Perhaps...
This is the sincerity that makes a person the protagonist of a story?
Well, Reynard didn't care about that. He was too lazy to even think it twice.
The system chose this moment to flare bright before his eyes:
[New Mission Assigned!]
[Assist Protagonist Arwen in the successful development of Distilled Medicinal Alcohol.]
[Reward: Improved Reputation (Hidden). System Shop Unlock Tier 1. Failure Penalty: -20 Comfort. Loss of Wine Privileges.]
Reynard's head snapped up. "What— wine privileges?!"
The system screen sparkled like a mischievous imp.
[If you don't help him, no more alcohol in your lazy professor life. Help him, and not only do you keep your drinks— you'll get better ones.]
"…You dirty blackmailer."
Arwen tilted his head. "Professor?"
"…Professor Reynard," he said slowly, voice tight with caution. "Why are you… helping me?"
Reynard plastered on a scoundrel's smirk, leaning back and tossing the notes onto the desk. "Who said I'm helping? I just couldn't stand seeing such an amateur mistake. Do you know how embarrassing it would be for me if my student tried this and blew up half the lab? My reputation would sink lower than yours."
Reynard propped his chin on his palm as he said. "Hmph. These are half-baked at best. But since I'm such a generous mentor, I'll fix them for you."
The system gave him a virtual clap, complete with the sound of sarcastic applause.
[Congratulations, Host! Mission progress: 10%.]
[Acting like a scoundrel while secretly helping… ooh, the plot it truly chef's kiss! Please keep it up!]
Reynard gritted his teeth.
'Chef's kiss my ass!'
'I swear this system enjoys mocking me more than helping me.'
Arwen, however, wasn't convinced. His hands tightened on the stack of papers. He remembered too well what this professor had been like before. Lazy, greedy, always quick to steal others' achievements and belittle their efforts. The sudden "help" felt more like a trap than goodwill.
"…I'll take it under consideration," Arwen said curtly, snatching the diagram back and hugging the papers protectively. His posture screamed distrust.
Reynard leaned back in his chair with a mocking laugh. "Suit yourself, kid. Struggle all you like. Just don't cry when your flask shatters and covers you in a reeking mess of spoiled mash."
Arwen scowled.
Reynard waved his hand lazily, as if bestowing divine grace. "Don't misunderstand. I'm not doing it for you. This is to save the department's reputation; if word got out that my assistant was boiling weeds like a street alchemist, they'd laugh me out of the academy. Naturally, I must intervene."
The system whispered gleefully:
[Perfect! Keep playing the scoundrel. That way, you can help him without suspicion. Your role is safe!]
So Reynard leaned back, feet on the desk, and drawled instructions like a tyrant lord giving crumbs to a servant.
"Your ratio here is wrong, too much water, it'll never purify. Your fire source is uneven; you'll scorch the herbs. And these glass flasks? Cheap things are always useless. Replace them with proper coiled copper tubing, coiled. Go to the smithy. Tell them I said so."
The system, of course, had the audacity to applaud at his misfortune.
[Beautiful! The protagonist hates you, yet you've already nudged him in the right direction. This dynamic is priceless ♥]
Reynard buried his face in his hands.
This is going to be a long, long semester.
'Now that I gave him the pointers, he can do the rest of it all by himself, right? I can go back to napping.'
But the system chimed again, merciless:
[Oh no, Professor. You're not done yet. A true mentor oversees experiments. Get your lazy self off that chair.]
Reynard froze. "You're kidding me."
The system sparkled. "Walk. Supervise. Or say goodbye to your wine."
Reynard groaned.
The next hours dragged into an unexpected blur. Reynard found himself reluctantly leaning over flames, pointing out the right temperature by instinct. He steadied the glassware Arwen fumbled with. He scolded him for nearly touching boiling liquid with his bare hands.
And when the first batch came out clear, a sharp medicinal scent rising from the flask, Arwen's eyes shone like twin stars.
"It worked!" the boy gasped, holding the flask with trembling fingers. "Professor— it actually worked!"
Reynard pretended to yawn. "Of course it did. I'm your professor. Don't act so surprised."
Just as Arwen was excited, as if getting beaten by a bat behind his head, the guy scowled at Reynard again.
'The nerve of the brat to scowl at me?' Reynard also noticed the change in his expression as he was irritated, but the system seemed to intervene at the right time.
[But you got to preserve your half-ass reputation now, right?]
[See? Helping him isn't so bad, is it?]
Reynard scowled, shoving his hands into his robe sleeves. "I did it for the wine."
Arwen bent down, scooping the last of the scattered papers back into his arms with sharp, efficient movements. His eyes never once looked at Reynard, as though pretending the professor's presence alone was an irritant. Reynard, still crouched on the floor, dusted his hands off and gave a little sigh.
"Finally, I can get some sleep," Reynard muttered under his breath, watching Arwen gather up the documents as though his very life depended on them.
Arwen didn't respond, not even offer a curt nod of thanks as he pressed the pile of papers tightly against his chest and made a run for the door. His jaw was clenched, his posture stiff, like a soldier bracing against some unseen blow.
Reynard leaned back in his chair, crossing one leg lazily over the other. He watched the boy's retreating figure while suddenly a thought crossed his mind as he stopped Arwen.
"Wait a moment. Which department professor am I supposed to be again?"
The words slipped out with a tone of genuine curiosity. Reynard honestly hadn't the faintest clue, because this wasn't his world, after all, and what exactly did "Material Science and Engineering" translate to in this kingdom's academic system? Alchemy? Metallurgy? General Inconvenience Studies?