Villainous Instructor at the Academy
Chapter 106: Scandals

Chapter 106: Scandals

Three days.

That’s how long we had before a bunch of old geezers in golden robes came to decide whether Class C was a fluke, a threat, or just a glitch in their carefully curated little system.

Naturally, I decided to weaponize the chaos.

"Alright, brats," I said, standing at the front of the training hall, "since we’re getting inspected like diseased livestock, I thought we’d lean into it."

Mira raised an eyebrow. "You want us to act diseased?"

"No," I said, pointing at the rune board behind me, "I want you to look just competent enough to scare them, but not enough to get promoted."

Julien looked baffled. "Wait, wouldn’t a promotion be good?"

"Julien," I said, walking over and patting him on the shoulder like a disappointed uncle, "if we get promoted, we start playing with the big boys. The ones who have political backing, family crests, and backup plans involving assassins. You want to survive? Stay underestimated."

Felix was nodding like I’d just explained the secrets of the universe. "So we’re sandbagging. But, like, on purpose."

"Exactly," I said. "I want precision chaos. Make them nervous, not impressed."

Cassandra raised her hand, which she almost never did. "What exactly are we doing?"

I grinned.

The day of the inspection, the Academy’s east training field had been transformed.

Lucian’s Doomed Circus was open for business.

Station 1: Combat Strategy Demo

Felix and Garrick were reenacting a "successful" pincer maneuver, which mostly involved Felix hiding behind a barrel and yelling encouragement while Garrick tackled a wooden dummy into splinters.

Station 2: Runic Application Display

Wallace and Mira had set up a complex rune trap involving fire, wind, and something that made a screeching noise whenever someone sneezed too close.

Station 3: Cassandra’s Mystery Test

We don’t talk about Station 3.

Even I didn’t know what was happening there, and I was too scared to ask.

I stood at the welcome podium, wearing my nicest coat—the one not stained with regret—and waited for the vultures to land.

And land they did.

The inspection team arrived in full judgment-mode: robes fluttering, expressions tight, clipboards ready. Thelran Voss led them in like some smug herald of doom.

"Drelmont," he said, his eyes sweeping the setup. "Creative."

"I do my best," I said. "This is just a normal training day for Class C."

One of the inspectors, a thin man with glasses and zero joy in his soul, scribbled something down. "You allow unsupervised rune integration with elemental spells?"

"Only on days that end in ’y,’" I said cheerfully.

He frowned harder.

The observers moved from station to station, watching students perform with wildly unnecessary flair. Felix threw himself onto a fake grenade and then stood up to bow. Mira summoned a spiraling glyph tornado and handed out pamphlets. Wallace’s trap lit someone’s shoes on fire, and then fixed them before they noticed.

"They’re... creative," muttered one inspector.

"Are they usually like this?" another asked.

"Yes," I said. "But louder, usually."

Then came the part I’d been waiting for.

Julien stepped forward, sword in hand, rune lines glowing across his arm.

"Demonstration time," he said, smiling politely.

Thelran gave a half-interested nod. "Go on, then."

Julien moved.

And for exactly four seconds, the air turned electric.

His blade cut through the air with surgical precision, spells humming along the edge, footwork smooth enough to make nobles gasp.

Then, halfway through a feint—he tripped.

On purpose.

Landed flat on his back.

I clapped twice, slowly. "Brilliant. Absolutely nailed the underwhelming dismount."

The inspectors blinked, confused.

Julien groaned from the ground. "Slippery... rune chalk..."

Mira stepped in immediately with an over-the-top healing spell. "Oh nooo, someone get the sympathy forms!"

Wallace tossed a wooden board that read ’We Meant To Do That’ onto the grass.

I almost felt bad.

Almost.

When the inspection team finally left, they looked confused, vaguely alarmed, and absolutely unsure of what to write down.

Perfect.

That night, back in the barracks, Julien collapsed onto the couch with a sigh. "I think I sprained my pride."

"You did good," I said.

"You mean I flopped in style."

"Exactly."

Felix walked in with a bowl of mystery stew. "Think we’ll get expelled or promoted?"

Mira took the bowl from him, sniffed it, then handed it back. "Neither. They’ll label us a ’contained anomaly’ and hope we go away."

Cassandra looked over from her seat near the window. "We won’t go away."

Julien grinned. "Nope."

Wallace raised his cup. "To chaos."

"To surviving by confusing the enemy," I added.

And we drank to that.

Because in Blackthorn Academy, the dumbest plan was often the safest one.

Three days after the inspection, things should’ve gone back to normal.

They didn’t.

Because the moment you start shaking the system, someone always shows up to punch you for it.

In this case, it was Instructor Harven from Class A—impeccably dressed, teeth whiter than his moral compass, and carrying himself like he’d invented swordsmanship personally.

He cornered me in the corridor near the northern courtyard. "Drelmont."

I glanced up from my half-eaten roll. "Hm?"

"I hear Class C put on quite a show."

"We aim to confuse," I said with a smile. "Survival through mediocrity."

His eye twitched. "You’re mocking the system."

"Not enough, apparently."

Harven stepped closer. "If you believe your class has potential, then prove it. Duel us. Class A. End of the week."

I blinked.

Then laughed.

Not because I thought it was a joke—but because he clearly didn’t.

"You’re serious?" I asked.

"My top student versus yours. One-on-one. No interference. No excuses."

"And what do I get when they turn your golden boy into a floor mat?"

Harven’s jaw tightened. "If you win, I’ll personally recommend that Class C be moved into official Elite probationary status. Temporary, of course."

"And if we lose?"

He smirked. "You make a public apology for the stunt during inspection week. Admit your class is unfit. And forfeit any claims to advanced curriculum for the rest of the term."

Ah. There it was.

A power play.

I should’ve walked away.

I really should’ve.

But instead, I said: "You’ve got a deal."

Later that day...

"You what?" Julien asked, looking like I’d told him we were going to wrestle ogres naked.

"You’re fighting Class A’s top student," I said.

He just stared at me, slack-jawed.

"You’re the only one dumb enough to take risks but clever enough to survive them," I added. "You’ll do fine."

"Do you even know who their top student is?!"

"Not yet," I admitted, "but based on Harven’s smirk, I’m guessing it’s someone obnoxiously overpowered."

Mira snorted. "So... our version of Julien, but with better hair and more sponsors?"

Julien groaned. "Great. I’m gonna die stylishly."

Wallace pulled out a notebook. "What if we rig the arena?"

"No rigging," I said. "It’s official."

Cassandra, quiet as ever, murmured, "That means it’ll be watched by the whole Academy."

Even Felix perked up at that. "Wait, people are gonna see us? Like, real people?"

"Yes," I said. "Which is why we need to prepare."

I stood in front of the group, eyes sharp.

"This isn’t just a duel. It’s a message. They think Class C is a joke. A failed experiment. We’re gonna remind them that jokes hurt when you laugh with a mouth full of teeth."

Leo raised his hand. "That doesn’t make sense."

"Shut up, Leo."

He shut up.

The next few days turned into a training montage from hell.

Julien practiced until his arms went numb. Mira sharpened his strategy. Wallace made him a new runic enhancer—a bracer that overloaded briefly but gave him a speed burst. Cassandra watched from the shadows like some kind of creepy coach.

Even Felix helped.

Mostly by pretending to be Class A and insulting Julien until he got mad enough to fight better.

And on the day of the duel, as we stood near the arena, the student body gathering like it was festival day, I leaned close to Julien and muttered:

"Remember: You’re not fighting to win. You’re fighting to embarrass."

Julien cracked his neck. "Same thing."

Harven stood across from me, arms folded.

"Any last words, Drelmont?"

I smiled. "Yeah. Don’t blink."

Because when the duel starts?

Julien’s not the only one showing off.

Class C’s about to rewrite the rules.