Villainous Instructor at the Academy
Chapter 126: That wasn’t a dummy

Chapter 126: That wasn’t a dummy

The next day, the students shuffled in, looking suspicious.

"Alright," I said, clapping my hands once. "We’re doing practical dueling. No magic. Just your weapons, your footwork, and the three brain cells you share between you."

Felix immediately raised a hand. "Professor, what if our opponent is scary?"

I tilted my head. "You’re in a combat academy. The walls are scarier than you."

Mira smirked. "So, can we fight each other, or do we get the pleasure of sparring with the walking corpse again?"

I held a hand over my heart. "Mira, if I had emotions, they’d be hurt."

The training field had been reset with a simple circular platform.

"Step in the ring. First to disarm, knock out, or knock out of bounds wins. Winner gets a snack token. Loser gets mockery."

Leo muttered, "So basically, we lose twice."

"Exactly," I grinned. "Now, who’s first? Volunteers or victims?"

Garrick and Wallace stepped up first. It was like watching a gorilla fight a cat with a toolbox.

Garrick swung slow but heavy. Wallace dodged with impressive reflexes, flinging tiny gadgets as distractions. One of them beeped and sprayed confetti. Another let out a high-pitched giggle.

"Did you just weaponize laughter?" I asked, amazed and horrified.

"Disorientation tactic!"

"You threw a giggling can at him."

"It almost worked," Wallace protested, right before Garrick shoulder-bashed him into the ground.

"Almost being the key word," I said, marking it down. "Garrick wins. Wallace, your pride is in critical condition."

Next, Mira vs. Leo.

Mira didn’t even draw her weapon.

She let Leo talk himself into three different stances, then flipped him with a feint and stepped on his hand.

"You done?" she asked, voice dry.

Leo groaned into the dirt. "I hate this class."

"Good," I said. "That means it’s working."

Then came Felix.

He drew his sword upside-down. His grip was all wrong. His stance was crooked. And somehow, his boot came off before the duel even started.

"Felix."

"Yes, Professor?"

"Stop breathing wrong."

He blinked. "What?"

"Exactly."

He squared up against Cassandra, who hadn’t said a word since she arrived. She simply entered the ring, drew her blade, and waited.

Felix swung first.

Cassandra didn’t parry. She didn’t dodge. She tilted slightly and let Felix stumble past her. One tap to the back of his knee, one twist of his wrist, and his sword went flying.

She caught it.

Held both blades.

Then handed his back with a quiet, "Try again later."

Felix looked like he’d been robbed by a cloud.

They were all sitting down now, sweaty and half-dead. I strolled in front of them with a smug grin.

"You’re getting better. Slightly. Like an undercooked pancake gaining heat."

Wallace raised a hand. "Professor, how does that metaphor even—"

"Silence, Gadget Gremlin."

I turned toward Felix. "You, however, remain consistent."

"Consistently bad?"

"Consistently comedic."

He sighed.

I paused. "...But you’re improving. You lasted three seconds longer today."

"Thanks... I think?"

"Don’t let it go to your head. You might fall over again."

At the end of the lesson, I tossed a small pouch toward Mira.

"What’s this?" she asked.

"Reward for most efficient disarm. Five snack tokens. Don’t spend them all bribing your classmates."

She smiled. "Too late."

As they left the field—grumbling, limping, or plotting revenge—I leaned against the training dummy.

I’d meant for the day to be simple drills.

But somehow, even chaos had a rhythm with this bunch.

And I’d be damned if they didn’t start looking a bit like a real team.

A disaster team. But a team nonetheless.

The next morning, I strolled into the field with a cup of lukewarm tea and a stomach full of pessimism. Class C was already gathered. Most of them looked alive. Felix had his shin wrapped with a bandage made from what looked suspiciously like Wallace’s shirt sleeve. I didn’t ask.

Cassandra stood near the back, arms crossed, eyes closed. Mira leaned against a tree with a book in hand, probably not reading it. Leo was already complaining.

"Professor, why are we doing morning training again? The sun hasn’t even insulted us yet."

"The sun doesn’t need to," I replied, sipping my tea. "That’s my job."

Wallace squinted at the lineup of practice dummies I’d set up. "Are those... new?"

"They are," I said, pleased. "Imported from the capital. Designed to react to pressure and movement. Cost the academy more than all your tuition combined. Try not to break them."

"Are they enchanted?" Mira asked, eyes narrowing.

"Of course. But don’t worry. They only punch back if you deserve it."

There was a pause.

Felix slowly raised his hand. "Define deserve."

"Breathe wrong," I said. "Like you usually do."

"Alright," I announced, setting down my cup. "Today’s lesson: pressure application in close quarters. I want you to land a strike on the dummy. That’s it. One clean strike. If the dummy moves, resets, or knocks you back... you lose."

Garrick was the first to step forward, cracking his knuckles.

He charged straight ahead like a freight train.

The dummy moved its arm at the last second, pivoted, and Garrick tumbled past it like a boulder missing its path.

"Beautiful," I muttered. "That dummy just out-footworked a brick."

Next up, Wallace. He approached cautiously, pulled out a tiny sparkstone, and tossed it toward the dummy’s feet.

It exploded into harmless smoke.

The dummy remained still.

Wallace lunged.

The dummy turned and slapped him with the flat of its wooden palm.

He flew back ten feet.

I clapped. "Excellent use of poor planning!"

Wallace wheezed. "I think it dislocated my pride."

Leo took his turn and did surprisingly well. He almost got a clean hit... until he tripped over his own foot and headbutted the dummy.

It didn’t even move.

He lay on the ground groaning.

"Impressive," I said. "That was the most violent act of self-sabotage I’ve ever seen."

Mira walked up next, calm and calculating. She circled the dummy once, then twice, before lunging in with a feint and following with a sweep to the side.

The dummy jerked toward her feint... then reset.

She missed.

"Damn," she muttered.

"Don’t feel bad," I said. "It has better instincts than Felix."

Felix perked up. "Wait, what’d I—"

"Go."

He gulped.

Felix squared up, nodded to himself, then sprinted forward.

His foot slipped.

He grabbed the dummy in a panic.

It responded by uppercutting him gently under the chin and dropping him like a sack of onions.

"I saw stars," he mumbled from the dirt.

Finally, Cassandra stepped forward.

She didn’t say a word.

She didn’t change expression.

She simply stepped in... and tapped the dummy on its exposed side with the butt of her sword.

It froze.

Then reset.

Hit registered.

She walked away like nothing happened.

"See?" I told the class. "That’s what happens when you don’t flail like a haunted rag doll."

"Alright, line up!" I called. "That was our warm-up."

Felix’s hand shot up from the ground. "That was the warm-up?!"

"Of course," I grinned. "The real training starts now."

Mira groaned. Leo looked like he was already planning his escape route. Garrick cracked his back like he was preparing for war.

And Wallace just sighed, pulling another gadget from his coat with the resigned look of a man about to make poor decisions.

I turned to the class, smug as ever. "You’ve all survived worse. Barely. Let’s see if you can survive each other. Partner drills, five rounds. And Felix—"

"Yes, Professor?"

"You’re paired with the dummy again."

He whimpered.

Cassandra blinked. "Isn’t that cruel?"

"Cruel?" I said, mock-offended. "I’m giving the dummy a chance."

And so, the chaos resumed. Class C, barely held together by spite, snack tokens, and the occasional moment of brilliance, flailed and fought and fumbled their way through another session.

And somehow, just somehow, they were getting better.

Not much.

But enough to make me worried.

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