The Villain Professor's Second Chance

Draven barely glanced up from the stack of papers in front of him, his sharp eyes betraying only the faintest flicker of irritation. He didn't need to turn fully to recognize the voice. Elandris, the half-elf chancellor of Magic Tower University, had a habit of disturbing him whenever she felt like it, something she'd taken to doing far too frequently after their battle against Armandra.

Since that day, her once formal approach had given way to an annoying level of familiarity.

This time, however, she wasn't using her old man illusion—a form she had often preferred for public appearances. No, today she had arrived in her true form, the youthful half-elf body that made her look far younger than her actual years. She leaned against the doorframe of his study, her arms crossed and her lips curling into an impish smile.

Draven frowned slightly, glancing over at her without much interest. She caught the look and grinned wider. "What's this? Entranced by my beautiful figure?" she teased, twirling a strand of her silvery hair. "I know I'm quite the sight."

He nearly snorted. As if I'd be charmed by such a child-like figure, he thought. His gaze flickered back to his papers, deciding it was wiser to say nothing. If he voiced that thought aloud, she would likely blast him across the room—literally. Elandris might be playful, but she was a monster of power, and Draven had no desire to provoke her more than necessary.

"Come on, Draven." Elandris pushed herself off the doorframe and strolled toward his desk, her presence filling the space despite her slight figure. She glanced at the letter lying open on the desk, the insignia of the Continental Magic Council clearly visible at the top. "This is big stuff. They're breathing down your neck, and you're acting like it's just another day."

Draven's fingers tapped lightly against the desk as he returned his focus to the letter. The contents were predictable. The Magic Council wanted him to present his findings at an upcoming symposium. They had been pressing for this ever since the events at the MTU—especially after the incident with the dungeonification.n/ô/vel/b//in dot c//om

His research on mana and its connection to these unpredictable phenomena had caught their attention, and they were eager to capitalize on it. They demanded his journal be published soon, and with it, a formal presentation of his work.

He found it almost laughable. The council's eagerness was nothing more than an attempt to assert control. They always sought to monopolize the research and talents of mages under the guise of fostering knowledge. But he wasn't fooled. This was about power. The council aimed to dominate magic across the continent, and Draven's findings would be another pawn in their grand game of control.

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The corners of his lips twitched in amusement, though his expression remained cold. "They're eager," he muttered, eyes scanning the details of the letter. The language was polite, formal, but the intent was clear: Submit your findings or we'll take matters into our own hands. They wanted to push him, but Draven wasn't one to be pushed.

Elandris perched on the edge of his desk, her long legs swinging idly. "Aren't they always? You know how they are—especially after what happened. They want to wrap their greedy little fingers around your research and squeeze every drop of value out of it." She rolled her eyes dramatically. "Honestly, it's exhausting even thinking about it."

Draven gave a slight nod, but his mind was already calculating, weighing the options in front of him. The council's power was formidable. Several of its members were near untouchable, and at his current strength, he wasn't ready to challenge them. Kyrion, the necromancer from the frozen northern regions, and Lisanor, the pyromancer from the desert kingdom of Aradia, were names that stood out.

Both were as powerful as Elandris, if not more.

Draven's mana had grown substantially in recent years, but the gulf between him and those monsters was still significant. Their raw power far exceeded his own, perhaps five times stronger, if not more. He was no fool—he knew his limits.

But that didn't mean he intended to let them hold him back forever.

"There are still people I'll need to deal with," he murmured, almost to himself. His thoughts turned to the future, to the strategies he'd need to employ to overcome those obstacles. Kyrion and Lisanor would need to be eliminated eventually, but the time wasn't right. He needed more strength, more allies, more pieces in place before making any moves.

Confronting them too soon would only spell disaster.

"Plotting someone's death again?" Elandris leaned closer, her sharp ears clearly picking up his words despite his low tone. Her grin turned wicked. "You always were the brooding type, Draven."

He ignored her comment, closing his eyes briefly as he leaned back in his chair. There was no rush—his time would come. For now, he needed to play the council's game, bide his time, and strengthen his position.

"Hey, hey," Elandris' voice broke through his thoughts again, her tone as playful as ever. "How about I help you with your research? You know, to make sure your symposium goes off without a hitch~" She tilted her head, her silvery hair falling like a waterfall over her shoulder. "You know I'm a genius, right? With me on your side, you could make those councilmen faint from shock."

Draven opened one eye to glance at her, his expression unamused. "I can manage on my own," he replied coolly. He had no need for her interference, even if she was more than capable. Elandris was a wild card—unpredictable and prone to taking liberties with his work. He didn't need the chaos she would undoubtedly bring.

She pouted, crossing her arms in mock offense. "You know I'm still your superior, right? I could make you beg for my help if I wanted."

Draven raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. "What are you plotting, Chancellor?"

"For having the gall to talk to me so rudely, you should be punished, Professor Draven." Elandris puffed her cheeks, though the mischievous glint in her eyes told him she was up to something. She didn't often pull rank on him, despite being the Chancellor, so whatever she was angling for had to be something trivial.

Draven sighed, already tired of whatever game she was about to play. "What is it this time?"

Elandris leaned in closer, her lips curving into a devilish smile. "You're going to give me the answers—no, just the hint! Just a hint to those ridiculous exams you wrote!" She huffed dramatically, throwing her hands up in the air. "Do you have any idea how much chaos you've caused? The entire kingdom—no, multiple kingdoms—are in an uproar because of your exam! I only got up to question eight!

Eight! How in the world did you make something so difficult that even I'm stuck?"

Draven stared at her flatly. "Questions are to be answered, not spoiled," he said, his tone final. "There will be no meaning in question ten if you skip ahead."

Elandris groaned loudly, throwing herself back onto his desk with an exaggerated flair. "You're impossible!" she whined. "It's like you made these exams specifically to torture people. Do you know how many nights I've lost trying to solve those damn things? And you won't even give me a single hint?"

He stood from his chair, unfazed by her theatrics, and made his way toward the small brewing station in the corner of his study. "Do it yourself, Chancellor," he said simply as he began preparing tea, his movements calm and precise. "You'll appreciate it more."

She sat up, crossing her legs and glaring at him from across the room. "You cheapskate," she muttered under her breath.

Draven didn't bother responding, the sound of the tea brewing filling the silence between them. Elandris watched him for a moment longer, her irritation fading as quickly as it had appeared. There was something oddly soothing about the way Draven moved—so controlled, so deliberate. He had always been this way—cold, sharp, and relentlessly focused.

Elandris sighed, leaning back on her hands as she stared at him. "You know," she said after a moment, her voice softer now, "it wouldn't kill you to rely on people once in a while. I know you like doing things alone, but we both know you've got a lot of enemies out there."

Draven didn't respond immediately, his attention focused on the tea leaves swirling in the pot. She wasn't wrong. But trust was a luxury he couldn't afford right now. Not with the council watching his every move. Not with enemies lurking in the shadows, waiting for a moment of weakness.

As he poured the tea, his sharp eyes flicked toward Elandris, taking in her half-serious expression. He had learned a long time ago that alliances were fleeting, that the only person he could truly rely on was himself. Still, he allowed the barest hint of a smile to touch his lips.

"I'll keep that in mind," he said, handing her a cup of tea.

She accepted it with a smirk, but they both knew Draven wasn't one to change easily. The game they were playing—against the council, against the world—was far from over. And for now, at least, Draven would continue to play it alone.

But that didn't stop Elandris from trying.

"You really are impossible," she muttered again, though this time her tone was lighter, almost amused. "Fine, I'll do it myself. But when I finish question ten, don't think I'll forget how stingy you were."

Draven sipped his tea, unfazed. "I wouldn't expect anything less."