The Villain Professor's Second Chance

Amberine's breath hitched. Her eyes widened, disbelief and fury battling for dominance in her gaze. For a moment, it felt like the whole chamber had frozen in place. The confession echoed off the stone walls, reverberating with the weight of its finality.

I could see the fire building in her, the flames licking at the edges of her control. Her mana, which had seemed drained from the earlier battle, flared back to life. But it wasn't hers alone. The familiar presence of Ifrit surged beneath her skin, visible in the faint flicker of light beneath her robes.

The air around her grew hot, the temperature spiking as Ifrit fed off her emotions, feeding the rage that threatened to consume her.

Her fists clenched, the heat intensifying. Amberine was never one to back down from a fight, especially when it involved her family. I could already see the attack forming in her mind, the reckless abandon with which she would strike. Ifrit's power coiled tighter, flames dancing just behind her eyes.

Garren shifted beside me. I felt his grip tighten on the hilt of his sword, the tension building in his stance. He was ready to leap into action, to defend me from Amberine's inevitable outburst. Alfred, ever vigilant, moved silently into position, prepared to subdue her if necessary. And then there was Sylara. She stood at the back, watching with a grin that bordered on amusement.

The kind of grin that told me she wouldn't mind seeing how this played out.

I raised my hand slightly, my cold stare passing over them all, a silent command that they understood immediately. Garren's knuckles whitened, but he didn't move. Alfred remained in place, his eyes flicking between me and Amberine. Sylara's grin didn't falter, but she didn't make a move either. This was my battle, and I would handle it.

Just as Amberine's body began to shift forward, her hands poised to unleash a devastating burst of flame, something unexpected happened. Two pairs of hands reached out to her, stopping her before she could act.

It was Elara, her water-soaked fingers cool against Amberine's burning skin. She stepped forward, her calm demeanor unchanged, and her voice, though gentle, carried a weight that brought Amberine's furious charge to a halt.

"Stop," Elara said, her tone cutting through the heat like a sharp blade. There was no anger in her voice, no accusation. Just the word, simple and firm.

Amberine froze, her fists still trembling with the power of Ifrit. For a moment, it seemed like the fire might explode outward, but Elara's coolness had always had a way of calming storms. The flames that burned so brightly within Amberine began to flicker, the intensity wavering as she processed Elara's presence.

Then Maris stepped up beside them, her voice soft but filled with an earnestness that only someone like her could bring. "Amberine, don't… Please. He saved us." Her words were almost a plea, her empathy shining through even in this moment of chaos. "We can't do this."

Amberine's shoulders sagged, the tension slowly draining from her. The flames within her dimmed, though Ifrit's presence still loomed just beneath the surface, reluctant to retreat entirely. Her breathing slowed, her chest rising and falling in a more controlled rhythm as she glanced at Elara and Maris.

Elara's expression was unreadable, as always, but there was a hardness in her gaze as she looked at me. She wasn't naive—she knew there was more to the story than just my confession. She wasn't about to judge me without knowing the full truth. But her eyes, that cold stare, told me she had her doubts.

Maris, on the other hand, still had that glimmer of trust in her eyes. She was the one who had been saved by me in the past, and despite the revelations and the weight of this moment, she hadn't lost that sense of gratitude. It lingered in the way she spoke, the way she looked at me.

Amberine's mana slowly dissipated, the air around us cooling as Ifrit's flames withdrew. She took a step back, exhaling deeply. "I… I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the heavy silence. Her eyes dropped to the floor, and for a moment, she looked like she might collapse under the weight of her own emotions.

Then she looked back up at me, and her voice was steadier. "Thank you… for being honest."

Before I could respond, a sudden, jarring laugh cut through the air. The sound was sharp, almost manic, and it drew everyone's attention toward the far side of the room.

It was Ciril.

Despite being knocked out by Alfred earlier, he had somehow regained consciousness. His hands were bound by the enchanted ropes, but I noticed the faint shimmer of crystal magic at the base of his neck, reinforcing the area where Alfred had struck him. He had strengthened it just enough to avoid being knocked out too deeply.

Ciril's laugh echoed through the chamber, bouncing off the walls as if he were mocking the entire situation. His eyes were wild, his expression twisted with a mixture of amusement and hatred.

"It's all for nothing, Draven," he spat, his voice laced with venom. "You think you've won, don't you? You think you've got everything under control."

I watched him silently, my gaze steady and unbothered by his outburst.

"You bastard," he snarled, his face contorting with rage. "You've sown too many seeds of hatred. Too many people want you dead. You can't escape it, not forever."

His words hung in the air, but I didn't react. Ciril's chest heaved as he glared at me, waiting for some kind of response.

"You'll die," he shouted, his voice rising. "You'll die just like your victims! You think these students are loyal to you? You think anyone in this tower cares about you? Inside this very Magic Tower University, there are people—people like me—who want nothing more than to see you dead."

I met his eyes, my expression as cold and impassive as ever. "Let's see if they can kill me."

Ciril flinched, the bravado draining from his face as my words settled over him like a death sentence. His crystal magic flickered, the remnants of his strength fading under the weight of my unflinching gaze. He slumped back against the wall, defeated, though his hatred still simmered just beneath the surface.

I shifted my gaze away from him, closing my eyes briefly as I exhaled. Something in the air had changed. It was faint, almost imperceptible, but I felt it. A presence. Someone—no, something—was nearby, hiding in one of the chambers above.

My eyes snapped open, and I knew immediately where they were. There was no doubt in my mind. No one should have known about that chamber, and yet…

"I'm going upstairs," I announced, my voice cutting through the lingering tension.

Garren stepped forward, his brow furrowed in confusion. "Alone?"

"Yes," I replied, already moving toward the spiral staircase that led to the upper levels. "I'll handle it myself."

I glanced at him briefly, my mind calculating the situation. "Have the Drakhan knights escort Amberine, Elara, and Maris out of the tower. There are other students in the lower levels who need to be secured as well."

As I turned toward the staircase, Maris's voice stopped me.

"There's one more…" she said hesitantly, pointing toward a shadowed corner of the chamber.

I followed her gaze and saw a figure huddled there, trembling. It was a girl—a student, though her face was pale, her body shaking with fear. Maris's voice dropped to a near whisper.

"That's Ramia. Amberine found out that she was in the middle of conducting a demonic ritual when everything went wrong. The ritual… it's what triggered the dungeonification of the tower. It was almost complete when the tower changed."

Amberine's expression darkened, though she said nothing. She merely looked at Ramia with an intensity that mirrored her own inner turmoil.

I stepped closer to Ramia, my eyes narrowing as I studied her. Her entire body seemed to shrink under my gaze, her fear palpable in the air around her.

Ramia's breath came in shallow, ragged gasps, and she looked as though she might collapse at any moment. Every inch of her body trembled, and her eyes were wide, filled with the kind of terror that only comes from knowing you've made a terrible mistake.

She didn't need to speak. I could already see the truth written across her face.

I said nothing as I continued to stare at her, my expression unreadable. Ramia's legs buckled beneath her, and she collapsed to the ground, her hands trembling as she curled in on herself.

But I noticed from her movement.

It's not a natural movement.
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What a perfect display of acting this girl is doing. Perhaps, if she's in the modern world, she would be one of the greatest actors.

There was no need for words.

Her fate was sealed.

And I would deal with her soon enough.