Teachers at the academy were always busy. Not only did they have to prepare lessons, but there were also many documents to fill out.

From lesson plans to budget allocations and work-related reports, and even courtesy letters to other subject teachers to ensure smooth coordination in the future, some might consider these formalities unnecessary. However, such etiquette was essential for building healthy relationships.

For most academy staff, spending the entire day at their desks doing paperwork had become routine.

However…

"Damn it! Damn it all! This is bullshit!"

It wasn't a teacher but a man seated at the desk, diligently working through a mountain of paperwork.

This man was Demian Follett, Ihan's assistant for the next three years, currently handling all the paperwork in Ihan’s stead.

‘That damned instructor!’

Demian had lived his life as a refined noble young master, far removed from cursing. Yet, after spending over a week buried in paperwork, he now cursed as naturally as he breathed. The dark circles under his eyes spoke volumes about his stress and fatigue.

…And indeed, he was exhausted. He hadn’t set foot in his dorm for over a week.

‘A dorm? Does this academy even have such a thing?’ He muttered nonsensically.

Demian, originally a dorm resident, now found himself spending far more time in the staff lounge. It wasn’t that he couldn’t find the time to return to the dorms—it was simply impossible.

During the day, he had to attend both elective and mandatory courses, in addition to assisting Ihan. However, his duties weren’t limited to mere assistance.

• You should be training too. Why are you acting like this has nothing to do with you?

 

Ihan, as if it wasn’t enough to keep him running around, subjected him to rigorous training under the pretext of improvement. As a result, Demian was caught between attending to Ihan and enduring brutal training sessions.

And even after the lectures and training were done...

• Should I be doing this? No, my assistant should handle it.

 

A pile of documents would land on Demian’s desk. He’d thought about protesting but one glance into Ihan’s eyes was enough to silence him. He feared he’d die if he didn’t comply.

And so, processing Ihan’s paperwork became Demian’s new daily routine. At some point, the time spent returning to his dorm started to feel like a waste, so he began living in the staff lounge, practically becoming a permanent resident there.

Initially, some staff members were surprised to see him set up camp in the lounge, but by now, no one paid any attention to him.

"Oh ho, a swordsmanship instructor already has an assistant? Impressive."

"Haha, it’s always amusing to see. How long do you think this assistant will last before he drops out?"

"Hmm, I’d say he’ll be gone by the end of the semester."

It was a familiar sight to the other faculty members—the sight of an assistant living in the lounge and drowning in work.

Demian shuddered.

He had heard that many of his predecessors had successfully fled (dropped out), but for him, it wasn’t an option.

Three years.

He was bound to this hell for three whole years as Ihan’s eternal servant... no, his assistant.

"Damned…"

Demian muttered another curse, his eyes welling up with tears.

 

"How did Demian Follett end up like this?"

A cadet with ashen gray hair observed the staff room, blinking in confusion.

This wasn’t how things were supposed to go.

Demian Follett wasn’t supposed to be stuck doing all this.

"Why is he doing paperwork instead of being Irene Windler’s follower?"

The gray-haired cadet pondered. Something had gone wrong.

This wasn’t how the story was supposed to unfold.

Something was off.

"Where did it go wrong…?"

The gray-haired cadet continued to think, and just then...

"Cadet, what are you doing over there?"

"Y-Yes?!"

"You’ve been muttering to yourself for a while now. Is there a problem?"

"N-No, not at all."

"Really? Ah, are you perhaps interested in assisting? If so, I recommend joining the history department! We have plenty of fresh material to study every year!"

"Uh, no, actually…"

"Come, come! Let me tell you all about the exciting aspects of being a history department assistant!"

"Ugh…"

The gray-haired cadet seemed to struggle with communication, and it appeared that they had unfortunately caught the attention of a very enthusiastic (and somewhat unhinged) professor from the history department.

That day, the cadet had to endure five hours of being told why they should become a history department assistant.

 

It had been a week since the semester officially began.

Though a short time, it could feel incredibly eventful to some.

And for Ihan, the week spent at the swordsmanship department had been nothing short of intense.

‘I never realized teaching kids would be this hard.’

He suddenly found himself respecting the teachers who had taught him in his previous life.

Well, some of them, at least.

There were still a few who didn’t deserve the title.

Teachers who didn’t deserve to be called teachers.

"...If I met them now, I’d kill them all."

"T-Turtle Sir."

"Yes?"

"...You might want to keep your muttering a bit quieter."

"...Ah."

It dawned on Ihan that he was currently at a faculty meeting. A few people had heard his mutterings and were staring at him, their eyes trembling.

‘...Well, I’ve certainly secured my place as the outcast.’

Acknowledging his mistake, Ihan sighed quietly.

It hadn’t been intentional.

Deciding to offer an explanation, he tried to clarify.

"...When I say ‘kill,’ I don’t mean it literally. I was just thinking of some particularly inhuman individuals."

"O-Oh, I see."

"I’m serious."

"Yes, of course…"

"……."

The faces looking at him showed absolutely no belief.

 

The meeting room was quite large, packed with instructors, professors, and faculty members, numbering 112 in total.

Including the impassioned headmaster delivering a lengthy speech, that made 113.

"—Respected faculty members, I am grateful for all of you. It is thanks to your hard work that we produce such excellent cadets. And remember, fine cadets are the true treasures of this nation! Ah, speaking of treasures, it reminds me of when I was serving in the Chancellor’s office…"

The headmaster seemed to be in his own world. He had claimed the speech would be brief, but it had already gone on for an hour.

‘I swear I’ve heard this same line before…’

Feeling a strange sense of déjà vu, Ihan let the words wash over him, turning his attention to the faculty member who had spoken to him earlier.

"Is this what faculty meetings are usually like?"

"...Well, most of it is just listening to the headmaster. If you have any suggestions, it’s better to bring them to the vice principal."

The faculty member still looked nervous but was kind enough to provide a sincere answer.

"So, can I leave?"

"Hmm, professors typically don’t attend these unless they have to. They’re often busy with research, so the headmaster understands. But for the rest of us, it’s best to attend whenever possible."

"Why?"

"The headmaster is a former Chancellor, you see. He’s still active and influential."

"...Ah."

It made sense now.

Who in their right mind would dare cross a man who had once been one of the kingdom’s top five most powerful people?

...Wait. Someone had challenged him during the entrance ceremony.

‘That was me, wasn’t it?’

Hmm…

"Haha, don’t worry too much. The headmaster doesn’t get hung up on trivial matters."

"I smashed the podium."

"...Well, I hate to break it to you, but this kind of thing happens every three years or so. In other words, it's a minor incident."

"..."

...So there had been others before him.

Somehow, Ihan felt a strange sense of camaraderie and smiled warmly.

It seemed that when people got frustrated, they tended to break things, no matter where they were.

It wasn’t just him.

"...But please be careful next time. I had to repair that podium."

"Oh, did you? Thanks for that. By the way, may I ask your name?"

"Hans Schmidt. I’m the instructor for the metallurgy department and the head of the Blacksmiths’ Guild."

"You’re an important man."

"Haha, it’s not much."

Not much, indeed.

But Hans was definitely not someone to be underestimated. The head of the Blacksmiths’ Guild was likely one of the top craftsmen, and for someone who used blades, he was an invaluable connection.

This academy was turning out to be quite entertaining.

‘Sitting next to a top-tier blacksmith? This is amazing.’

It was like having Jang Yeong-sil as a coworker.

Smiling, Ihan casually asked.

"Do you know any glassmakers? All the dishware in my house keeps breaking, and I need something sturdier."

"...You’re quite the unique knight. Most knights who meet me just ask for a new sword."

"A sword is a sword. As long as it cuts well and is durable, that’s enough. Losing or breaking an expensive one would be too painful."

"...You really are unique, haha."

It was refreshing to Hans, who was used to knights constantly clamoring for the finest blades.

He was starting to see Ihan in a more positive light.

"So, will you introduce me to a glassmaker or not?"

"...Buy me a meal sometime, and I’ll set you up."

"Deal."

Ihan and Hans bumped fists lightly.

It seemed Ihan had successfully made a valuable connection.

Then, suddenly…

"But Hans, there’s something I’ve been curious about. Can I ask?"

"Of course, go ahead."

"There’s been someone glaring at me for a while now. Who is that?"

Ihan asked politely, his smile never fading.

Hans followed Ihan’s gaze and sighed.

"...Hmm. Did you do something to upset him?"

"I’ve never seen him before today."

"...In that case, I’d recommend avoiding him."

"Why’s that?"

"Well, you see…"

As Hans explained further, Ihan’s smile grew colder, and he pinched his nose as if to block a foul odor.

‘I knew it. I’ve been smelling something disgusting nearby this whole time…’

Sigh.

So, there was a mage around.