Villainous Instructor at the Academy
Chapter 104: Finally home.

Chapter 104: Finally home.

I’ve always hated the quiet after blood.

There’s something suffocating about it—how the wind dares to blow gently, how the trees pretend they weren’t just silent witnesses to cruelty. How people joke and laugh to fill in the emptiness that remains after violence has passed.

We spent the seventh day resting, if you could call it that.

Our makeshift camp was a mess of bodies—some bandaged, others sleeping, some sitting silently with faraway eyes. A few students had cracked. Garrick hadn’t said a word since last night. Just sat by the fire sharpening a blade that didn’t need sharpening. Mira kept busy tending wounds, but I noticed the way her hands shook when she thought no one was watching. Felix kept trying to tell jokes, like always. Even worse ones now.

"Okay, okay," he said, hopping between stones near the creek. "If a fire mage and a water mage fall in love, do they—get steamy?"

Nobody laughed.

He gave a half-hearted chuckle and dropped back onto a log. "Tough crowd."

I looked around at them—these kids I’d fought beside, bled for. We weren’t the same as we were a week ago. They’d seen the real thing now. Not a training exercise. Not a simulation. Real people trying to kill them. Real blood on their hands.

And we won.

But we paid for it.

Julien walked over and handed me a water skin. "Still think Class C is hopeless?"

I drank and let it burn down my throat. "No. But they’re not invincible either."

He nodded. "Wallace says we lost three."

I clenched my jaw. I already knew, but hearing it out loud made it worse.

"They knew the risks," I said. "And we got out with more than I expected."

Julien didn’t respond. He just looked out at the trees, the morning sun crawling slowly over the canopy. His robe was torn, singed. The edge of his jaw was bruised. We all looked like hell.

"Do you ever get used to this?" he asked.

I looked at him.

The worst kind of question.

"No," I said.

He didn’t ask again.

Later that day, the Blue Bird’s voice returned.

<"Return portals are now open. Report to your assigned pillar.">

We gathered our things. Some walked, some limped. Felix had a bloody wrap around his ribs, but he still gave thumbs-up to everyone we passed.

We passed Class B.

Or what was left of them.

They stood at a different portal site, beaten down and silent. Varron caught my eye as we passed. His nose was broken now, face swollen. Still, he smirked at me through the bruises.

"We’ll settle it someday," he called.

I didn’t answer.

I don’t settle things with animals.

The moment we stepped through the portal, everything changed.

The sun was brighter, the sky clear. Clean academy floors replaced dirt and blood and mud. The air didn’t reek of sweat and fear.

The lobby of the teleportation chamber was full of waiting medics and staff. Instructors watched us, eyes scanning, counting heads. One of them had a clipboard. Another had tears in their eyes.

I hated the way they looked at us.

Like we were meat that made it out of the grinder.

Class C lined up loosely, half-standing, half-slouched. Garrick’s face was unreadable. Cassandra walked forward first and didn’t wait for the others. The rest of them followed.

I walked beside them, my boots echoing against marble floors that felt too clean. Too sterile.

That night, the academy hosted the formal results ceremony in the Grand Rotunda.

Mandatory attendance.

Of course.

Even the dead were listed on the screen.

Every student sat in silence as the Blue Bird’s holographic form fluttered at the front of the great hall, reciting rankings like they were reading grocery lists.

<"Final Results of the Field Phase – Combat Simulation 4C.">

<"Top performing class: Class C. Second place: Class A.">

A murmur rippled through the crowd.

We weren’t supposed to be here.

Class C had always been the joke. The leftovers. The weaklings. Now they were first.

And for a moment, everyone remembered that we existed.

<"Top individual performances include: Julien Adair. Cassandra Fenn. Wallace Knox. Mira Olan.">

The students mentioned stood. The applause was hesitant.

Then—

<"Special recognition: Felix Daen.">

"What?" Felix blinked, mouth open.

Cassandra elbowed him. "Stand up, idiot."

He stood, wide-eyed, to a mix of polite claps and disbelieving stares.

I smirked. The dumb bastard earned it.

Then the voice changed tone.

<"Casualty report: Three deceased. Seven injured. Four incapacitated. All from Class C.">

Dead silence.

Julien lowered his gaze. Garrick finally blinked. Felix sat down slowly.

The price we paid was ours alone.

After the ceremony, I went to the observation deck at the edge of the academy. It overlooked the forest. The same one we’d fought in just days ago.

The wind up here was cold and sharp, like it remembered too.

I heard footsteps behind me.

It was Head Instructor Nalia. She stood beside me without a word for a moment, arms crossed.

"You kept most of them alive," she said quietly.

I didn’t answer.

"They talk about you, you know," she continued. "Some say you’re reckless. Others say you’re brilliant."

"I’m not either."

"Then what are you?"

I thought about that for a long moment.

"Just trying to keep them breathing."

She nodded.

"That’ll have to be enough," she said, and left.

Later that night, back in the barracks, Class C was gathered in the common room. Someone lit a fire in the old brick pit. They sat around it, quietly talking, eating, dozing. There was no celebration. No cheers. Just presence. Just survival.

I sat down near the back wall, letting them have the space.

Felix was talking again, this time softer.

"I know I’m dumb sometimes," he said. "But... I’d do it all again. Even if I got beat up worse."

Cassandra raised an eyebrow. "You did get beat up worse."

"Exactly," he grinned.

Julien sighed, but he didn’t tell him to shut up this time.

Wallace passed around a bottle someone had stashed away before the trial. Mira took a small sip and passed it on.

It reached me last.

I took a drink.

The fire crackled.

This was what survival looked like.

Not fanfare. Not awards.

Just a room full of tired kids, still alive.

Still breathing.

Still together.

The next morning, I woke before the sun.

Old habit.

The barracks were quiet, just the soft sound of breathing and the occasional restless shuffle. I stepped into the corridor, boots echoing softly on the stone floor, and made my way to the empty courtyard.

The academy grounds looked cleaner than I remembered. Or maybe it was just the absence of blood. Trees lining the eastern garden swayed gently, like the wind was relieved too. For a place that had nearly written off Class C, it sure looked proud of us now.

I lit a cigarette, letting the smoke sit in my lungs before I exhaled. I wasn’t supposed to smoke on school grounds. But who was going to stop me?

"Thought I’d find you here," said a voice behind me.

Julien.

He looked just as tired as the rest of us, but calmer now. Less like a blade ready to snap. More like a soldier between wars.

"You always stalk your instructors?" I asked.

He smirked. "Only the ones who throw us into hell and bring us back."

I shrugged. "Technically, the academy threw you in. I just made sure you crawled out."

Julien stepped up beside me, hands in his coat pockets. His eyes traced the skyline. "Word’s getting around."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. About Class C. The other classes aren’t happy."

I chuckled, dry and low. "Of course they’re not."

He hesitated. "You knew, didn’t you?"

"Knew what?"

"That we’d be hunted. That they’d come after us harder than anyone else."

I flicked ash into the dirt. "I suspected. No one likes it when the bottom of the barrel starts climbing."

Julien didn’t say anything for a moment. Then: "I don’t think they hate us because we survived. I think they hate us because we didn’t break."

I nodded slowly.

He wasn’t wrong.

By noon, the shift in attention was impossible to ignore.

Class C was trending.

If this were a storybook academy, we’d have medals by now. But this was Blackthorn. Recognition was a blade disguised as a compliment. And right now, every hallway we walked through had whispers curling around it.

"There goes Class C..."

"Did you hear about their kill count?"

"I heard their instructor used to be military."

"They got lucky. That’s all."

Lucky.

Sure.

Felix, naturally, loved every second of it.

He strutted down the hall like he was floating, waving at girls from other classes, flashing the stupidest grin I’d ever seen.

"Ah, the price of fame," he sighed dramatically, leaning against a pillar near the library.

Mira rolled her eyes. "You nearly bled out forty-eight hours ago."

"Small price to pay for legendary status," he winked.

Cassandra walked by, slapping the back of his head. "Legendary idiot."

Even Garrick was starting to talk again. Mostly threats and training ideas, but it was a step up from the silent grim reaper routine.

I followed behind them at a distance, letting them enjoy it. They deserved a moment before the knives came back out.

Because they would.

They always do.