Villainous Instructor at the Academy
Chapter 155: Pond

Chapter 155: Pond

The road to the Dorne estate was long, muddy, and suspiciously full of potholes.

"Are you sure this is a noble family’s land?" Mira asked, eyeing the creaking carriage wheel like it might collapse at any second.

"It’s technically noble," I replied. "But so is an abandoned chicken farm if the right people signed a scroll three centuries ago."

Felix sat across from me, clutching the letter he still hadn’t let anyone else read. His face was pale. His eyes distant. He hadn’t said much since we left.

Which, naturally, meant I had to say everything.

"You know," I mused aloud, "most nobles send letters that say things like ’Come home, my heir, and inherit the vineyards.’ Yours felt more like, ’Return at once or the pigs will eat your bedroom.’"

Felix blinked. "What?"

"Don’t worry about it."

Leo groaned, holding his stomach. "How much longer? I think I’m getting motion sickness from trauma."

Mira leaned in. "You don’t get motion sickness from trauma."

"I do now!"

Wallace, who had been tinkering with a bottle of exploding ink for the last hour, said, "We’ve passed the same boulder twice. Either this place is cursed, or our driver is legally blind."

"I paid extra for a guide," I muttered, peeking out the window. "...Which, in hindsight, may have been a mistake. He keeps talking to birds."

Garrick gave a grunt of agreement from the roof, where he’d decided the view was less nauseating.

Eventually, the trees thinned, and the scenery shifted into something recognizably... grim. Mossy fences. Leaning towers. Fog that clung to the road like a forgotten ghost.

"Home sweet haunted marshland," I announced.

Felix let out a long sigh, not of relief, but resignation. "We’re here."

The Dorne family estate loomed ahead, not so much a manor as a stitched-together memory of one. A hodgepodge of stone, timber, and old pride. It looked like a place where windows stared back.

A servant—thin, pale, and probably undead on a spiritual level—opened the gate. "Welcome back, Young Master Dorne. Your presence was... anticipated."

Felix didn’t reply.

I stepped forward, smiling like the devil’s lawyer. "Hello. I’m Professor Lucian Drelmont. These disasters are my students. We’re here on... vacation."

The servant blinked. Once. Slowly. "The estate has not hosted visitors in years."

"Perfect," I said. "I love being the first at terrible ideas."

The inside of the estate was no less dreary. Velvet curtains older than our nation. Creaking chandeliers. A smell that hovered between mildew and suppressed aristocratic guilt.

"Wallace," I said, "don’t touch anything cursed."

"How do I know if it’s cursed?"

"If it whispers to you. Or tries to marry you."

He nodded solemnly and put a dusty book back on the shelf.

A withered old steward appeared, bowing at an angle that suggested his spine had retired decades ago. "The Young Master’s quarters have been prepared. Guest rooms are... in progress."

"I can sleep in a stable," Garrick offered.

"There is no stable."

"Then I’ll sleep where it used to be."

As we dispersed into rooms barely cleaned and barely warmer than a crypt, I cornered Felix.

"Talk," I said.

He looked away. "It’s... complicated."

"Everything’s complicated. That’s life. But you’re not dragging me and six half-functioning lunatics into this swamp for ’complicated.’ So. Start. Talking."

He hesitated. His fingers gripped the letter again.

"...There’s a name," he said quietly. "Someone who used to visit when I was young. A noble from a higher house. He’s coming here. Father invited him."

"Friendly visit?"

"No. He used to laugh while pushing my face into the pond."

I blinked.

"Good," I said. "Because I was worried I wouldn’t get the chance to ruin anyone today."

Felix looked up, surprised. "You’re not going to tell me to stay calm?"

"Oh, I’ll tell you to be calm," I replied, grinning. "While I set the entire social order of this festering backwater on fire."

Dinner was served on a table long enough to seat three families, though tonight it sat just the seven of us, a steward, and an atmosphere so tense it could have strangled someone without lifting a finger.

The food wasn’t bad—some kind of smoked fish, root vegetables, and a stew that vaguely smelled of commitment issues—but it was served in a silence so uncomfortable that even Leo didn’t complain.

Felix sat at the far end of the table, not touching his plate. His posture was stiff, his eyes flicking to the dark hallway outside the dining room more often than was healthy.

I stabbed a roasted tuber with unnecessary force. "If someone doesn’t say something soon, I’m going to start a food fight just to feel alive."

Mira rolled her eyes. "I was wondering how long it would take before you got bored of pretending to be civilized."

"Oh, I’m still pretending. This is the Dorne estate. We’re pretending a lot of things here."

That earned a few chuckles—nervous, awkward, but better than silence.

Then the door opened.

He entered like a ghost of bad decisions. Tall. Polished. Wearing a noble’s coat that screamed old money and a smirk that reeked of entitlement. His hair was slicked back, his boots didn’t have a speck of mud, and his gaze landed on Felix like a hawk eyeing a crippled rabbit.

"Ah," he drawled. "So the swamp still spits you out, Felix. And you’ve brought... entertainment?"

Lucian Drelmont—me, in all my soul-swapped, rage-simmering glory—stood up.

"I’m the entertainment," I said flatly. "You must be the asshole who made childhood trauma fashionable."

His smile didn’t falter. "I wasn’t aware they let instructors off their leashes."

"I chewed through mine."

A beat passed. The others stayed frozen. Felix’s knuckles had turned white.

"Name?" I asked.

The man tilted his head. "Lord Branford Alstein. Second heir of House Alstein."

"Oh," I said. "The irrelevant one."

The room went still.

Branford’s smirk twitched. "You’re very bold for someone employed by an academy that accepts marsh rats."

I smiled wider.

"I’ve skinned better men for less than that, Branford. And do you know what they had in common?"

"...No?"

"They knew when to shut up. You missed that lesson."

He turned toward Felix, ignoring me with the deliberate spite of a man used to servants. "Your little family still playing noble? Or have you given up and started farming moss yet?"

Felix flinched—but only a little. He didn’t look away.

I stepped in front of him.

"You’re standing in my student’s home," I said, voice like frost. "You insult him, you insult me. And I take insults like I take poison—only once, and then I burn the whole forest to find the source."

Branford raised an eyebrow. "You’re threatening a noble."

"I’m informing you," I corrected. "That if you touch Felix again—if you so much as breathe too smugly in his direction—I will ensure your noble title is engraved on a tombstone."

Leo coughed. "Uh, Professor..."

"I’m speaking, Brat."

Branford opened his mouth. I stepped closer.

"You see, Branford. There’s a difference between you and me. You grew up stepping on people and calling it birthright. I crawled through hell and found it charming. So if you think I won’t ruin you because your family name sounds like expensive cheese, think again."

He hesitated now. Just a flicker. But I saw it.

"You can run to your father," I continued, voice low and calm and final, "but your daddy’s money won’t stop what happens when someone pisses off a Drelmont with nothing left to lose."

I clapped Branford’s shoulder once—too hard.

"Enjoy the fish," I whispered. "The pond’s still full of memories."

Then I turned and sat beside Felix, who still hadn’t said a word.

"...Thank you," he muttered.

I waved it off. "Please. You’re not the only one who’s been shoved in a pond by someone with a stupid name."

He looked over. "Really?"

"No. But it felt like the right thing to say."