It was as if divine inspiration had struck him.

Ihan was certain—this Dream Demon was the one who had made life miserable for the black-haired man in the future.

There was no logical evidence to back this up, but just watching her, he couldn’t shake the feeling.

‘This is what the seed of a villainess looks like.’

The shameless audacity, the self-serving justification for creating another persona just to survive, and the brazenness of stating, “I feed because there’s life force to take,” as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

Selfishness, shamelessness, and an unapologetic ability to rationalize everything she did—this was exactly the demeanor of a villainess straight out of a romance novel.

‘Right now, she’s just a budding villainess, but if she gets worse….’

At present, her behavior was still at a level that could be dismissed as mere antics.
But if her malicious tendencies were left unchecked, give it five years, and…

‘You’d have a full-fledged monster.’

This wasn’t just intuition; it was something Ihan had learned as an instructor, teaching cadets.

Take, for example, Trainee No. 1, Taechang. The man had once told Ihan that in the original story, Trainee No. 1 had assisted the villainous mage in various wicked schemes. If Taechang hadn’t crossed paths with Ihan, he might have turned into the same delinquent he was destined to be in the original.

The difference between cadets having a strict educator to discipline them and not was monumental. This was why the “rod of love” was so important.

‘Of course, beating kids out of spite or because they lack parents or bribes is another matter entirely.’

The rod of love was meant to correct a student when they went astray, to prevent them from becoming irredeemable, and to instill proper values—not to be wielded as a tool for violence or as an outlet for frustration. Such misuse was nothing but a display of petty tyranny.

As an educator (albeit a reluctant one), Ihan felt a sense of duty.

‘People need to act like people, not beasts.’

And there was no better time than now.
The chance to turn someone so wayward into a decent human being wouldn’t come again.

You had to guide them when they were young—adults who had already grown set in their ways rarely changed.

That was a life lesson Ihan had learned the hard way.

“Your name is Judea, right?”

“…Yes.”

“From today, you’re officially a trainee at the Academy.”

“Huh?”

“And starting today, your rank is permanently intern. Your training will continue until I say it’s over. Keep that in mind.”

“…What?”

“If you understand, stop repeating yourself. Acknowledge me the first time I speak. Got it?”

“Yes, y-yes, sir!”

“…Tch. Looks like I’ve got a lot to teach you.”

“???”

Judea still couldn’t grasp the situation, but she had just become the first-ever recipient of the “eternal intern” status.

…For a Dream Demon, it was the beginning of a lifetime of hardship and nightmares.

Around noon, just as lunchtime approached, Judea—or rather, Pierre—opened his eyes.

And the first words he spoke were:

“…Why didn’t you kill her?”

“?”

“That beast disrespected you. You could have killed her.”

“So you do have a sense of shame.”

“!!”

Pierre’s persona was fundamentally different from Judea’s. He was emotionless, stoic, and cold—a sharp contrast to Judea’s bold and shameless demeanor.
The stark difference between their personalities was a testament to how peculiar the Dream Demon race was, even for mystic beings.

“You really hate that ‘beast,’ don’t you?”

“I loathe her with every fiber of my being.”

“So that’s why you’re always looking for an excuse to end it all. Makes sense now.”

“……”

“Anyway, I’m curious—when that beast is asleep, is she still awake somewhere inside?”

“No. Dream Demons are nocturnal by nature, much like vampires. During the day, they’re almost always asleep, as long as I remain conscious.”

“So right now, she’s asleep?”

“Yes. However, because we share memories, anything you say to me, that beast will know.”

“Ah, so that’s why you’re embarrassed. All the secrets you’ve tried so hard to keep are out in the open now.”

“……”

This was probably the longest conversation Ihan had ever had with Pierre.

It struck him that Pierre was speaking a lot more than usual.

‘Well, I guess that’s understandable.’

From what Ihan had learned, Pierre’s persona had been created to endure the torture and experiments inflicted on Judea.
Born into a world of pain, it was no wonder his personality was so rigid and full of hatred.

It was a little pitiful, in its way.

Still, pity was one thing.

“So how can you use holy power? Most mystic races can’t, as far as I know.”

Ihan asked, curious about how two completely different mystical forces could coexist within one person.
It wasn’t a scenario he had ever heard of before.

“…I cannot use the powers of a Dream Demon.”

To Ihan’s surprise, Pierre answered straightforwardly.
Perhaps it was acceptance of his situation, or maybe it was gratitude for beating up the beast inside him.

“Conversely, the beast cannot use holy power. This is the divine grace that proves I am a separate entity from her.”

“Hmm.”

‘…Or maybe he’s just bragging.’

Was Pierre trying to emphasize how distinct he was from the beast?

‘Well, if that’s the case, it’s a bit childish… but I suppose that’s fair.’

Pushing aside his thoughts, Ihan listened further. Certain things were starting to make sense now—like why Pierre had become a priest and joined the fanatical Inquisition.

Holy power was the only means Pierre had to prove that he was not a Dream Demon but an entirely separate person.

His zealous faith was his way of asserting his humanity.

“…So, to maintain that proof, you’d be willing to do anything, wouldn’t you? You’d never leave the temple, even if it meant betraying the one who saved you.”

“……”

Ihan was certain Pierre would go to any lengths to remain within the temple.
Even if he was nothing more than a created persona, as long as he stayed in the temple, he believed he could be redeemed.

That was why Ihan couldn’t bring himself to like Pierre.

“It was Raphael who saved you, wasn’t it?”

“…Yes. I owe much to His Eminence. He was the one who brought me to the temple.”

“And yet you ignored your benefactor and attacked me instead? Thanks for confirming that beating you senseless was the right call.”

“I won’t make excuses….”

"That’s a funny thing to say."

“You’re not refusing to make excuses because you’re noble—you just don’t have any excuses to make. I’ll give you some advice. Whether you choose to end your life, cling to your fanatical faith, or betray Raphael, I don’t care. To me, you’re no different from the ‘beast’ you despise. Both of you are equally insufferable.”

“—!”

At last, his expression twisted.
Being compared to a Dream Demon must have felt like an unbearable insult.
But to an outsider, both the Dream Demon and a traitor were equally wretched.

That kind of thinking was the hallmark of a criminal mindset.

‘One’s the budding villainess, and the other is nothing more than a red-haired beast.’

At this point, Ihan couldn’t help but pity the old priest.
Why had he taken in such an ungrateful, two-faced wretch, only to suffer because of it?

“You’re upset because I lumped you together, aren’t you? Did it sting?”

“……”

“Good. That’s exactly why I said it. Anyway, you’re an ungrateful traitor. Now, I have a question.”

“…So that’s my title now, huh?”

“Don’t interrupt. I’m asking about the group that kidnapped you and other mystic races. Do you know what happened to them? I’m a little curious.”

“……”

Ihan had no interest in what Pierre would do with his life going forward.
If Pierre caused trouble while under his watch, Ihan would simply take the rod of discipline.

If he caused trouble after becoming independent, well…

‘Then I’ll just use my sword instead.’

A simple solution.

For now, his focus was on the group that had kidnapped mystic races.

“…I don’t know much. It was over ten years ago, and I was very young back then.”

“Fine. But try to remember. The faces of those who experimented on you, any notable features, or even the layout of their facilities—anything.”

“…Do people normally ask victims to recall things like that?”

“No, not normally. But you’re one of those Inquisitor types, aren’t you? The kind of people who torture others like it’s second nature. Asking you should be fair game.”

“Inquisitors punish heretics, not random people. We’re not madmen.”

Pierre seemed intent on defending the reputation of Heretic Inquisitors and correcting any misunderstandings.

“They say madmen never realize they’re mad.”

“……”

“Now hurry up and tell me what you remember.”

“…You know, you’d make a better Inquisitor than a knight.”

“I’m too soft-hearted for that kind of work.”

“……”

For the first time, Pierre felt the bitter sting of humiliation.

‘Doesn’t remember, huh?’

Despite claiming not to remember much, Pierre had provided more information than expected.
Perhaps it was due to his sharp mind or the unique nature of Dream Demons, but his memory was unusually vivid, even recalling events from over a decade ago with striking clarity.

‘Tch, here we go again. Another damn sorcerer.’

Illegal mages.
They were the type Ihan despised the most—he never hesitated to crush their heads whenever he encountered one.

The group that kidnapped mystic races and conducted experiments on them turned out to be such sorcerers. This revelation sent Ihan’s mind racing as he pieced together the details Pierre had shared.

‘Raphael raided the sorcerers’ facility, but only the red-haired traitor survived while the others perished. The sorcerer escaped….’

The critical detail here was that the illegal mage had escaped and was likely still alive.
Mages, if nothing else, were notoriously hard to kill.

‘So they looked something like this?’

Using Pierre’s descriptions, Ihan sketched a rough portrait of the sorcerer.
It wasn’t perfect, but it captured the key features. This would be his only clue, and while it didn’t seem like much, it was enough to act on.

With a creak, Ihan opened the wardrobe in his room.
Inside, there were barely any clothes. Instead, the drawers were filled with…

Shhhk!

…stacks upon stacks of papers.

“…It’s been a while since I’ve touched this.”

He hadn’t looked at these in the six months since becoming an instructor.
The papers were mostly wanted posters and news clippings, all related to illegal mages or slave traders—people Ihan had a particular interest in.

Much of it was now obsolete, for one simple reason:

“Oh, this guy’s dead, right? And so is this one… yeah, I tossed this one into a goblin cave. What about this one? Oh, right, I crushed his skull….”

A third of the documents were about individuals Ihan had personally dealt with, rendering them useless.
As a result, the pile needed a good purge, forcing Ihan to sift through the papers while discarding the irrelevant ones.

This was likely punishment for neglecting to organize them sooner.

Shhhk, shhhk.

Still, Ihan combed through the documents with unrelenting focus, his sharp gaze scanning each one.

After over an hour of searching, he stopped.

“—This is it.”

His eyes locked onto a wanted poster from fifteen years ago.

The case had supposedly been closed, with the illegal mage sentenced to death. However, Ihan didn’t trust rumors or reports unless he had seen the death himself.

Sorcerers were like cockroaches—if you didn’t crush them properly, they always found a way to crawl back.

“Hey, trainee!”

“Y-yes, sir?”

“Go to the guild headquarters and tell Simon to find this guy for me.”

“…H-huh? Simon? Do you mean Guildmaster Simon?”

“Yeah, him.”

“…This is insane.”

“What’s the problem?”

“How am I supposed to demand information from someone like Guildmaster Simon?!”

“Just tell him I sent you.”

“Then why don’t you go yourself, sir?”

“I’m busy right now. Besides, if the guild is too intimidating for you, there are other options.”

“L-like what…?”

“Galahad or Pendragon. Take your pick.”

“……”

“Well? Where would you prefer to go?”

“…I’ll just go to the guild. Damn it all…!”

“Watch your mouth!”

Seeing his trainee’s increasingly brazen attitude, Ihan gave him a stern reprimand.

‘Why is this guy getting more unruly by the day?’

This was why teaching proper character was so difficult.

Ihan clicked his tongue at the hopeless trainee.