Villainous Instructor at the Academy
Chapter 150: Felix wants to talk

Chapter 150: Felix wants to talk

The Lower District of the academy smelled like fried dough, wet cobblestone, and poor decisions.

Perfect place to drag Felix.

"I still don’t know why I had to come with you, Professor..." Felix muttered as we weaved through the bustling crowd.

"Because you lost the bet," I replied flatly. "And because watching you navigate public interactions is my third favorite form of entertainment—right behind watching Mira curse herself by accident and Wallace detonating something he calls ’completely safe."

He frowned, adjusting his hood like it’d save him from the incoming ridicule. "What are we even shopping for?"

"Ingredients. Components. Distractions. Maybe a cursed potato. Depends on what screams first."

We passed a stall selling glowing mushrooms. The vendor tried to upsell us with, "These cure depression, make your skin shine, and occasionally allow brief telepathy with frogs!"

"Sounds like your next evolution," I told Felix, who was inspecting one nervously. "Eat two and you might develop a spine."

"I—I have a spine!"

"Sure. It just folds faster than a lawn chair."

He scowled and tried to change the subject. "What kind of potion ingredients are you even looking for?"

"Explosive ones. But subtle. Like your failures. Loud to me, silent to everyone else because they already gave up on you."

"Wha—Hey!"

I stopped at a booth with runed incense sticks.

"Perfect. These will keep Mira’s ’plague fog’ spell from giving everyone pinkeye again."

"Wait, that was real?!"

"Very. You got the least of it. Garrick had three eyes for a day."

We walked past a street juggler who dropped his knives mid-performance. Felix instinctively flinched.

"Relax. He’s not aiming at you... yet. But given your luck, stay behind me."

Felix tried to protest. "I’m not that unlucky—"

He tripped on a chicken.

Not a coop.

Not a vendor.

A single, rogue chicken that looked at him with the smugness of a god.

"Okay," he admitted, face-down on cobblestone, "maybe slightly unlucky."

I helped him up while chewing roasted nuts I didn’t remember buying.

"Felix, I’ve taught you combat theory, rune basics, and the art of falling over convincingly. And yet, every day, you redefine failure in ways the gods themselves find innovative."

"...Thank you?"

"Wasn’t a compliment."

We finished shopping—mostly.

I had ingredients. Felix had bruises. The city had a few less functional lamp posts.

Success.

As we walked back toward the Academy gates, Felix let out a sigh. "Do you ever go easy on your students, Professor?"

I raised a brow. "Do I look like someone who goes easy?"

"...No."

"Correct. I’m not a mentor. I’m a cautionary tale with tenure."

We were halfway back to the Academy when Felix suddenly blurted out, "My family would never believe this."

"That you were publicly outwitted by poultry?" I asked without missing a beat. "Understandable. Nobility tends to assume their bloodline comes with grace. You proved otherwise."

He groaned. "I meant... the whole outing. Being here. With you. Buying suspicious ingredients and being emotionally scarred in broad daylight."

"Oh, that," I said. "Don’t worry. If they ask, I’ll lie. Make it sound like you were somewhat competent. You know—for morale."

Felix went quiet for a few steps. Too quiet. Which meant something was brewing.

"...You know I’m technically from a noble house, right?"

I slowed just slightly. "Yes. I’ve seen your records. House Dorne, correct? Somewhere out in the middle of nowhere."

"Middle of nowhere is generous," he mumbled. "It’s... backwater. Marshlands, cold rivers, tiny villages. My father calls it ’unrefined but proud.’ I call it muddy and miserable."

"Huh." I flicked a stone off the path. "That’s more background than I’ve ever gotten from you. Usually you just scream when danger appears and collapse when it disappears."

"Wow. Thank you."

"Still not a compliment."

He gave a tired laugh and glanced at me. "You don’t know more than that? About my family?"

I shook my head. "No. I know you’re a lesser noble. I know your family’s name doesn’t carry much weight this far from the border. And I know your handwriting is an insult to calligraphy."

"That’s... fair," he muttered. "Honestly, I’m surprised you even bothered checking at all."

"I make it a habit to know what kind of chaos I’m inheriting," I said, half-smiling. "Your chaos was labeled ’fragile, flammable, occasionally pitiful.’ I was intrigued."

Felix rolled his eyes, but he was smiling now. "You’re the worst mentor ever."

"Wrong. I’m the mentor you need. There’s a difference. And besides," I added, clapping a hand on his shoulder hard enough to make him stumble, "you’ve survived worse."

He looked up at the Academy gates. "Barely."

"Barely is still alive. And alive means you get to keep suffering under my instruction."

"...Why does that sound like a threat?"

"Because it is."

We took the long way back.

Felix didn’t say much at first, just walked beside me, arms full of the questionable supplies we’d picked up—none of which he remembered choosing. Probably because I didn’t let him.

But something in his expression changed. That quiet sort of stare people get when they’re walking through memory instead of streets.

"They used to call me ’Swampblood,’ you know."

I raised an eyebrow. "Creative. I was expecting something more pathetic. Like ’Mud Boy.’"

He gave a half-smile, though it didn’t reach his eyes. "That too. Swampblood was just the favorite. One of the Arkenvale heirs came up with it during a fencing match. Said my ’peasant roots were oozing through the cracks.’ I was twelve."

Charming. "Let me guess. You cried."

"I bled, actually. Then cried."

"Improvement."

He laughed, bitter and small. "It wasn’t just Arkenvale. There were others. Nobles who knew exactly how far House Dorne had fallen. My father tried to act like it didn’t matter. Said our pride was in our legacy, not our rank. But legacy doesn’t stop fists or taunts."

We passed a vendor shouting about roasted nuts. I ignored it. Felix didn’t even seem to hear it.

"I wanted to prove them wrong," he muttered. "Show them Dorne wasn’t worthless. That I wasn’t worthless. So I studied. Trained. Tried to earn my spot here."

I glanced at him. "And ended up in Class C with me."

"Yeah," he chuckled weakly. "That part wasn’t in the plan."

"Life rarely is," I said. "But look at the bright side. You’ve learned more under my violent sarcasm than you ever would’ve under some simpering instructor who thought your ’feelings’ mattered."

"I guess," he said. Then, quieter, "Do you think... I’ll ever be someone they respect?"

I stopped walking.

Felix paused too, turning to look at me.

"Respect?" I said, leveling a stare at him. "You don’t get that by begging for it. You earn it. Usually by bleeding, occasionally by being clever. But always by enduring."

His mouth opened like he wanted to argue, but nothing came out.

I leaned a little closer. "You’ve survived being in my class, Felix. That already makes you a tougher bastard than most of those blue-blooded pissants who mocked you."

He blinked. "...Was that an actual compliment?"

I turned and started walking again. "Don’t get used to it. You’ll trip on the ego."

He rushed to catch up, grinning for real this time. "Still counts!"

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