Why the Solo Jealousy Rage? (2)
Maron stared in admiration at Gilliam in the seat next to him.
Wow...
Maybe no one else would dare follow along with Liam-kun just to provoke him.
At least, Maron couldn't imagine anyone on his level.
Orh Gent, trembling with rage, finally opened his mouth.
"...Gilliam Everchess."
"Yes, Professor?"
"The fact that you have time to flirt with girls before class means you've already done your homework, right?"
"I skimmed it a bit."
Orh's eyes flashed.
"Oh? So you did your prep...!"
Orh grabbed a piece of chalk and started scribbling ancient script on the blackboard.
Ancient language was one of the two key knowledges needed to activate magic.
It was Orh's subject, and what he was writing now was a magic incantation.
The problem? It was way too advanced for a first-year's first class.
That's way too long...
Who memorizes something like that before even enrolling...?
What's with that mutation? I've never seen it before...?
Scribble-scribble-scribble... Snap! Clack, clack!
Finally complete, it looked like some mythical serpent monster—a ridiculously long incantation formula.
"Gilliam."
Orh flashed a sly grin.
"There are a lot of blanks in this incantation. Mind filling them in?"
Maron was floored.
No way, that's way too blatant...
He'd expected a tough problem to make him squirm and humiliate him.
But this? Even for that, it was overkill. Shouldn't it at least be from the first-year textbook?
Maron's irises flushed a murky red.
Contempt for Orh.
Vulgar. No wonder he's 56 and still unmarried...
"Hmm..."
Gilliam pondered the problem.
Maron felt like he had to do something.
"L-Liam-kun. You can ignore it."
Eletra chimed in from the side, trying to stop him.
"Yeah, don't sweat it. That's advanced even among advanced courses... stuff you learn in third year."
"..."
"...Gilliam?"
"...I think I can solve it?"
"...What?"
He really looked like he could.
The game's ancient language lore was detailed in the setting collection post.
All eyes in the lecture hall fixed on Gilliam as he stood and walked to the front.
What the...?
Uh...?
What's he thinking...?
And the most shocked was Orh himself, the one who'd posed the problem. Why was this guy actually coming up?
Gilliam picked up the chalk and pondered deeply in front of the board.
"..."
"..."
"..."
The lecture hall fell silent.
Tension swelled.
G>
And Gilliam kept thinking.
"..."
"..."
"..."
Finally, Orh let out a hollow laugh.
"Ha, hahaha... Good effort, at least."
Not sincere, of course. It was sarcasm—he figured the clueless punk was just stalling to waste time.
"But if you don't know, why not sit down? Class is—"
Thwack.
The chalk hit the board with a bold smack.
Thwack, scribble-smack, scribble-smack, smack.
Perfect ancient words filled Orh's blanks. Spot-on vocabulary, flawless grammar.
The cadets couldn't even tell if it was right—they didn't know either.
But they could tell indirectly.
Orh's face darkened more with every blank Gilliam filled.
Crisp chalk sounds as blanks turned to answers.
A problem no first-year should solve was being perfected.
What the hell is this guy...!!
Gilliam's hand flowed without a hitch.
Finally, the last blank of the massive formula filled, he flashed a grin.
"All done, Professor."
Seeing that smile, Orh felt his blood boil over.
Ducal family, handsome enough to charm girls, and now smart too?
This fraud bastard...!!!!
Just ruin your life already. It has to happen.
Guys like this deserve to get scammed by a gold-digger and lose everything! That's social justice!!!
A curse aimed at his own student.
Swallowing words that disqualified him as an educator, Orh could only tremble.
"Professor?"
"..."
He couldn't even respond. Opening his mouth now might unleash a screaming rage.
"Did I get something wrong...? Ah!"
Gilliam grabbed the eraser.
Orh's eyes gleamed.
A late fix for a mistake? Or thinking a correct answer was wrong?
Either way, perfect excuse to unleash humiliation.
Right before Orh's eyes, Gilliam erased.
Not a blank—but part of Orh's own incantation.
Then rewrote it.
Correctly.
He'd botched the blank-filling problem by making a flawed original—and Gilliam fixed the flaw.
"—!!!"
Orh felt crushing shame squeeze his heart.
"Now it's really all done, Professor."
Gilliam beamed proudly.
Hiding a trap like that. Figured plain blanks would be too easy, huh?
5-Star Magic: Flame Hell Inferno
Engulfs the area in flames. A secret art once passed only among Yung's emperors, backing their tyranny.
Oh.
So that's how you learn magic.
100k points, huh. Makes sense for 5-star.
Tough, but achievable with effort.
"Professor Orh. You really..."
Gratitude welled up.
He wanted to praise this true mentor for the opportunity... but stopped short.
"...Never mind."
He just smiled instead.
"Y-You...!!! Everch—urk!?"
Orh clutched his chest and collapsed.
A vague original-game line surfaced.
The professor changed. Starting tomorrow, not that creepy pig Orh, but some woman.
"What's the cause?"
"Orh burst a blood vessel and died. His heart and vessels were bad already, but he lost big gambling and snapped."
"Ah."
"Huuuugh!!"
Heart attack!!
Orh's death, years early from the original, was happening now!!
"No, Professor!! Stay with us!! A true teacher like you can't go so pointlessly!!"
"Guhk!!"
"You worked so hard to teach me—you can't die like this!!"
"Grrraaagh!!!"
Even cheering him on made Orh's face blacker each time.
Orh squeezed words through stiff lips.
"I-I...!"
I curse you!
I curse you to death! Even in death, I curse you!! Gilliam Everchess!!!!!
May no peace find you!! May your soul never rest!!!
I wish the most wretched fate upon you!! May a past-hiding whore seduce you, take your fortune, and divorce you!!!!
"Healer! Someone call a healer—aaargh!! Teacher, nooooo!!!!"
Orh Gent, age 56.
Clutched in the arms of the man he hated most, cursing him to the end, he died.
"Teaaaaaacherrrrrrr!!!!!!"
That evening.
"Boy, why so glum today?"
The big-breasted white-haired neighbor—whose name he still didn't know—asked.
"A true teacher passed away."
"Hm?"
The big-breasted white-haired woman plopped her chest on the fence again today.
"Heard a weird rumor at the Academy. Some scoundrel student tried to humiliate his professor, got owned instead, and killed the prof."
"Rumors get nasty."
"Said he mocked the prof with 'You really... pfft, never mind,' triggered a fit, then held the guy spewing blood tears and taunted him to his last breath?"
"Tch, who? Not many at the Academy that rotten..."
"..."
The white-haired woman brought her fingers to her lips in a V-shape. Like lighting an invisible cigarette.
Assistant Lucy Merhantia mimed smoking a nonexistent cig with index and middle finger on her lips.
"...Ah."
He remembered.
"You're a grad student, right."
Cadets were undergrads; grad students were postgrads.
"Hm? What makes you say that, boy?"
She had a name, for sure.
"Lucy Merhantia, bearer of the Hyeonbing Star fate, right?"
"...Hm?"
In the original, she was the Academy terrorist.
"Boy."
Lucy leaned her chest harder on the fence. Squish—her perfect breasts deformed live before his eyes.
"You really are fun—"
"Whoa, those tits are huge."
"..."
"Sorry."
[Target does not dislike it]
Praise Points: +10 (1580 → 1590)