Darin stayed where he was for a mont longer, his gaze remained fixed on the empty space where Marcus had stood just seconds ago.
Elyra stepped closer, stopping just beside him.
"You’re thinking too much again," she said quietly.
Darin exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. "Am I?"
"You always do that when sothing bothers you," she replied.
He didn’t deny it.
He drifted again towards the bench.
"He’s wrong," he muttered at first, and then stared at the status window in front of him.
"Or maybe...he isn’t," he corrected himself.
If it had been an insult, he would’ve ignored it as if it were just another professor’s way to show off their authority.
If it had been arrogance, he would’ve dismissed it because he’s a commoner and he’s faced them a lot.
But it wasn’t either. It was a precise scolding disguised as a lecture. Sothing only a parent would say when frustrated at a child’s behaviour.
"But I don’t like being told I’ll fail," he said.
He let out a small breath, amused despite himself.
"Yeah... I don’t like that,"
The rest of the cadets had already begun to disperse into their own circles. Clara turned sharply as her boots pressed firmly against the ground.
"That was unnecessarily vague," she said, her tone edged with irritation. "Interest? That’s not a standard, that’s just for his own convenience."
Vesper followed just behind. "It sounded more like a test than a refusal."
"It is a refusal," Clara replied.. "Just one that sounds sophisticated."
Sera, who had been sitting monts ago, now stood beside them, brushing off the dust from her sleeves, untying her blonde silver hair.
"He didn’t really refuse," she said calmly.
Clara glanced at her.
"It was more like setting up imasurable conditions, which is worse," Clara said.
"He said that strength is not important; reliability is. A team that has all kinds of force, support, and is well calibrated... he already made clear what he wants," Sera replied.
"I think Lady Sera might be right about this," Vesper added.
"A team that is reliable?" Clara murmured.
A short distance away, Leon stood still for a mont before shifting his attention towards Yumi. Her pink hair would always draw his attention when she was around.
Unlike Clara or Sera, he didn’t discuss about it imdiately.
He listened to everyone.
"Professor Rile doesn’t evaluate strength the way the academy does," he said.
Yumi, who stood beside him with her usual composed posture, didn’t reply right away.
Her eyes remained forward.
"A team...and an intent," She said.
"Hmm?" Leon leaned in closer to her vague words.
"He wants a perfect team that is intent-driven, not just doing it for scores," she said.
"And how do we find a ’perfect team’ that is ’intent-driven’?" he asked.
"We already have that...we’re just not talking to each other," She said, looking at Clara’s group and then shifting her gaze towards Darin.
"Clara’s alright, but Darin? You cannot propose to have him in the sa team as mine, I despise that guy to my core," Leon said.
"Oh...then we already failed the team part," she mumbled.
"..." Leon was speechless.
.-.-.-.-.-.
Marcus stepped out of the training grounds and kept walking on a stroll.
The noise behind him dissolved into the distance.
The academy buildings cast long shadows across the ground, and the late light filtered through the tall arches lining the corridor ahead.
"Professor Rile."
A clear voice called him out.
Marcus didn’t halt, but slowed down his pace before slightly turning to look towards the direction of the voice.
Isabella stood a few paces behind him.
Her posture was straight, composed. This was the first ti he had seen her without her friend Lisbon around.
"Council President," Marcus greeted.
Ailsa Krell, who was forrly the president, left the academy to assist the dukedom of Krells.
"You don’t make it easy to catch up to you," she said, closing the distance.
She was a magician, and her elder sister was one of the most powerful mages throughout the world: Victoria Voss, Master of Fulcrum Tower.
"That depends," he replied. "Most people don’t try."
"My~" a faint smile touched her lips at that. "I’ll take that as a complint."
Marcus turned fully this ti, "You usually don’t approach professors without reason."
"That sounds like an accusation," Isabella said lightly.
"I prefer to assu coincidence, but not this ti."
"Then I’ll make it simple," she said. "I want to assist you."
Marcus tilted his head at that.
"Assist ?" he repeated, pointing at himself, "In what capacity?"
"As an assistant professor, obviously~" The courtyard seed quieter for a mont.
"You want to lay off my butlers?" Marcus blurted out.
"What?"
"I an...you’re the student council president already, your responsibilities already exceed most faculty mbers."
"I’m aware," Isabella replied. "Which is why I’m offering efficiency... I have access to info, logistics, and people that most assistant professors don’t, I’m eager to assist you."
"Oh..." Marcus didn’t waver.
"Is it wrong...?" she asked.
"Submit a formal request then," he said.
"So you’ll consider it?" She asked again.
"Chances are...yes," he replied.
*Clap*
"Wonderful," She clapped her hands once.
"That is all I need, thank you, Professor," she bowed and turned to leave.
"..."
’That was rather...quick decision,’ Marcus thought.
Shaking his head, he continued his stroll towards his office. Passing through the clusters of cadets in different coloured uniforms, but with the sa level of respect.
Marcus doesn’t really talk to a lot of professors, instead a few, like Roxana and Jose. So his way back was without any hindrance.
Marcus pushed the door to his office open. It wasn’t locked.
The faint scent of polished word and ink greeted him first, followed by silence that felt...occupied.
He looked ahead, and he wasn’t even surprised anymore.
Orochi sat by the window fra, one leg bent, the other hanging loosely off the edge. His black-scaled suit absorbed most of the dim light, while his golden, reptilian eyes reflected it instead.
His long hair was tied back neatly, but a few loose strands frad his face.
Marcus closed the door behind him.
"Working that professor persona to its core, the classics of Marcus Rile," Orochi said.
"So of us work for a living, unlike certain soone," Marcus replied.
"Work for a living? You? Teaching spoiled nobles how not to die?" Orochi didn’t even glance at him; he was just observing his aura-manifested sword.
"Marcus Rile has beco quite famous," he spoke.
"In what manner?" Marcus asked, pouring himself a glass of wine.
"You know what I’m talking about, trade, network, power, connections, ruthlessness...an epito of a perfect spouse a duke would desire," he said.
"What’s the purpose? What’re you aiming at?" he asked.
Marcus thought for a while.
"What am I aiming at?" he repeated in a murmur.
"It’s evident that the man I’m facing is living in the shadows. So just shine bright enough to find that fucker even in the depths of the darkness." He said.
"Quite a quote," Orochi replied, and stood up. "You already are a problem magnet."
"Oh, remind , did I ever cause you trouble?" Marcus questioned.
"All mortals are troubleso," Orochi replied.
Marcus didn’t acknowledge Orochi’s comnts and sat down on the sofa in front of his desk.
Orochi’s gaze lingered for a mont; it seed like nothing had changed.
Marcus took a slow sip from his glass, his back partially turned.
Orochi’s golden eyes narrowed slightly.
He stared at the corner of the room.
"Hm?"
The shadows there weren’t behaving correctly.
At first glance, it looked like a simple distortion.
Then the crack held still.
Orochi straightened just a little.
"..."
"You’ve been redecorating?" he asked casually.
Marcus squinted his brows. "Do I look like soone who would?"
"It sure does look like that now," Orochi replied.
That made Marcus pause.
He turned slightly, following the direction of Orochi’s gaze.
A thin line. So fine it could’ve been mistaken for a flaw in the wall.
A crack... Marcus’s eyes narrowed.
"Is that what I think it is?" Marcus mumbled.
"I think it is what you think it is," Orochi replied.
The line trembled violently, stretching and covering the whole corner of the room.
The crack deepened, and no sound ca out of it.
It was a rift.
A rift inside the office of Marcus.
"That’s odd," Orochi spoke.
"I can see it, you can see it, we both can see that it’s a rift..." he paused and then looked at Marcus. "Why can’t I feel its presence?"
"Even you can’t?" Marcus murmured.
"No mana? Aura? Demonic energy? Nothing at all?" he asked again.
"Not a slightest signature," Orochi replied.
"That’s inconvenient," Marcus said.
"It seems so," Orochi followed.
Then it pulsed. Once. Light in the room dimd for just a fraction of a second as if the rift blinked.
"Did it just...blink?" Marcus mumbled.
"I don’t feel a presence of a demon beyond it...this is different... quite different, as if it holds consciousness and is looking at us... Like an invitation," Orochi spoke.
"Must be for . Why would anyone want to invite a demon?"
"Is this racism?"
"Sothing like that..."
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