CHAPTER 17
Oswald broke out in a cold sweat as he made excuses in Ruthfell’s place.
“W-Well… P-Professor Ruthfell has been really busy lately, so I think he hasn’t had time to organize things.”
“Busy with experiments?”
“Y-Yes, probably. He is a wizard, after all…”
“I thought magical experiments required a clean environment. Maybe I was mistaken.”
“…”
Oswald flinched. His lie had been exposed instantly.
I had no intention of blaming him.
Like most ordinary people, he probably assumed I knew nothing about magic.
“Dean, when did Professor Ruthfell start teaching here?”
“It’s been just over a year.”
“Has he ever had a successful experiment in that time? Or has he even done any research at all?”
“…”
Oswald clammed up.
Of course not.
No sane wizard would try experimenting in a place like this unless they had a death wish.
Though from the looks of it, Ruthfell had long since given up on doing experiments altogether.
“Why do you keep researching so relentlessly? Are you still not satisfied?”
“It’s not about satisfaction. The moment a wizard stops researching, they start to regress. A wizard who doesn’t progress is as good as dead.”
That’s what he once said…
“And why is this lab so dark? Doesn’t he ever see the sun? A corpse would look livelier than the professor.”
“P-Professor Ruthfell only looks like this today. He’s usually fine.”
“When’s the last time he bathed? Does he eat? Does he sleep?”
“He eats, and I’m sure he sleeps too…”
“He doesn’t even look like he has the strength to stand. How does he teach students?”
“Ah! Don’t worry about that. When Professor Ruthfell teaches, he actually teaches well.”
“Are you the professor’s spokesperson now?”
“W-Well, it’s just that Professor Ruthfell is usually so quiet… I apologize.”
Quiet, huh?
He used to grumble all day, from the moment he woke up until he went to bed. What are they even talking about?
If I’d cornered him like this back then, Ruthfell would’ve already gone ballistic, flinging magic everywhere, shouting about how dare I lecture him.
But now he just sat still.
‘What’s he thinking…? Is he even listening to me?’
His eyes were hidden behind his messy hair, so I couldn’t read his expression.
‘Talking to a wall would be less frustrating than this.’
Then a low, gloomy voice slowly escaped Ruthfell’s lips.
“I… was just doing an experiment earlier.”
“…”
“…Sir.”
His speech was painfully slow—like someone speaking only because they had to.
‘Someone with a short temper would have passed out by now.’
Oswald lit up and gripped Ruthfell’s shoulders.
“Professor Ruthfell! Is that true? Well done, well done! So, what were you experimenting on?”
“About the success rate and delay time of spell activation in life-or-death situations.”
“…”
“…The experiment.”
“R-Really?”
“I was doing it… until the Duke interrupted.”
To come up with such an unbelievable excuse even now…
The atmosphere had changed since the old days, but his mind was still sharp.
I let out a dramatic sigh.
“Dean, how much longer do I have to listen to this nonsense? I’m getting more and more irritated.”
Still unsure whether to believe Ruthfell’s excuse, Oswald cleared his throat and spoke sternly.
“Professor Ruthfell, this is your final warning. Please apologize to the Duke properly. If not, you’ll be expelled from the Academy—or… at the very least, something very unpleasant could happen.”
Ruthfell didn’t seem to care about Oswald’s warning at all.
His dark brown eyes, barely visible through his messy hair, locked onto mine.
“Have we… met before?”
[Stage 1: (Scoffing, as if this is ridiculous) Hah! Are you trying to flirt with me? At least you’ve got taste.]
…Bad author, this is not the time for that.
If you can’t read the room, what are you doing writing at all?
Just quit now. A cliffhanger ending would be fine.
I ignored the stage directions.
“Didn’t you just say this was our first meeting?”
“I did. I never forget a face I’ve seen. But…”
Ruthfell tilted his head and muttered as if to himself.
“Then why did you call me that?”
Didn’t I call him Professor Ruthfell?
I didn’t understand what he meant, so I remained silent.
Then his sharp brown eyes pierced through me.
“You called me ‘Fel.’”
“…!”
Me? Did I really call him that? No way.
I had no memory of it—and it made no sense.
Because in the entire expedition, I was the only one crazy enough to call Ruthfell “Fel.”
Everyone else avoided him like the plague because of his terrible temper.
There’s no way I did that here.
‘Unless I want to get suspected of being Adela…’
Was Ruthfell losing his mind and hearing things? I was starting to worry—
[Lian, Ruthfell’s right. I heard you call him “Fel” too.]
…Turns out I was the one who lost my mind.
I barely managed to move my frozen lips.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You’re not denying it…”
“Would you believe me if I did? You already seem convinced.”
“It’s not a matter of belief. It’s fact. I heard it clearly.”
“Then there’s no need for me to explain. Think whatever you want. It has nothing to do with me.”
His brown eyes flashed sharply from beneath his hair.
He clearly didn’t believe me.
‘Why does he remember everything, even what was said while he was hanging half-dead?!’
I thought indifference would work better than outright denial—but not with Ruthfell.
My heart was pounding uncontrollably.
The longer I stayed near him, the worse things would get for me.
Ruthfell was a genius who could deduce the truth from the smallest clue…
…and I was a fool who made fatal mistakes whenever I got flustered!
The strategy to beat him into submission so he’d never try this again would have to wait.
He looked like he’d faint any moment anyway.
‘I need to leave. Fast.’
I quickly wiped the panic from my face.
“Dean, let’s end this here.”
“Y-You wish to leave? But there are other classes…”
“I had high expectations, but this is disappointing. If this is the level of professors here, the Academy clearly isn’t worth supporting. I’ll be putting the donation on hold.”
“Y-Your Grace! This man does not reflect the standards of the Academy—”
“Are you saying he doesn’t?”
“I mean, he does reflect them—which is why I’m apologizing! Haha… Please, if you would grant just one more chance… Y-Your Grace? Your Grace!”
I turned away coldly, as if not even worth listening further.
I didn’t know whether the chill running down my spine was from pain—or Ruthfell’s relentless stare.
The carriage was suffocatingly quiet.
Naturally so—since I hadn’t said a word.
Luna looked like she wanted to talk about what had happened in the lecture hall.
But the atmosphere I gave off crushed her into silence.
‘Was Ruthfell that affected by my death?’
I had no regrets about dying.
I simply followed the predetermined ending.
Naturally, I didn’t find the memory of dying scary or painful.
In fact, I’d barely held back a grin at the thought of returning to my original world.
Since I took my own death lightly, I assumed others would too.
Even Undine, though she cried when we met again, got over it pretty quickly.
But maybe that was because she was a spirit.
Spirits don’t care much about human death.
Ruthfell, though… my death wasn’t light to him.
The guilt weighed so heavily that he gave up on living.
Suddenly, I thought of Leonhart, who had become so cold.
‘Did he change because of me too? What about Owen? Is Owen okay?’
“Y-Your Grace…”
Piace, instead of Luna, called to me in her sweet voice.
‘Sorry, Piace. Big sis isn’t in the mood to talk today…’
“I-I made… fr-friends.”
Wait—What?! Already?
How many? Were they nice? Did they get along? No one bullied her, right?
“L-Lion, Tan, and Z-Zanakiel.”
Luna, watching me, quietly added,
“They’re all young lords.”
Oh, our Piace. As expected of a protagonist.
One girl and three boys. A familiar setup.
I already had a hunch back when Chapter 1 was titled “A Misaligned Dream of Three Men and One Woman.”
‘How is there zero progression from Part 1?’
Piace cheerfully continued,
“L-Lion is really t-tall and p-pretty. He wants to be a s-swordmaster.”
So the tall, pretty Lion is the warrior.
“T-Tan is super n-nice. When I first saw him, I th-thought he was an a-angel. He makes me s-sleepy when I’m near him… Maybe because he’s so c-comforting.”
Gentle Tan must be the cleric. That sleepy, calming feeling was probably from divine power.
“Z-Zanakiel… d-doesn’t talk much. B-But he gave me his s-seat f-first. He has… a m-magic spirit? M-Magic tool?”
Oh, gentlemanly Zanakiel already awakened his magical power. A promising young wizard.
‘Even the character roles are identical to Part 1.’
The only difference is that the protagonist is a saint this time.
‘You really ran out of ideas and cloned a failed first draft? Incredible.’
