The Backup I Never Wanted to Pull
“…Keep it a secret from everyone else.”
“I swear I won’t spread rumors that I got your autograph.”
Alan quickly scrawled his name in cursive across the paper Diavela had handed him. It hardly qualified as a signature. He never imagined he'd be signing autographs for someone claiming to be a fan the moment he arrived. And with only the first volume out, how could he even have fans? Pushing those doubts aside for now, Alan finished signing.
Diavela snatched up the paper, her face breaking into a radiant smile.
“Thank you so much!”
“…Don’t go blabbing about it anywhere. Things are tough enough already.”
“Of course not!”
“Alright then.”
Alan grabbed his book and headed out of the library. Diavela watched his retreating figure, giggling as she sat back down and gazed at Alan’s signature.
“This is just too good!”
The second class Alan chose was Basic Magic Theory.
The academy’s first week was a trial period for classes. Students sampled lectures to finalize their schedules. They picked courses and drafted timetables before arrival, then had a week to tweak them after experiencing the real thing.
That one-week grace period. Alan thought that without Meia by his side during it, his life would be truly unbearable.
…There’s just way too much hassle.
There were plenty of people friendly toward him, but just as many who showed open hostility to his novel. If he weren’t from the Mueller family—no one dared pick a fight outright—but without that backing, he’d have gotten duel challenges by now.
Thanks to his brother Albert and sister Alice, most just glared silently rather than confront him directly. At least among the cadets. Higher up, it was different.
“I am Kenneth Lagus von MacKellan. I handle Basic Magic Theory. Address me properly as Professor MacKellan.”
Even his opening words dripped with prickly old-man grumpiness. Alan ignored it.
He’d chosen magic theory because, living in the ducal territory, he’d never seen a real mage. He’d encountered plenty of magitech devices—ones mimicking modern refrigerators or air conditioners. But no mages. The Mueller family was famous for using magitech without employing any actual magic users.
That’s why, in this fantasy world, Alan had never laid eyes on the supposedly common mage.
Professor Quiros is the total opposite in looks, but how can his voice ooze boomer energy like that from the start?
Alan wondered with pure curiosity. He looked like a dignified scholar from the movies, yet his voice, attitude—everything screamed outdated crank. The polar opposite of Professor Quiros.
Obvious troublemaker. He’ll nitpick the second he spots me.
Alan could learn magic theory from family books, but for accuracy, the academy’s basic course was best. Albert had recommended it. Still, the professor’s boomer aura was already wafting thickly, setting off alarms.
“Before we begin, I have something to say. Listen closely.”
“Yes, Professor!”
The thunderous response drew a thin smile from Professor MacKellan.
“I’ve heard the fuss about that kindling called Shuren Chronicle. Doesn’t the author know praising Kun’Rung over the empire marks him as a potential subversive?”
He said it right in front of Alan, not caring one bit. A blatant shot at him.
Alan just looked bored.
What a boomer.
Professor MacKellan continued. “Discussing that kindling—a grave challenge to imperial literature, shaking its foundations—in my class means an F in the final evaluation. Got it?”
“That’s going too far.”
“Oh, you’re here? Alan Edgar von Mueller. Sorry, didn’t notice you.”
You knew damn well and played dumb.
Anyone could spot Alan’s blackish-blue hair amid the lecture hall’s riot of dyed colors. As a kid, it had caused issues since it resembled Kun’Rung features without being one. Not the point now.
Alan slouched defiantly, meeting the professor’s gaze.
“…Hard to believe someone from the prestigious Mueller house wrote that kindling.”
Alan eyed the Basic Magic Theory professor, who’d shown fierce hostility from the jump. No laugh, no reaction. He reeked of imperial lit cartel boomer.
Unlike the friendly Quiros from his first class, MacKellan oozed venomous antagonism.
Alan stayed silent.
“A tragic waste of talent. Not for kindling like that. I say this out of genuine pity.”
Alan kept quiet, as if to say go on.
“Your talent shines. Writing that at sixteen, entering the academy? Prodigy material. Youngest debut in literary history. Stop that kindling—better yet, write empire tales—and I’d recommend you to the lit world right now──.”
“I’d stop there if I were you.”
A icy voice cut in. Lin.
“Even if it’s just fiction, calling my homeland ‘that sort’ is intolerable.”
“Lin Xiao Mei, correct?”
“And what will you do about it?”
Her poise unshaken, Lin faced him elegantly, a smile playing on her lips.
“Surely a mere professor’s petty opinion won’t deepen East-West empire tensions?”
“…I misspoke.”
Inside the academy, professors held sway, but outside? Lin’s authority trumped his. And beside her, Felicia nodded encouragingly, as if daring him to continue.
MacKellan sensed the trap.
“Why not elaborate, Professor MacKellan?”
Felicia smirked, arms crossed, foot tapping.
“I’m all ears for your wisdom.”
“My apologies, Princess. I’ve sullied your ears with my nonsense.”
Groveling obsequiously. Alan glared in annoyance.
…Next villain for Shuren is this guy.
Ignoring the Mueller ducal house was one thing, but groveling before the princess? Scared of the royals, not dukes.
This is the one I didn’t want to use, but no choice…
Alan’s lips curled into a chilling smile.
Hate pulling family strings, but let’s see you crumble.
“Sounds like an entertaining start to academy life, my son.”
A day later, Professor MacKellan trembled before the stern-faced middle-aged man who’d sought him out.
Gert Edwin von Mueller. The empire’s Sword King had left his duchy to visit Versa Academy in the imperial capital.
“I hear you trashed my son’s work to his face.”
His voice boomed like thunder. MacKellan quaked in terror.
The Sword King, Duke Mueller, was daunting even to meet. Busy with duties, symbol of the empire’s might in sword and magic—he rarely stirred. For him to rush to the capital on a single letter from his son spoke volumes of paternal devotion.
“Kenneth Lagus von MacKellan. Didn’t you hear me?”
“I did, Duke.”
“No answer to my question. Do my words amuse you?”
MacKellan clamped his mouth shut. Any reply meant ruin. He’d forgotten the peril of crossing Mueller.
The duke glared down coldly.
“No reply… Surely you know silence doesn’t just affect you.”
“I──.”
“Did my son insult you? And calling Kun’Rung ‘that sort’ before their princess?”
MacKellan’s face drained to ashen horror. Each word from the Sword King carried crushing weight.
“Normally, I’d overlook it, but with Kun’Rung’s princess in class? The palace could reprimand you, and you’d have no defense.”
“A slip of the tongue──.”
“Now you slip in my presence.”
The duke loomed over him.
“On this matter, with the princess and prince’s approval—and the headmaster’s—we’ll end with your dismissal.”
“N-No!!”
“Contest it in court if you must.”
MacKellan knew it was futile. With royal and headmaster backing, all was settled.
He had no recourse.
He sank to his knees. The duke eyed him coldly.
“A professor judging the world through narrow views is dangerous indeed.”
The duke turned to leave.
“I hope you’ve learned your lesson.”