Caelus and Kain stepped through a set of towering double doors into a magnificent lecture hall. Rows upon rows of cascading aisles stretched upward, while shelves lined the walls, crammed with magical tools, rare artifacts, and ancient grimoires. At the very front was a grand piano that seemed like it was meant more for decoration than to be utilized.
And then there were the students — dozens of them — who all turned to stare the moment Caelus crossed the threshold.
Kain let out a low whistle.
"Look at that, Caelus. Already famous."
"Shut up," he sighed.
As they made their way down the aisle, the air filled with hushed murmurs and pointless questions Caelus had heard far too many times by now.
Kain scanned the room for open seats, but most had already been claimed by tight-knit noble cliques. As always, the young ladies clustered with their tea party companions, while the men gathered in boisterous groups.
Not much left except...
"...Seriously?" Kain muttered, brow twitching. "What do you think, Caelus? Should we risk getting eaten alive for this?"
The only available space was a lone booth near the front, where a certain girl with pristine white hair and indifferent scarlet eyes sat alone. As always, she wore a cultural uniform beneath the standardized Rhodeia robe.
"Knock it off, asshole," Rosalina muttered without even looking up.
Kain visibly gulped.
"Caelus... she's gonna eat my ass."
Without missing a beat, Rosalina reached over, grabbed his cheek, and gave it a vicious twist.
"Ow, ow! Hey, what the hell—?! Let go, you freak!"
"Oh, I'm the freak? You're the one yelling about ass-eating in public, you degenerate!"
"Yeah, because you should eat ass! Just not mine!"
She yanked harder.
"Agh! C-Caelus! A little help here, man!"
Caelus sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. It hadn't even been a full day since the Erinel Forest incident, and these two were already back at each other's throats.
After a brief tussle, Kain finally managed to pull away.
"Tch... that actually hurt, you know!"
"Good," Rosalina replied flatly. "That was the point."
"You really are a damn witch. Hey, Caelus, you sit next to her. I'm not getting assaulted twice."
Caelus hesitated, glancing Rosalina's way. She was glaring daggers at him, silently daring him to take Kain's side. He weighed his options and found neither particularly appealing.
"Hurry up," she sighed, scooting aside. "The professor will be here any second now. Don't leave a bad first impression."
"Pretty sure you've already handled that part," Kain muttered.
She shot him a withering look, and he jumped back a step. With a sigh, Caelus claimed the middle seat between the two of them, resigned to whatever fresh chaos this lecture would bring.
Suddenly, the doors at the back of the lecture hall slammed open. A hush fell over the room as all eyes turned toward the source of the heavy footsteps.
Descending the aisle was a tall man clad in a finely decorated suit, his long, tangled ivory hair falling past his hips. His cold, disdainful gaze swept over the students — piercing sapphire eyes that seemed to look straight through them. Each step he took tightened the air in the hall.
He came to a stop at the front of the hall, resting a hand on the podium. For a moment, the room remained frozen, waiting.
Then, in a voice deep and sharp as a blade, he spoke.
"I greet you students as Archeota Lancinox, your Liberal Arts professor. You may address me however you wish — Professor, Mister, by my name. I have no preference."
From a window seat near the right, a student rose to her feet. Long, wavy hair like liquid gold spilled over her shoulders. Her emerald eyes, bright and steady, met the professor's icy glare without flinching.
"Aria D'Angelica, sir," she said clearly.
The professor placed a hand over his chest, offering a formal nod.
"Your Imperial Highness. An honor it is to have you in my class. What is it you wish to say?"
"With all due respect," Aria replied, her voice calm yet resolute, "I believe it would be proper for us to address you as Professor Archeota. It would be unseemly for students to refer to their instructor in such a casual manner."
"Is that so? Forgive me. It's my first time teaching a class of this standing. Very well. You shall address me as Professor Archeota. Now, are there any other questions?"
From the second row came a hand.
"Maxwell Platinus, sir," he announced.
A dry scoff escaped the professor.
"So many notable houses in one classroom. This year promises to be insufferably extravagant. What is it?"
Maxwell smiled, lounging back in his seat with an air of casual arrogance.
"You mentioned it's your first time teaching a class of this caliber. So naturally, I couldn't help but wonder... do you even have the qualifications to be standing there in the first place?"
A collective gasp rippled through the room, followed by a heavy, suffocating silence.
To question a professor's authority in the hallowed halls of Rhodeia was unthinkable, let alone an entire class. And yet, no one dared to voice a word of protest.
Maxwell's grin didn't falter. If anything, it widened, as though the whole thing was some private joke meant only for him.
Then came a low chuckle. It wasn't Maxwell. It wasn't anyone nearby. It came from the front of the lecture hall, where the professor stood.
"Every year, it's the same thing," he muttered. "I hold out hope that the next generation might prove me wrong — that they will be different. And yet, without fail, there's always some overconfident brat who believes they've already earned a seat at the summit, never realizing how small they truly are."
A ripple of shocked gasps filled the room. It was one thing for a student to challenge a professor — but for a professor to openly insult a noble scion? Unheard of.
Maxwell's smirk faded, replaced by a taut scowl. "Small? Is that what you think I am?"
"If not that, then what would you call yourself?"
"A man whose position towers far above yours, Professor Archeota. I suggest you choose your next words wisely."
But the professor only scoffed, unconvinced.
"And there it is. The first, flimsy shield of every pampered dignitary. Status."
One of Maxwell's lackeys shot to his feet.
"How dare a mere professor—!"
His words died the moment a sharp thud echoed through the room. An ice shard, slender and lethal, buried itself in the desk mere inches from his head.
Silence.
All eyes snapped to the front. Archeota hadn't even raised a hand. He stood there with his arms behind his back, the faintest trace of frost lingering in the air around him.
"Picture yourself on a battlefield," he said, his voice cold as the shard itself. "Do you truly believe your enemy will lower their blade at the mention of your house? Will they spare you at the sight of your family's crest? Had I intended to strike you, boy, you would already be dead. Now do you understand? Now do you see the folly in that which you claim to hold so much power?"
The lackey slumped back into his seat, pale and trembling.
Archeota straightened and turned, his gaze sweeping the room.
"Let me make one thing abundantly clear. Not just to you, child of Platinus, but to all of you. I do not bow to noble blood, nor will I shun those without it. You may find that other professors will heed your family's name, but I most certainly will not. Here in my classroom, your status means nothing. All that matters is capability. And if you can't prove it, I won't hesitate to expel you where you stand."
He let those words hang, a blade in the air.
"Now, would anyone else like to interrupt my class?"
Not a single hand stirred.
"Excellent. What a charming first impression you've left me with. I assure you, I won't be forgetting it anytime soon."
With that, he turned to the blackboard, and class began.