Villainous Instructor at the Academy
Chapter 160: Cry from hell

Chapter 160: Cry from hell

The sun rose on the day of the festival.

Birds chirped.

Banners fluttered.

Somewhere in the distance, someone screamed because a booth exploded.

In other words, it was a perfect morning at Noctis Ardentis Academy.

Class C gathered around me in our designated area. They wore their new uniforms—standard-issue academy tunics with a red sash that signified they were "official event participants."

They looked proud.

Or at least, they did until I opened my mouth.

"Alright, you collection of walking regrets," I said, hands behind my back like a commander about to lead his troops into a meat grinder. "Today is the day you shame yourselves on an international level."

Leo whimpered.

Good. He understood.

I started pacing in front of them like an angry drill sergeant whose coffee was two days late.

"You are the face of Class C. That means when—not if—you fail spectacularly, it will reflect poorly not just on yourselves, but on me."

I jabbed a thumb at my chest.

"And that, my precious disasters, I cannot allow."

They stood rigid, like terrified rabbits.

Perfect.

I pointed at Garrick.

"You! You are in charge of the dueling ring. Remember: no permanent injuries unless you can bribe the healers fast enough. I expect broken bones, but clean broken bones. None of that jagged-out-the-skin nonsense. We are not savages."

He nodded solemnly.

I pivoted to Mira.

"You! Maze Master. Mild confusion only. Mild, Mira. If anyone forgets their name, birthday, or what species they are, I’m throwing you in the river. Again."

She winked.

I sighed.

Next, Wallace.

"You! You are banned from operating any machinery unless I’m watching. If anything you build hums ominously, glows suspiciously, or causes birds to fall out of the sky, you disassemble it immediately."

Wallace saluted with a wrench.

God help us all.

Julien and Felix were next.

"You two! You are the ’Welcoming Committee.’ I expect you to greet visitors, answer questions, and distract them from noticing how incredibly low our safety standards are."

Julien looked confident.

Felix looked like he was going to faint.

Balance.

"And Leo," I said, turning to the last and most pitiful.

He straightened up, clearly desperate for a respectable assignment.

"You," I said gravely, "will be our official Fire Extinguisher."

"...Fire Extinguisher?" he repeated.

I handed him a water bucket and a towel.

"If anything catches on fire—and it will—you throw water on it and scream loudly to distract everyone from the fact that we have no emergency plan."

He stared at the bucket like it contained his hopes and dreams.

It kind of did.

I stepped back, surveying my troops.

They looked ready.

Ready to embarrass themselves in ways that would echo through history.

I smiled.

"Remember, Class C. Failure is inevitable. Humiliation is guaranteed. Survival is optional. But if you must fall today, fall spectacularly. Fall so hard they write cautionary ballads about you."

I raised my hand.

"Class C!"

They hesitated, exchanging nervous glances.

I raised my hand higher.

"CLASS C!"

Finally, Julien, bless him, raised his hand with a cocky grin.

"CLASS C!"

The others followed, albeit more reluctantly.

"CLASS C!"

Even Leo halfheartedly raised his water bucket in the air.

Victory.

Or something resembling it.

And with that, the festival officially began.

The first few minutes of the festival went surprisingly well.

Which immediately made me suspicious.

Class C stood at their posts, smiling awkwardly at the trickle of visitors wandering into our area. Julien even managed to look charming instead of insufferable, which was frankly a miracle.

Mira’s maze booth was set up with floating runes forming paths. Wallace’s "safe" gadgets were displayed on neat tables (each with a suspicious "Do Not Touch" sign), and Garrick stood proudly by the dueling ring, flexing subtly every time someone walked by.

Leo... clutched his water bucket like a life raft in a hurricane.

Perfect.

I folded my arms and stood in the center of it all, watching with the proud exasperation of a parent sending their kids to their first war crime trial.

And for a brief, glorious moment—

Chaos.

Sweet, beautiful chaos.

It began at Wallace’s booth.

A curious student poked one of the gadgets.

The gadget poked back.

Literally.

A spring-loaded piston launched out and smacked the poor kid in the forehead, sending him sprawling into a nearby display. That display triggered a series of small chain reactions—springs flying, gears spinning wildly—and within seconds, Wallace’s table collapsed into a shrieking, whirring pile of mechanical despair.

Wallace stared at it like a betrayed father.

I clapped him on the back.

"Good effort. B minus."

Then came Mira’s maze.

A pair of girls entered, laughing.

Ten minutes later, only one stumbled out, looking haunted and mumbling about the doors that weren’t doors.

Mira offered me a thumbs-up behind her back.

I gave her a stern nod of approval.

If the students weren’t mildly traumatized, was it even really a festival?

Meanwhile, at the dueling ring...

Garrick was too successful.

A small crowd had gathered to watch him demolish one challenger after another. Most of them didn’t last more than five seconds.

One overconfident senior from Class B tried to blindside Garrick with a surprise tackle.

Garrick didn’t even move.

He just leaned slightly to the side, caught the guy by the arm, and politely introduced him to the ground.

By politely, I mean the ground now owed him a favor.

Leo?

Oh, Leo.

The boy was running around frantically, sloshing water everywhere at the slightest whiff of smoke.

Half the visitors were wetter than the river by the time he was done.

At one point, a girl sneezed and Leo dumped an entire bucket on her head "just in case."

Was it embarrassing? Yes.

Was it hilarious? Absolutely.

I stood there, arms crossed, soaking it all in.

My beautiful little disasters.

They were trying so hard.

And failing so spectacularly.

It brought a tear to my eye.

"Professor Lucian!" Julien called out as he dashed toward me, breathless. "There’s a guy complaining that the dueling ring isn’t ’regulated’ and that we’re ’breeding barbarians’!"

I shrugged.

"Tell him Class C isn’t here to breed scholars. We’re here to breed legends—and lawsuits."

Julien saluted dramatically and ran off to deliver the message.

Just as I was preparing to settle into a nice, leisurely afternoon of heckling my students, a familiar figure approached from the crowd.

It was the External Affairs attendant—the same poor soul who kept getting stuck as the Academy’s errand boy.

He looked tired.

He looked haunted.

He looked like a man who had stared into the abyss, and the abyss had asked for a refund.

He handed me a letter.

"Another one?" I asked, eyebrow raised. "What is it this time? Compulsory dueling tournaments? Blood pacts? A mandatory Academy Talent Show?"

He didn’t even blink.

"It’s from the Headmaster."

That made me pause.

I opened it.

Skimmed it.

Closed it.

Took a slow, steady breath.

Then I turned to Class C, who were still in the middle of several simultaneous minor disasters.

"Alright, my little degenerates," I called out, voice carrying across the chaos. "Bad news. We’re going on a field trip."

Mira froze mid-laugh.

Wallace dropped a gear.

Garrick blinked like a confused ox.

Leo dropped his bucket.

"Field trip...?" Julien asked, wary.

I grinned, full of evil intent.

"A very special field trip," I said. "Congratulations. You’ve just been volunteered for the Academy’s official Special Training Excursion."

There was a long, heavy silence.

Then Leo raised his trembling hand.

"...Are we going to die?"

I smiled wider.

"Probably."

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