Villainous Instructor at the Academy
Chapter 144: Oh no, it’s a festival

Chapter 144: Oh no, it’s a festival

The sun blazed down as I watched my beloved misfits of Class C self-destruct once again.

Leo had just fallen into a pit he dug himself. Wallace’s "improved" smoke bomb ignited his cloak. Garrick tripped over Felix, and Julien—bless his overconfidence—got stuck in a bush while yelling something about honor.

"Excellent," I said, sipping from my teacup. "A truly masterful display of how not to survive anything ever."

"I think my ribs are broken," Felix groaned.

"Good. Maybe you’ll learn to dodge next time."

That’s when the click of polished shoes reached my ears.

Turning, I spotted the familiar uniform of the External Affairs department—polished, pristine, and filled with just enough bureaucratic dread to ruin anyone’s day.

"Ah. Trouble arrives exactly on schedule," I muttered.

The attendant bowed slightly. "Instructor Lucian Drelmont. Apologies for the interruption."

"I was in the middle of insulting my students," I replied. "This better be good."

He adjusted his spectacles with all the enthusiasm of a man about to hand over taxes. "It’s about the Academy’s next event."

I narrowed my eyes. "What is it now? Another survival camp? A gladiator tournament? Demon-slaying field trip?"

"No," he said. "It’s the Annual Student Festival."

Silence.

Wallace dropped a chunk of metal. Leo, who had just climbed out of the pit, fell back in.

I blinked.

"Festival?"

"Yes, sir," the attendant continued. "The Academy Festival is being reintroduced this year. A public event. Students will host activities, competitions, and exhibitions. Nobles, commoners, merchants, and even adventurers will attend."

I squinted at him. "You’re telling me that after sending us to nearly die in the wilderness, they now want us to... throw a party?"

"Essentially, yes."

Felix mumbled, "Do we get paid for this?"

"No," the attendant answered without missing a beat.

"Why would you even come to me with this?" I asked, gesturing at the smoking crater that was once Wallace’s gadget. "Do I look like someone who organizes fairs?"

"It’s required," he said. "Each class must submit a form detailing their contribution to the festival within one week. Your class is no exception."

"I hate everything," I said, genuinely.

The attendant handed over the scroll, gave a stiff bow, and walked off like a man who’d just handed someone a live grenade.

Julien crawled out of the bush, leaves in his hair. "Festival, huh?"

"No," I said firmly.

"But—"

"No."

Leo peeked out of the pit. "Can we sell snacks?"

Wallace held up a burning schematic. "We could build an attraction! Something explosive."

"I will personally bury you all," I growled.

Garrick raised a hand. "What about a dueling arena?"

Felix groaned. "Why do you all sound excited?"

"Because we finally get to show off!" Julien grinned.

I stared at them.

My misfits. My disasters.

They were actually enthusiastic about this.

Of course they were.

"I’m in hell," I muttered, rolling open the scroll. The words Festival Submission Form were written at the top in bright, cheerful letters.

And under that... a single line:

Deadline: Six days.

I sighed.

"Fine," I said. "If we’re doing this, we’re doing it my way."

The class stared at me, wide-eyed.

"Which means no idiotic food stalls. No haunted mansions. No fortune-telling."

Wallace blinked. "Then what are we doing?"

A slow grin crept across my face.

"We’re going to humiliate every other class with something they won’t forget."

Felix visibly paled. "Why does that sound worse?"

"Because," I said. "It is."

"...So we’re thinking bloodsport," Julien declared, slamming both palms on the table.

We were back in the classroom, a chaotic war council in full swing. I leaned on the blackboard like a disappointed father at a family meeting he never wanted to attend.

"Julien," I said slowly, "this is a school festival. Not a barbarian pit fight."

"Exactly," he grinned. "It’ll be authentic."

"Authentically stupid," I snapped.

Mira, who had finally rejoined the group after being "busy," sipped her tea with all the grace of a noblewoman watching commoners brawl. "Why not do something charming like illusion maze trials?"

"Because that doesn’t let me punch people," Garrick grumbled.

"You can punch your own ideas into a wall," I said. "Any more genius proposals?"

Wallace shot his hand up. "Mechanical scare maze. Full automation. Maybe flamethrowers."

"No."

"I didn’t even finish—"

"You said flamethrowers."

Leo raised a finger. "We could set up a stage play. You know, drama, costumes... low risk."

Everyone turned to him like he’d grown a second head.

Even Felix, who was half-asleep under the table, blinked. "Leo, since when are you the reasonable one?"

"Since my near-death experience with that beehive trap," he mumbled.

I rubbed my temples. "Alright, listen up. We need something that does three things: attracts a crowd, makes us look competent, and doesn’t burn down the academy."

"...So flamethrowers are out," Wallace muttered.

"YES."

Cassandra, seated quietly in the back, finally spoke. "What about a multi-event challenge? Trials of reflex, wit, and endurance. Every class submits a team. We host it."

Everyone went quiet.

I slowly turned to her. "Cassandra... did you just say something genuinely useful?"

She met my gaze with an unreadable smile. "I’m just bored."

"Whatever the reason," I said, standing upright, "we might have a winner."

Julien leaned in. "Like a gauntlet? Obstacle course, puzzles, mock duels...?"

Mira grinned. "We could tailor each event to our strengths. Wallace rigs the mechanisms. I set up illusion challenges. Garrick builds an arena. I’ll even curse a few items for flavor."

Leo sighed. "There goes low risk..."

Felix looked up from the floor. "Do I have to participate?"

"No," I said. "You’re going to run quality control. That means getting hit with every trap until we know they work."

"Why is it always me?!"

"Because you’re the statistically most hittable."

As they broke into chaotic brainstorming, with Wallace already sketching out the deathtraps and Julien naming the mock duel ring Trial of Agony, I sat back, watching the storm unfold.

They were lunatics. Every one of them.

But they were my lunatics.

And for once, I wasn’t dragging them through the mud—they were charging into it with flags and fireworks.

"Alright," I said, cutting through the noise. "We’re calling it ’The Gauntlet of Glory.’ Each event custom-designed by Class C. I’ll handle the final boss event."

"Final boss?" Garrick asked.

I smiled.

"They’ll face me."

A wave of groans rolled through the room.

"Rigged," Mira said.

"Unfair," Julien added.

"Can I fake a coma?" Leo asked.

"Absolutely not," I said, already writing on the board. "You’ll love it. Pain builds character."

As the bell rang and they shuffled out with loud complaints and far too much enthusiasm, I remained seated, staring at the proposal scroll now covered in chaotic scribbles, flaming sword icons, and a very crude doodle of me holding a sign that said "Prepare to Die."

I didn’t know how the festival would go.

But it wouldn’t be boring.

And for this class of misfits?

It never was.

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