed, his focus entirely on his work. He moved to his desk, his fingers brushing against the floating books, his sharp eyes scanning the pages as he absorbed the information.

It was all a matter of efficiency. There was no need for wasted movement, no need to spend precious minutes rearranging his workspace. Everything was where it needed to be, ready for him to continue his research.

He reached out with a single thought, and an envelope floated towards him, accompanied by a piece of high-quality parchment. He took them both in his hands, turning to Yuli.

"Take this," he said, holding the envelope out to her.

Yuli blinked, clearly surprised. She stepped forward, her hands reaching out hesitantly. Her fingers brushed against the envelope, and her eyes widened when she realized how thick it was. "W-What is this, P-Professor?" she stammered, her voice trembling.

Draven's gaze was impassive as he looked at her. "Payment for the extra hours you've been working," he said, his tone cold and direct. "Take it."

Yuli's eyes widened further, her lips parting in surprise. For a moment, she simply stared at the envelope, her hands trembling slightly. Then, slowly, a smile spread across her face—small, hesitant, but genuine.

"Thank you, Professor," she said, her voice soft, filled with gratitude.

Draven simply nodded, turning away from her, his attention already shifting back to his work. "Take the day off early today," he said, his voice dismissive. "I will be leaving early as well."

Yuli blinked, looking up at him, her eyes filled with confusion. "Y-You will, Professor?" she asked, her voice uncertain.

Draven did not respond, his focus entirely on the books in front of him. Yuli hesitated for a moment longer before bowing deeply, her voice filled with respect. "Thank you again, Professor. I will see you tomorrow."

Draven gave a slight nod, not looking up as Yuli gathered her things and left the office, the door closing softly behind her. Silence filled the room, broken only by the faint rustle of pages as the books continued to float around Draven.

Of course, his statement about leaving early had been a lie. This version of Draven was a clone, an extension of himself sent to handle his duties at the university. He never truly left the Magic Tower University—his clone was always here, always present. But even as a clone, he had his limitations. He needed to eat, and he needed to rest.

The Herculean Physique ability allowed him to function with very little sleep, but even then, comfort was a necessity.

He moved towards the wall of his office, his gaze fixed on a particular panel. With a flick of his hand, the panel slid aside, revealing a hidden compartment. A bed, neatly made and clearly comfortable, extended out from the wall, the sheets crisp and clean. Draven had prepared this hidden space for himself—a place where he could rest, away from prying eyes.

His office was divided into several sections. The main office was filled with bookshelves, artifacts, and other tools of his trade. To the side, there was a personal study, a place for professors to rest, have tea, or simply take a break from their work. Draven, of course, had modified it to suit his own needs—a hidden bed, a small stove for tea, everything arranged perfectly for his comfort.

And then, there was his personal laboratory. It was connected to his office, a space filled with high-end tools for magical research and experiments. The equipment here mirrored what he had in his secret chamber at Drakhan Mansion, allowing him to continue his research uninterrupted, no matter where he was.

Draven walked towards the lab, his gaze falling on the various tools and devices laid out across the tables. The research he was conducting was intricate, complex—something that most mages would consider impossible. It was a blend of necromancy and chaos magic, a harmony that would bring about a major advancement in dungeon studies.

It was a controversial topic, one that would undoubtedly raise eyebrows at the upcoming symposium, but Draven was not one to shy away from controversy.

He moved to one of the tables, his eyes scanning the notes and diagrams spread out before him. The symbols were complex, the calculations intricate, but to Draven, they were as clear as day. He picked up a quill, his hand moving with precision as he made a few adjustments, his mind already several steps ahead, envisioning the outcome of his experiment.

The harmony between necromancy and chaos magic was delicate—a balance that required absolute control and precision. Necromancy was often seen as a destructive force, something dark and malevolent. Chaos magic, on the other hand, was unpredictable, volatile.

But Draven had found a way to bring them together, to create something that was not just destructive, but also creative—a new form of magic that could change the very foundation of dungeon studies.

He glanced at the crystal orb on the table, its surface shimmering with a dark light. It was the core of his experiment, the focal point of the magic he was trying to create. Draven reached out, his fingers brushing against the orb, and he closed his eyes, feeling the energy within it—the raw, untamed power of chaos, the cold, calculated essence of necromancy.

It was a delicate balance, one that required absolute focus and control. Draven took a deep breath, his mind clearing as he began to channel his magic, his will shaping the energy within the orb. The room seemed to darken, the air growing thick with power as the two opposing forces began to merge, the lines between them blurring.

For a moment, there was silence—complete, utter silence. And then, slowly, the orb began to glow, the dark light shifting, changing, becoming something new. Draven opened his eyes, his gaze fixed on the orb, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

It was working.

The harmony between necromancy and chaos was fragile, but it was there—balanced, controlled, a testament to Draven's skill and understanding of magic. He watched as the light within the orb shifted, becoming brighter, more stable. This was it—the culmination of his research, the proof that his theories were correct.

Draven took a step back, his eyes never leaving the orb. This was what he would present at the symposium—a new form of magic, a new way of understanding the forces that shaped their world. It was risky, controversial, but Draven was not one to shy away from risk. He thrived on it, thrived on pushing the boundaries of what was possible.

He turned away from the orb, his gaze falling on the notes spread out across the table. There was still much to do, still much to refine and perfect. But for now, he was satisfied. He had made progress, and that was enough.

Draven moved back to his desk, his eyes scanning the books and papers that floated around him. He took a deep breath, his mind already shifting to the next task, the next challenge. There was always more to do, always more to learn. And Draven would not stop—not until he had achieved everything he had set out to do.

He glanced at the door, the silence of his office pressing in around him. The university was quiet now, the students gone, the halls empty. Draven closed his eyes for a moment, his mind calming, his body relaxing.

This was his world—a world of knowledge, of magic, of endless possibilities. And Draven would explore every corner of it, push every boundary, until there was nothing left to discover.