Villainous Instructor at the Academy
Chapter 148: Chaos committee

Chapter 148: Chaos committee

I had just finished watching Felix try to parry with the blunt side of a training staff while holding it backwards—again—when a familiar voice ruined my temporary peace.

"Professor Lucian!"

The voice was too cheery. It belonged to the External Affairs Attendant, a man whose presence heralded more bureaucratic torment than a cursed contract scroll.

I turned to him slowly. "What. Now."

He smiled. That kind of tight-lipped, ’I-have-a-mandate-from-hell’ smile.

"The Academy Festival preparations have officially begun."

The words hit harder than a stray explosion rune.

Julien perked up immediately. "Wait, the Festival?!"

"Oh yes," the attendant said. "Each class is to prepare a proposal. It must be submitted by the end of the week."

I stared at him. "You mean to tell me—after outdoor missions, monster evaluations, and barely surviving each other—I now have to organize something festive?"

"Yes," he said, with too much cheer. "And the Academy encourages creativity. Stalls, performances, challenges—anything that promotes interclass bonding and cultural vibrancy."

"Interclass bonding?" I echoed. "You mean letting teenagers legally insult each other with pastries and rigged games?"

The man didn’t even flinch. "Exactly."

He handed me a form. I looked at the blank paper like it had personally betrayed me.

Class C was already swarming me.

"Can we do a battle performance?" Julien said, eyes gleaming. "Like a stage duel?"

"Too predictable," Mira countered. "Let’s run a cursed fortune-telling booth. I’ll make sure at least one person leaves emotionally scarred."

Wallace was scribbling designs already. "I can make a mechanical game! One that spits fire if you lose!"

"Can I not be involved?" Felix asked.

"No," I said.

Cassandra simply wrote yes on a scrap of paper and slid it to me. No context. Classic.

Leo sighed. "We’re going to make a scene, aren’t we?"

I patted him on the head. "Leo, when have we ever not made a scene?"

I stared at the form again. Blank, full of opportunity. And disaster.

"Alright, clowns," I said, smirking. "We’re going to give them a festival they’ll never forget."

Julien fist-pumped.

Mira laughed, probably already planning emotional damage.

Felix cried inside.

And me?

I was already plotting how to weaponize fried food and stagecraft.

Class C’s Festival entry was going to be many things.

Safe was not one of them.

If I ever had the choice between battling a dungeon chimera or sitting in a room with the Event Committee, I’d pick the chimera—at least it wouldn’t ask me to justify a cursed dunk tank.

"Let me get this straight," the Head Coordinator said, pinching the bridge of her nose, "Class C wants to run The Trial of Doom & Delight?"

I nodded proudly. "Yes. A multifaceted event that includes: a rigged game stall, a cursed fortune booth, a mildly-safe obstacle course, and a live combat demonstration."

"Mildly-safe?" she echoed.

"Relative safety builds character," I replied.

Julien leaned in beside me. "We also have snacks. Wallace is working on deep-fried mana bread that glows."

"It hums too," Wallace added, unhelpfully.

Cassandra, seated in the far corner, held up a single sign: Approved by the Ghost Division. No one knew what that meant. Including me. I allowed it anyway.

The committee stared at us like we had summoned a minor eldritch god to run our festival booth. Which, to be fair, might be Plan B.

"I’m sorry, but what is the actual goal of this?" one of them asked.

Mira smiled sweetly. "To test fear thresholds, trauma resistance, and teamwork."

Felix raised his hand. "I’d like to file a complaint."

"Denied," I said without looking.

"This is not traditional," another coordinator muttered, shuffling through the papers. "Why not a cafe? Or a talent show?"

Leo groaned. "Because we have no talents."

"Speak for yourself," Julien said, flexing.

"Class C," the Head Coordinator said, setting the proposal down. "You are... unconventional. That is clear. But if you promise this doesn’t result in a hospital visit—"

"No promises," I interrupted.

She sighed. "...You’re approved. Tentatively."

There was a beat of silence before Class C exploded into celebration. Even Felix looked moderately excited before being crushed in a group hug.

I gave the Coordinator my best smug smile. "You won’t regret this."

"I already do," she muttered.

As we exited the room, Mira whispered beside me, "We’re going to need a backup plan."

"Why?" I asked.

"Because the ’mildly-safe’ obstacle course just gained sentience."

I paused. Blinked. "...Noted."

Festival season had officially begun.

Gods help us all.

The preparations for The Trial of Doom & Delight began the very next day. Against my better judgment—and a rapidly shrinking pool of remaining brain cells—I decided to supervise the rehearsal personally.

Why? Because leaving this in the hands of Class C would be like letting toddlers handle explosives while blindfolded.

Spoiler: I was right.

"Alright, you walking disappointments!" I shouted, arms crossed as I surveyed the chaos in front of me. "Today is our dry run. Emphasis on dry. Which means no explosions, fires, spontaneous summoning circles, or Felix screaming like a haunted kettle."

"I don’t scream like a kettle!" Felix yelled.

"Really?" I turned to Garrick. "Play the recording."

Garrick held up a mana crystal. A high-pitched, tortured shriek echoed across the field, followed by the sound of someone tripping over a bucket and crying.

Felix sank into himself. "...Okay, maybe just once."

"Try ’once per hour,’" Mira muttered.

Wallace was already running wires from the obstacle course into a glowing battery the size of a toddler. "Powering up the jump platforms. They might launch people into the lake instead of the foam pit. Minor calibration issue."

"Define ’minor,’" I asked.

"Eighty percent trajectory variance."

I stared.

He added, "Give or take twenty."

Julien casually flipped over one of the rigged carnival games, inspecting the hidden spring mechanism. "This still launches pies at people’s faces, right?"

"Yes," I confirmed. "But only when they lose."

"What if they win?"

"Then two pies."

He grinned. "You’re a cruel man, Professor."

"I know."

Cassandra silently swept the perimeter, a fake ghost sheet draped over her shoulders for "festival ambience." Several students from Class B passing nearby already shrieked and ran. I didn’t have the heart to tell them the ghost was real this time.

Leo returned with a clipboard, hair covered in something suspiciously green. "The mana slushie machine exploded."

"Again?" I asked.

He nodded. "We’ve entered the ’sentient goo’ phase."

Mira looked up from her cursed fortune-telling booth. "It tried to read my future. In riddles."

"Did it say anything useful?"

She hesitated. "It said ’one of your classmates will end up naked onstage during the actual festival.’"

Everyone turned to Felix.

"What?! Why me?!"

"Pattern recognition," I muttered.

"Statistically speaking," Garrick said, scratching his head, "it’s always you."

Felix groaned and sat down in the foam pit, which promptly collapsed under him. The air was filled with a low, miserable wheeze.

"Alright!" I clapped. "Despite the war crimes happening around me, we’re ahead of schedule. I want a full run-through by sunset. Anyone who messes up gets assigned to clean up after the sentient goo."

A wave of groans followed.

"Oh, and if the ghost booth actually curses someone this time," I added, "just sign the waiver and move on."

Julien chuckled. "You’re enjoying this too much."

I gave him a long, satisfied smile. "I’m a corrupt instructor in a corrupt academy surrounded by magical disasters and hormonal idiots. Let me have this."

The Trial of Doom & Delight was officially under construction. Gods help the festival.

Because I sure as hell wouldn’t.