「 DING! 」
Arrival Confirmed.
Identity: Professor Cain Ashford
Location: Private Office, Gazers Stronghold
Status: Undercover Professor at Arc Freedom Academy
True Affiliation: High-Rank Member of The Gazers
Mission: Retrieve Ignacius
Time Limit: 7 Days
Penalty for Failure: Death
The papers scattered across my desk spell out my entire fraudulent life. Professor Cain Ashford—brilliant educator, impeccable record, completely fake. Tomorrow's my first day at the academy.
"Out of every damn skill I could've chosen in Vista Myr… I forgot detection. Genius move."
I lean back, dragging a hand down my face. Of all the skills I could've grabbed in Vista Myr, why didn't I pick something actually useful? Like sensing danger before it stabs me in the back?
Right. Because I had unlimited options and my brain decided to take a vacation.
Standing up, I head for the door. The corridor outside is busy—servants rushing around, a few Gazers members nodding respectfully as I pass. Their emblems peek out from under dark cloaks.
I'm living in a terrorist base now. Great. This is fine. Everything's fine.
Walking down the hallway, I try piecing together what I remember from the novel. Main character: Ignacius Niall. Student council president. Last year at the academy. There's a tournament arc coming. The Gazers attack the crystal and fail miserably in the original timeline.
But my mission says "Retrieve Ignacius." What does that even mean? Kidnap him? Kill him? Befriend him and hope he follows me home like a stray cat? The system's instructions are about as clear as mud.
"Damn it."
My reflection in a passing window makes me stop. What the hell happened to me?
My hair's been restyled—swept dramatically to the left. I'm wearing a black pinstriped polo with matching black gloves. Did the novel just... redress me? While I wasn't looking?
「 The system cheers you that you looked cool in your disguise! >3
The system is genuinely proud of playing dress-up with me.
"Aren't you enjoying this too much? What a weirdo," I mutter. At least one of us is having fun with this disaster. I need rest before I collapse. All the dimension-hopping and memory-absorbing is catching up fast.
My chambers—because apparently Professor Ashford lives like royalty—have a bed that probably costs more than my old house. I don't even bother taking off the gloves before face-planting onto it. The ceiling stares back. Ornate. Detailed. Completely uncaring. I'm on rails now. The system's path. Forward is the only direction that exists anymore.
"Rest," I whisper. "Just need to rest." My eyes close.
In the darkness, the thought hits: No one's going to wake me up tomorrow. No Anta bursting in. No complaints about nightmares. No little brother.
Just silence. "I'll take you back..." The promise slips out to a ghost who'll never hear it. Then sleep takes me under.
Knock knock. I sit up, forcing my eyes open. Bad habits die hard.
"Come in." A maid enters, bowing as she sets down breakfast. I eat on autopilot, barely tasting anything. My phone rings. Unknown number.
I answer.
"Congratulations, Professor Ino. We've assigned you a classroom." The voice is cheerful, professional—the kind that probably smiles while signing death warrants. "Given your excellent background, you'll be teaching 4th Year Class A. Any objections?"
Fourth year. Ignacius's class. Because of course the system would throw me directly at the protagonist. "No objections," I say flatly. "Looking forward to it."
Lie. Total lie.
"Wonderful! The opening ceremony starts soon. You won't be late, will you?" There's a pointed edge under the politeness.
"I'll be there." The call ends. I stare at the phone. Ceremony. Public stage. Hundreds of people. Multiple chances to get exposed as a fraud. This is going perfectly. Just perfectly.
I signal the maid out and get ready. The clothes laid out are exactly what I saw in the reflection—black pinstriped polo, black gloves, the whole dramatic professor look. Another knock.
"Sir Ino, the teleportation portal is ready whenever you are," Geno calls from outside. I follow him to a room dominated by a swirling magical portal. We step through together. Brief weightlessness. Stomach flip. Then we're standing at Arc Freedom Academy's main gate.
The building is massive—glass and stone architecture blending modern and classical styles. The kind of design that screams "we have ridiculous amounts of money."
"I'll take my leave now, Sir Ino. Call if you need anything." Geno's gone before I can respond, vanishing like smoke. Assassin butler with a flair for dramatic exits. Why not. Nothing's normal anyway.
I follow the stream of professors into a huge auditorium. My assigned seat is near the stage—front row, naturally. Can't make anything easy. "Welcome, everyone."
The voice fills every corner. I look up to see a man in elegant robes at the podium, radiating decades of authority. "I'm Venetian Deusch Serenity, principal of Arc Freedom Academy."
Thunderous applause. Students look at him like he's some kind of hero. He launches into the standard welcome speech—excellence, potential, opportunity, all the usual buzzwords. I tune most of it out, scanning the crowd instead. Then Venetian steps down from the podium. As he passes my seat, our eyes meet.
He smiles.
Not a friendly smile. A knowing smile.
My gut twists. He suspects something.
But there's no time to worry because—
"Now, let me introduce our current student council president. Ignacius Niall, please come to the stage." The applause intensifies. I watch as a figure with bright red hair and bored amethyst eyes walks up to the podium.
There he is. The protagonist.
He looks like he'd rather be literally anywhere else.
"Aa... mic check." His voice is flat, irritated. "I'm Ignacius Niall. Ignis for short. Been student council president for three years. Starting my fourth year now."
He grips the podium edges, knuckles going white.
"I'll be straightforward since I hate wasting time. I don't care who you are or where you came from. Can't follow the rules? Leave. Don't waste my time or yours." Some students shift uncomfortably. Others lean forward, intrigued.
"Council positions are earned through strength. Period. Want a spot? Prove you deserve it. Want to challenge me?" He points at the crowd. "Go ahead. I never decline." His tone drops, cold and sharp.
"I especially despise cowards who prey on the weak. Try that shit here… and you won't survive long enough to regret it." A pause. Then he yawns right in the middle of his own speech.
The audacity.
"Three classifications matter here: student council, disciplinary committee, saint candidates. Everything else is background noise. That's all I've got to say." He straightens up. "Keep moving forward."
The room explodes into noise. Half the students look offended. The other half look inspired. A few seem genuinely confused about whether they should be impressed or insulted.
I get it though. Every word is backed by confidence in his strength. He's not here to inspire anyone—he's establishing the hierarchy. Power is the only currency that matters at this academy.
Principal Venetian turns to me, gesturing subtly. My turn.
I stand, walking to the stage. Every eye in the auditorium tracks my movement. Fantastic.
Reaching the podium, I don't bother with pleasantries.
"I'm Professor Ino Siente," I said, voice steady and commanding. "New instructor for Class 4-A." I let my gaze sweep across the crowd, making eye contact with random students. "First, congratulations on passing the entrance exam. That's the easy part." I pause, watching their reactions.
"This academy doesn't reward effort alone. You either push beyond your limits… or you fall behind. There is no in-between." I slowly adjusted my black gloves.
"You can slack off if you want—it's your choice. But remember, we can also choose not to waste our time on students who don't put in effort. We teach those who show results, not those who make excuses." I let that sink in for a second.
"One more thing. Your background, your family name, whatever connections you think you have—none of that matters in my classroom. Show me actual skill or get out." The applause starts scattered but builds quickly. My fellow professors are smiling, nodding approval. Even Principal Venetian gives me a subtle thumbs up from his seat. Good enough.
I head back to my seat, tuning out as Venetian returns for closing remarks. Something about "Arc Freedom" meaning the academy shields the freedom gained through supernatural abilities. He gathers mana and launches it into the air—colorful magical fireworks that make the students cheer.
It's all very dramatic.
All I can think is: I need to get close to Ignacius. Fast.
I arrive at Class 4-A a few minutes late, having deliberately taken time gathering lecture materials from my office. Appearances matter, even if I've already memorized the entire curriculum thanks to Bookworm.
The classroom is stadium-style, tiered seating giving everyone a view of the teaching area. Seventy students sit waiting, watching me enter. And there, in the back corner, sits Ignacius Niall.
Red hair unmistakable. He's already slouched in his seat, looking bored out of his mind. Perfect.
I walk to the center, setting papers on the desk with deliberate care.
"Since everyone already knows who I am, we'll skip introductions." My voice cuts through the expectant silence. "Today we're covering Multiple Chantless Spells. If you think this is beyond your level, leave now. Save us both time." The room goes dead quiet. Nobody moves.
Good. Predictable.
"Teacher.." a female student raises her hand from the middle section. "Isn't chantless casting already difficult? Multiple spells would drain mana too fast, right?"
I look at her calmly. "Have you tried it?"
"I... yes, Sir."
"Then show me now."
Her eyes widen. "Here? In the classroom?"
"Problem?"
"Teacher, isn't that dangerous?" a male student calls out from the right side. "Someone could get hurt."
I keep my expression neutral. "Just cast a single-target spell at me. Should be safe enough."
The female student looks annoyed at being put on the spot but stands anyway. Her fingers extend toward me, and I feel mana gathering—ice and water elements combining as they flow from her fingertips.
The spell forms quickly and launches straight at me.
It hits dead center.
Smoke obscures the teaching area for a moment. Students lean forward, trying to see through it.
When it clears, I'm standing in exactly the same spot. Completely unscathed. The protective enchantments I wove into my clothes absorbed the impact like it was nothing.
"Teacher is... fine?" someone mutters.
"Unscathed," a bored voice confirms from the back. Ignacius, barely paying attention.
The female student sits down quickly, face flushed with embarrassment.
"Four seconds," I note, checking my mental timer. "It took you four seconds to cast that spell. For a chantless cast, that's average but not impressive."
Silence.
"I'll teach you how to reduce cooldown. But first—can anyone here cast faster than that?"
The room stays quiet. Then—
"Charlotte." Ignacius's lazy voice cuts through. He doesn't even look up from his desk.
A girl with blue hair stands confidently near the front. "I can, sensei."
"Alright, show—"
I don't finish the sentence before she's already cast. The same ice-water combination spell, but much stronger and faster.
It slams into me before I can blink.
I hold my ground, feeling the enchantments work overtime to absorb the impact.
"One point eight seconds," I say as the residual magic dissipates. "Much better."
Charlotte sits back down without a word, looking satisfied.
"Is Charlotte the fastest in this class?" I ask, scanning the room.
Nobody answers. Then, slowly, deliberately, Ignacius stands up in the back.
"I am," he says flatly.
"I know," I reply, meeting his eyes.
The challenge hangs between us. Unspoken but crystal clear.
The next moment, fire explodes from Ignacius's hand.
Not a focused spell—a wave. Pure destructive force that would have incinerated the entire classroom if I hadn't activated the protective amulet I crafted in Vista Myr.
The flames crash against an invisible barrier, dispersing harmlessly around the room.
The temperature spikes for a second before normalizing. Some students gasp. Others look terrified.
"Point seven seconds," I note calmly, though my heart is pounding. "Fastest I've seen so far."
Ignacius smirks—arrogant, mocking. "Seems like Teacher can take a hit. Good to know."
His tone carries challenge and dismissal in equal measure.
I study him carefully. This isn't quite the Ignacius from the novel. The arrogance is sharper. The danger more visible. The boredom masks something else underneath.
Has the story already changed because I'm here? Or was this always who he was?
Either way, I have seven days to figure out how to "retrieve" him.
And standing in a classroom while the protagonist tries to roast me alive is apparently how this mission begins.
"Alright," I say, turning back to the class. "Now that we've established the baseline, let's get to actual teaching. Everyone, take out your notebooks."
The students scramble to comply. But I can still feel Ignacius's eyes on my back.
Watching. Evaluating. Suspicious.
This is going to be harder than I thought.
[END OF CHAPTER 9]
Mission Update Day 1: Target Located — Ignacius Niall Initial
Contact: Hostile / Suspicious
Cover Status: Maintained (barely)
Days Remaining: 6 Days
Note: Target displays unusually high hostility toward the new professor.
Warning: Significant deviation from the original story detected.
Recommendation: Proceed with extreme caution.