Villainous Instructor at the Academy
Chapter 129: Don’t touch what’s mine

Chapter 129: Don’t touch what’s mine

I was on my way back from the main building when I heard someone yelling near the Class B training ground.

Yelling, then laughing.

Mocking.

I wouldn’t have cared—until I heard that voice.

"Look at you. Gods, are all of Class C this pathetic?"

Felix.

Of course it was Felix.

And of course, he’d found a new way to attract disaster before noon.

I turned on my heel.

The Class B training ground was supposed to be off-limits for my students, but clearly, someone forgot that detail—or more likely, ignored it. I arrived just in time to see Felix trying to explain something, hands flailing as he backed away from a man twice his size.

Gregor. The Class B groundskeeper.

I recognized the idiot.

He used to be a third-rate mercenary until the Academy gave him a broom and told him he was a professional.

Now he thought he owned the place.

"And what the hell are you even doing here?" Gregor barked. "You lot lose your way again? Or did your babysitter forget to leash you today?"

Felix was cornered against the weapons rack, stammering some excuse.

Gregor leaned in, smirking.

"Class C. A bunch of broken toys. No future, no skill. Just trash waiting for the next garbage cart."

He didn’t see me approach.

He didn’t hear me.

But when I spoke, the temperature dropped.

"Step away from him."

Gregor turned.

Saw me.

Then rolled his eyes. "Ah. The drunkard shows up."

I didn’t blink.

Didn’t speak again.

I just looked at Felix—wide-eyed, nervous—and something inside me cracked.

Gregor grinned. "What, you here to defend your pet project? I didn’t touch him. Not yet. But maybe someone needs to teach you how to run a real class—"

"You done?" I asked.

"What?"

"Are you done flapping that oversized mouth?"

He scoffed. "Or what?"

That was it.

No hesitation.

No thought.

Just instinct.

I reached back and pulled my blade free.

No flourish.

Just steel scraping air.

Gregor backed a step. "What the hell are you doing?"

My mana surged.

I didn’t use Severance Form.

I didn’t need family techniques for filth.

I channeled it through my core—flame licking the edge of my blade.

Ignition Sword.

The air shimmered.

"You think this is a joke," I said. "You mock my students, throw insults like you’ve done something with your life. Like you’re not just a washed-up failure sweeping floors for teenagers."

Gregor’s face twitched.

"You think I won’t hurt you?" I whispered. "You think because you’re staff, you’re safe?"

The edge of my blade lit—true ignition.

Heat shimmered along the steel.

My sword howled for violence.

"Professor, wait—" Felix started, panic in his voice.

I raised my other hand, stopping him.

"You think this is about discipline, Gregor? You think this is about staff protocol?"

I stepped forward, slow and deliberate.

"It’s about me, and my class. And you crossed a line."

Gregor paled.

"You’re bluffing."

I stopped right in front of him.

Close enough to smell his breath.

And I leaned in, whispering low and sharp:

"I’m a corrupt scumbag. Do you think I won’t burn you alive and bury what’s left behind the forge?"

Gregor stiffened.

I pressed the flat of the flaming sword against his chest—just enough to let him feel it.

"Ignition Sword doesn’t leave scars," I said softly. "It leaves ashes. And no one’s going to dig through those to find out if I overstepped."

He didn’t answer.

He didn’t move.

I tilted my head.

"Say something."

"I—... I..."

"Good."

I pulled the blade back and let the flames fizzle down.

"For your sake," I added, "you better pray I’m in a forgiving mood next time."

Gregor stumbled away, sweat pouring down his face.

He didn’t look back.

I turned to Felix.

He was still trying to process it.

"Professor..."

I held up a hand. "Not a word."

"But—"

"I said not. A. Word."

He shut up.

Good.

The others were watching now. Julien, Leo, even Garrick, all frozen just outside the ring.

I stared at them.

"All of you," I said, voice flat, "take notes."

"On what?"

"On how to deal with vermin."

Then I walked past them, sword still warm in my hand.

If the Academy wanted a model instructor, they hired the wrong man.

But if they wanted someone who’d burn down anyone threatening his class—

They got exactly what they paid for.

The walk back to the Class C grounds was dead silent.

Felix trailed behind me like a kicked puppy. Julien had that stupid grin plastered on his face—the one he wore when things were horribly wrong but interesting. Garrick walked with the same tense caution someone might use when following a live chimera through a field of explosives.

Leo opened his mouth twice.

Closed it twice.

Good instincts.

I stopped at the center of the training yard and turned to face them.

"All right," I said, casually flipping the still-warm sword in my hand, "who wants to spar?"

They stared.

I blinked.

"No one? No takers? After that motivational performance?"

Julien raised a slow hand. "Do we get bonus points for not pissing ourselves?"

"No," I replied. "You get bonus points for learning not to antagonize armed psychopaths. Welcome to real education."

Felix looked like he wanted to sink into the dirt.

I pointed the sword at him.

"You."

"Me?" he squeaked.

"You’re first. Because you started the incident and nearly got flattened by a janitor with delusions of relevance."

He stepped forward, wobbling like his knees were made of regret.

I tossed him a practice sword.

He dropped it.

I sighed. "Felix. Listen to me very carefully. If I throw this again, and you drop it again, I will duct-tape it to your hands and make you duel Garrick until you can spell ’competence.’ Backwards."

He caught it the second time.

Barely.

Progress.

"Stance," I ordered. "Feet apart. Chin tucked. Pretend you’re not made entirely of fear and indecision."

He shuffled.

Wrong foot forward.

I slapped my forehead.

Julien chuckled behind me.

"Julien."

"Yes, professor?"

"If he hits me even once, you’re next. Barehanded."

His smile dropped.

"Felix," I continued, circling him like a vulture. "You’re not made of glass. You’re just weak. There’s a difference."

"Thanks?"

"Don’t thank me. Fix it."

We sparred.

Well—I sparred. Felix flailed like a wet towel in a storm. He tripped. Swung at shadows. Nearly impaled a training dummy five feet to my left.

I stopped mid-duel.

"Felix."

"Yes?"

"Did you just try to feint by launching yourself backward into a wall?"

"Uh..."

"I am both confused and disappointed. That’s not even innovative stupidity. That’s recycled failure."

Julien burst out laughing.

Leo groaned. "Can we just not get beat today?"

"You’ll get beat when you stop making me embarrassed to be your instructor," I said. "And today, that looks unlikely."

Felix fell again.

I didn’t even have to move.

"Ground loves you, huh?" I asked, looming over him. "Should I schedule you a date with the floor? Some candles, mood music? A six-foot-deep commitment ceremony?"

He wheezed.

I turned to the others. "Next!"

Leo took one hesitant step forward. "Can I fake a leg injury?"

"You can fake consciousness after I’m done."

"...Fine."

We trained until the sun began to dip.

Not because I expected miracles.

But because if I stopped too early, they’d think I was merciful.

And I couldn’t have that.

"Class dismissed," I muttered, wiping my blade clean.

Felix was on the ground, mumbling something about seeing stars. Julien was still chuckling to himself. Garrick had a dent in his practice armor and was oddly proud of it.

And me?

I was calm again.

Almost.

Because somewhere in the back of my head, the fire from earlier still simmered.

The heat hadn’t left.

And next time someone threatened one of mine...

I wouldn’t stop at a warning.

Let the whole damn academy learn what happens when you cross the wrong corrupt scumbag.

Let them burn.