“If I suddenly leave my post at the academy, just assume I’m on the run.”

Ihan said this with a drained expression to the trainees gathered before him.

“On the run?”
“Are you feeling unwell?”
“Instructor—?”

“Just take it at face value.”

“???”

Two days had passed since the commotion at the Galahad estate, and a creeping sense of unease had begun to settle in.

Wasn’t it said that humans are creatures of regret?

Ihan found himself trapped in the vicious cycle of reliving the chaos he’d caused, feeling the consequences in the present. For two nights straight, he had dreamt of being hunted by Galahad soldiers, or of the duke himself coming at him with a drawn sword.

‘Where should I run…?’

Even exile was starting to look like a viable option.

Perhaps the desert and grasslands ruled by the Sultan would suffice? It was said to be hot but surprisingly hospitable.

‘No, the heat’s not my thing.’

Then maybe he should retreat to a remote countryside with valleys and beaches to live a quiet, secluded life?

‘Nope, that’s not ideal either.’

Even if he had the look of someone who could survive anywhere, Ihan was a city dweller at heart. He’d much rather live in a well-developed urban area than endure rural life.

“Ugh.”

“Instructor, I don’t know what’s wrong, but cheer up. Kunta supports you.”

“Surprisingly sensitive for someone built like a brick wall, aren’t you?”

“…I’d rather not hear that from you, Instructor.”

“What’s wrong with me?”

“You look more barbaric than any actual barbarian.”

“Is that supposed to be an insult or a compliment?”

“???”

“…Why don’t you understand your own words?”

Ihan considered adding reading sessions to their training curriculum. Sure, sword-wielders might be called muscleheads, but they still needed a basic level of knowledge.

Somehow, thanks to the bulky trainee, Ihan temporarily forgot his worries about the duke and began contemplating the future direction of his lessons.

That was when…

“Come to think of it, the ballroom season is approaching.”
“Ah, I nearly forgot.”
“Oh no, I still haven’t found a partner…”

The chick trainees practicing the grappling techniques Ihan had taught them suddenly grew lively. The topic of the ballroom season had stirred them up.

“A ball?”

“Yes! The second semester is when the ballroom season begins. The Royal Academy Ball is coming up soon, and everyone has to attend.”

“Something like that exists?”

“Since everyone at the Royal Academy must show their face in society—whether they like it or not—it’s a mandatory event. Not attending is essentially an admission of being excluded from high society.”

“Hmm.”

“Hehe, Instructor, you’re probably thinking balls and social events are pointless, right?”

“Ah, no, it’s not that…”

…These chicks were sharper than he expected.

Was this what people called women’s intuition?

‘Is my expression really that easy to read?’

It seemed like everyone he met could see right through him.

“Well, sorry about that. But I wasn’t thinking it was pointless. It’s just… events like that aren’t familiar to me. I didn’t mean to dismiss you or anything.”

“Oh, I know, Instructor. I understand you didn’t mean it that way.”

The chick’s faint laughter trickled through her words, and the others seemed to agree.

“That’s what’s great about you, Instructor. Even though we’re young and low-ranked, you still apologize to us.”

“Exactly! Unlike some nobles or knights who are too proud to apologize and just lash out instead.”

“If only it stopped at that. Some even resort to violence. I heard about Sir Frand the other day…”

“What?! That happened? Honestly, he’s as terrible as he looks—polished on the outside, but rotten through and through.”

“Such a shame. If I’d seen him, it would’ve been a great chance to test the techniques you taught us, Instructor.”

“Exactly!”

“…Can I leave now?”

Once again, Ihan realized he shouldn’t interfere in conversations between girls.

At some point, his presence seemed to fade from their minds, and he began to feel the urge to escape.

“Hehe, to sum it up, Instructor, you’re just kind-hearted.”

“…I asked about the ball, so why is this the conclusion?”

The kind, teasing voice of the blue-haired chick reached him, and Ihan learned a valuable lesson.

‘Never butt into conversations between girls.’

It was a lesson that would stay with him for the rest of his life.

Meanwhile, a red-haired woman—Judea Pierre—watched from a distance as the female trainees mingled with the knight.

Her expression was unreadable, as always.

However, if a kind and perceptive old priest were present, they might have recognized the faint trace of emotion on her face.

And that emotion was none other than…

“…Oh, Light, how am I supposed to live like this…”

Envy.

+++++

 

Ihan shared the details of his recent escapades with one of his collaborators, who immediately reacted with wide-eyed shock.

“Y-You were summoned by the duke?!”

The collaborator, Taechang, looked as if he were on the verge of fainting.

“Is that really something to get so worked up over?”

While Taechang occasionally displayed bouts of boldness, his naturally timid personality made him prone to overreacting to trivial matters.

But Taechang rebutted fiercely.

“How could I not be shocked?! Wait, Instructor, you actually know Duke Blake Galahad? The ‘Blake of the Cursed Sword’?”

“…What kind of title is that?”

“Blake of the Cursed Sword, the duke who possesses strength rivaling that of an Aura Master. His power alone is legendary, but when wielding the Cursed Sword, he’s a walking cataclysm—a man capable of wiping out entire nations.”

“…Don’t tell me he’s some kind of important character in this world too?”

“He’s more like an event boss. Similar to Grand Duke Lionel, he wasn’t designed to be a defeat-able enemy.”

“…Then what’s the point of his existence?”

“The original development team sometimes went a little crazy and added nonsensical Easter eggs. Honestly, in the original storyline, he doesn’t do much, but it seems the devs couldn’t resist throwing him in.”

“He doesn’t do much? That duke?”

From Ihan’s perspective, Duke Blake Galahad was far from an indifferent bystander. The man was astute, capable, and undeniably remarkable. Hearing that he didn’t play an active role in the original story left Ihan puzzled.

Sensing his confusion, Taechang explained why the duke’s character had such a limited role.

“He’s written as a passive observer. You know how having someone who can control every situation completely ruins the flow of a story, right? That’s why he stays out of the action. Though, admittedly, it means his screen time is almost nonexistent.”

“Does he have any moments of significance?”

“Oh, he does.”

“When?”

“When Irene Windler falls from grace.”

“…Ah.”

Ihan nodded, recalling a detail about the story’s original plot.

“Wasn’t Irene Windler originally one of the three major villainesses?”

In response, Taechang nodded and elaborated on her backstory.

“Irene Windler becomes a villainess because she’s essentially the final boss of the academy arc. In the original, she’s adopted as the duke’s ward, and like most people who enter a powerful family, she has two choices. Do you know what they are?”

“Be grateful for their newfound fortune and strive to prove their worth, or become arrogant and lose their way.”

“Exactly.”

“I’ve read my fair share of comics… But judging by the way you’re talking, the chick…”

“Yeah, she takes a very dark path in the original.”

It wasn’t just a little rebellion, either.

Irene became a tyrant, embodying the worst of the nobility. Despite her humble origins as a common orphan, she grew to despise the lower classes, using Galahad’s influence to crown herself queen of high society.

Upon entering the Royal Academy, she neglected her magical talents entirely, focusing only on consolidating her power base. Eventually…

“In her second year, she comes into direct conflict with the heroine, becoming the foil that makes the protagonist shine. Her actions escalate to the point of outright atrocities, leading to her expulsion from the academy and abandonment by the duke. That’s the main arc of her story.”

“…Yeah, that sounds like she deserved to be abandoned.”

Just hearing about it was enough to irritate Ihan. Irene’s original characterization was so stereotypically villainous that it was hard to sympathize with her.

‘The duke wouldn’t have coddled her just because she resembled his late wife.’

In the original story, the duke might have taken Irene in as his ward because of that resemblance. But once her atrocities crossed the line, he would have cut her off without hesitation.

As for why she was allowed to remain in the academy until her second year, Ihan had a guess.

‘He probably kept her around because he was suspicious.’

Just like in the current timeline, the duke might have suspected that Irene was some creation of the temple, keeping her close to investigate.

But once he deemed her useless and confirmed her malice, she lost all value.

Sure enough, Taechang added:

“In the original, there’s a mention of ‘a nameless grave for a blonde woman.’ That’s probably her…”

“…Tch.”

Even though Ihan knew the current Irene was different from the original villainess, he couldn’t help but feel a pang of bitterness.

Regardless of her past or status, Irene was one of his trainees now.

“That’s not exactly a pleasant story.”

“Oh no, did I share too much?”

“No, it’s fine. It’s just weighing on my mind a little. Thanks for telling me.”

“Haha… Glad to hear that.”

“…But hey, you timid idiot.”

“Yes?”

“…What’s that on your neck?”

“Huh? Oh, this…!”

Taechang scratched at a reddish welt on his neck, which looked like an insect bite or a blister. He chuckled awkwardly as he explained.

“It’s nothing, really. A female student from another department gave me an invitation the other day, and Lady Karin got mad when she saw it. Then she… uh… grabbed my neck. I thought I was going to die. Why was she so angry?”

“……”

“It hurt so bad! I don’t get it. What’s the big deal?”

“…That’s a territorial mark, you idiot.”

“Huh? A what?”

“…Just go die, you moron.”

“???”

“…Unbelievable.”

Ihan felt a sudden and overwhelming urge to pummel Taechang.

+++++

 

Outside Ihan’s modest home, a small outbuilding—a simple boarding room—stood nestled in the yard.

It was a handmade structure built by the landlord himself, crafted with such care and durability that it seemed capable of withstanding even the harshest storms.

The sole occupant of this precious little dwelling, Ihan’s “Assistant No. 1,” stood inside, his head bowed and eyes brimming with tears.

“Life’s really unfair, huh…”

Perhaps he felt undeserving of such a fine place to live. Regardless, this one-of-a-kind boarding room had recently been joined by nine more.

More interns had signed up for lodging.

The number of snoring voices had increased, but fortunately, none were disruptive enough to irritate the landlord. While these outbuildings technically shared the yard, they remained separate and independent spaces for their residents.

However…

Rustle.

A shadowy figure stirred, rising from one of the outbuildings.

The figure moved languidly, gliding across the yard with a disjointed, almost spectral gait. Despite her deliberate movements, no other resident seemed to stir; they were too deeply asleep.

It wasn’t that they were too tired to sense her presence. Rather, the figure herself exuded no trace of human footsteps or noise.

Shhh…

She—if the shadow could be called such—moved soundlessly, her feet seeming to float above the ground. If anyone had been awake to witness her, they would’ve screamed in disbelief.

At last…

Phzzzt!

She slipped through the wall rather than the door.

Was she truly some kind of ghost?

“Haa…”

Radiating an eerie, otherworldly aura, the woman stepped into Ihan’s room.

Her gaze landed on him, lying peacefully asleep in a hammock. Slowly, she extended a hand toward him.

Was she here to threaten him? Or worse, to kill him?

Whoosh…

A dark and sinister energy flowed from her, enveloping Ihan like a thick fog.

The energy exuded a strange, captivating allure, something sticky and hypnotic that seemed designed to overwhelm its target.

At last…

“…”

“Are you awake now?”

“…”

“If you’re awake, look at me. I am your master now.”

“…”

The figure—Judea Pierre—stood transformed, her voice and expression entirely different from her usual demeanor.

Shhhht!

Everything about her had changed. Her once-short hair now cascaded down to her waist, her figure more pronounced, almost intoxicatingly alluring. Even the atmosphere around her was charged with seductive power.

To Ihan, however, the transformation provoked a single muttered word.

“…A Yin Ghost.”

Her appearance and aura brought to mind the legendary succubus-like creatures, beings of seductive energy.

Judea, however, shook her head, a coy smile on her lips.

“No, I am a Dream Demon. I am far superior to such lowly beings. Accept me, and I will bring you endless happiness.”

“…”

“Go on, take me as your mistress. I can make you feel joy beyond your wildest dreams if you’ll just become my servant…”

“Are you done yapping?”

“...Why isn’t this working?”

“I said, are you done?”

“I-It should work! Why… could there be… um, an issue with your… masculinity…?”

“You insolent little—!”

Wham!

“AAARGH!”

The sound of impact echoed through the room, accompanied by Judea’s scream. It wasn’t an actual skull-crushing blow, but the dull, reverberating thud was enough to make her writhe in pain.

Though her demon-empowered body was resilient, the sheer force of Ihan’s strike proved overwhelming.

But Ihan wasn’t about to stop.

“You dare mess with me? Stab at my heart like this? I’ve already been through hell with that damn system rubbing salt in my wounds—!”

Ihan was enraged.

This brazen, insolent girl had crossed every line. Trespassing into his space? Acting smug while stepping on his nerves? This wasn’t just a violation—it was war.

“You’d better not think you’re getting off easy tonight!”

“…W-What do you mean…?”

Ihan strode to the corner of the room and hefted a massive axe.

“You ever hear the saying that you can beat a person without killing them?”

“N-No, wait, I—”

“I’ll show you how it’s done. You’ll understand by the time I’m through.”

“!!!”

That night, Ihan kept his promise.

He demonstrated every conceivable way to “punish” someone with an axe without ending their life, delivering a relentless seven-hour barrage of pain.

For seven long hours, Judea Pierre endured the beating of her life.