Morning Lectures and the Late Shift
“Yo, you hear? Eggmas Professor’s head flying off?”
“Of course I heard. At first I thought it was just some weird rumor. Turns out the professor’s name vanished from the list without a trace.”
“What is this? If he’s gone from the list, it’s not just taking a break—it’s expulsion.”
“Nobody knows the full story. Still, I always figured that guy would end up like this. My seniors said he was a total troublemaker even before, full of bad blood everywhere.”
As the classmates’ stories washed over me, I opened the administrative studies textbook with a lightness that felt almost too good.
That class used to be the one that always gave me a headache, but drinking an entire can of cider seemed to have washed everything clean. My head didn’t even throb.
At this very moment, that imposter professor was probably being dragged into the Magic Tower’s inspection room, subjected to every possible form of pressure until he spilled everything.
Magicians are a rare resource, that much is true, but only among ordinary people.
Among other magicians, anyone who shames the name of magic isn’t a peer—it’s a burden or a piece of trash.
Before complaints even piled up, we had to either reclaim the good as usable magic or, if that was impossible, mark it as unusable and bury it in the ground with a warning.
Magicians aren’t idiots. No matter how wondrous the magic, how essential it is…
They know exactly what happens if they lose public trust: it’s game over.
So bragging, showing off—anytime you cross that line, it’s straight to the inspection room.
“Hello, everyone. You all seem really energetic since morning. I can’t even get a word in.”
Apparently the sheer volume of chatter had been so loud I hadn’t even noticed Professor Walter walk in.
He gave the lectern a light tap, and only then did the class fall silent, settling in to focus.
“The most important thing in administration is, above all, people. No matter how brilliant the theory is, if you think a person isn’t necessary, that system is finished. Some of you will work in administration, others will have to govern an entire territory. Administration exists for people—today, listen hard and work your hardest.”
It was a lecture that had nothing to do with me personally, but it was hard, yet somehow easy to rack up points on.
That was why Literary Division students signed up for it whether their future involved admin or not. Walter Professor must have hated that.
“But there are a few empty seats… and eight of you are absent today. If I don’t call roll, attendance will look terrible.”
Walter was the kind of professor who rarely called roll.
But when absences were this obvious, he’d call them just to give everyone a little extra credit.
In other words, the absent classmates had walked right into the trap: “Did he really call roll today?”
You couldn’t sneak a message to a friend on Earth and have them sprint over like a maniac.
One by one his name was called. When the last student was confirmed, Walter Professor marked every absent name.
“The students who were absent—take this time for yourselves. Otherwise, the lost points will keep you awake all night.”
“….”
“… ….”
By the way, Minerva Academy was tighter than any normal university.
Students had either been called geniuses as children or come from some prestigious family.
Professors couldn’t bully them, and they didn’t want to. So instead they relied on self-discipline.
If scores were short, you got a warning. Three warnings and permanent expulsion.
Students who caused trouble or failed to meet academy requirements were expelled.
If they were nobles, you could bet half a year in noble society would be spent being shredded—calling them “shameful nobles,” “pathetic families,” all of it.
Ordinary students faced the same reality.
Even more importantly, you had to prove your worth to earn more support from sponsors.
If you discovered raw ore and turned it into jewelry, you’d feel a pang if the craftsmanship wasn’t perfect. But you’d never throw it away, right? Same principle.
“…Um, while lecturing, a thought just hit me. You students who came to my class today must have earned something. I’ll give you one problem from the midterm exam.”
“Ooooh!”
“Professor, long live!”
“Wow, those absent idiots are screwed.”
As expected—no letting your guard down even a second in an infinite competition.
The absent students were probably foaming at the mouth right now.
At best, the ones with decent friends could ask around and steal the answers. Anyone else would lose everything.
After the lecture ended, I walked the hallway and spotted a cluster of classmates gathered around a board.
A notice was pinned there.
— Attention all students —
— The professor who taught magic to first-year Literary Division students, Professor Eggmas, has stepped down for personal reasons. We understand the sudden change is surprising, but the academy has already appointed a replacement. —
They handled it fast.
Of course they did. I had dangled a juicy carrot for him.
“Help me and I won’t help with your next paper,” I had warned.
It wasn’t a major issue—just advice on direction and tone—but it had clearly helped him.
His talent was real, yet he couldn’t explain or teach it. His friend in the sky must have been fair.
— You will soon see the new magic professor in the lecture hall. —
— In addition, the new professor requested that diligent students attend from the early morning—great, we welcome that—but no dozing off after insufficient sleep. Therefore, the magic lecture start time has been moved from 8:00 a.m. to 10:00 a.m. First-year Literary Division students, please adjust your schedule. —
“Wow, two whole hours later?”
“Good. Eggmas always dragged class from 8 to 11:30.”
“Meal time is academy rule—students and professors eat together…”
“Walter Professor won’t pull any nonsense and stretch lectures on his own. Best! Minerva!”
Apparently no one truly enjoyed waking up early. Or rather, they hated the necessity of it.
“What’s going on?”
“You two see that? Eggmas just vanished. The notice said ‘personal reasons,’ but this smells like someone fixed it.”
“He was already notorious for being a troublemaker. Why would he quit now? Maybe it really was personal.”
“No way. The cut looks clean—someone took a knife to it.”
I left the gossip behind and headed for the cafeteria.
I already knew the full story, so I didn’t need to jump into the conversation.
Today’s menu looked decent. Before the crowd arrived, I should grab a seat.
Then someone’s hand slid onto my shoulder from behind.
“Do you know something, Lucian?”
“…Even as a theory genius, I can’t know professors’ personal matters.”
“Aww, not that. What do you know?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Something’s off. A professor you clashed with vanished in under two days. From our perspective, Lucian, you’re the prime suspect!”
I hadn’t committed any crime. Suspect? Of what?
I shook my head and shrugged off the hand still gripping my shoulder—the second son of the Gocour family, Raoul Ocoe von Gocour.
“Let’s eat, Raoul. The menu today isn’t bad.”
“You’re deflecting. You’re the suspicious one.”
“According to you, a professor I had friction with vanished after years of trouble. I’m just some noble from a random barony, not royalty.”
“Aw man… why belittle yourself like that? It’s a joke! A joke.”
He had plenty of teasing energy but never crossed lines.
I used that to my advantage—whenever he got annoying, I’d pull the line close.
Raoul, realizing he had stepped over, backed off in panic.
“Lucian, please. Can we treat jokes as jokes? Every time I get serious it stings.”
“I don’t listen to anyone whose entrance exam score is lower than mine.”
“Hey! That was just a joke! Come on, was it really that bad? You and my dad—how bad was the bad blood over a few bets?”
The bet Raoul meant was challenging me on entrance exam scores.
I already knew he was weak in practicals, so his “let’s try it” was just a childish taunt. I crushed him in theory and won overwhelmingly.
Thank goodness he had a playful streak; otherwise I’d have cut ties instantly.
At first he kept bragging until I told him to stop. Later he apologized, trying hard to make it right.
He never crossed the line, and if he felt he had, he’d immediately admit fault and bend his pride for me.
That was why we stayed close.
“More importantly… I’m worried.”
“What’s the worry this time, Raoul?”
“Afternoon lectures. Why is basic swordsmanship a required course for Literary Division when you’re supposed to be intellectuals?”
“Is that what you’re saying right now?”
“Friend, it’s you and me against the world. I’ve seen you swing a sword, right?”
“…Sorry. Nothing to say.”
Another reason Raoul was my closest friend.
He was just as useless in real combat as I was.
Magic was tolerable. Swordsmanship? Almost identical.
Sharing the same pain, we naturally became close.
The part I still couldn’t understand.
I transferred to Literary Division because I couldn’t wield a sword, yet there was a mandatory basic swordsmanship class.
Not optional—a required class that would crush anyone who skipped it.
Why was this torment placed right in front of me?
Just like how scholars in Joseon thought shooting a bow was basic.
Here, nobles considered mastering swordsmanship the bare minimum for survival.
The academy seemed to have added it for students’ mental and physical growth…
“But to me it’s hell. Pure hell!”
The one comforting part: most Literary Division students were equally terrible with swords.
That made afternoon lectures bearable.
I decided to worry about the afternoon later and tugged Raoul toward the cafeteria.
Before his hand could clamp my ankle.
“Swordsmanship is the foundation for cultivating mind and body. It isn’t about chasing raw physical strength—it’s about refining yourself, even if your spirit has grown dull.”
I glanced sideways. Rie was walking toward us in simple training clothes.
She was probably dressed for sword practice. Even in that plain outfit, she looked incredibly elegant. No doubt about it.
“…What are you doing here?”
“I was passing by. More importantly, Lucian. You seem to know very little about swords. I’m here to teach you. Do you mind?”
“Of course I mind. I’m on my way to the cafeteria.”
“Think again. It’s not noon yet. There are still thirty minutes until lunch.”
“Preemptively eating is the perfect time.”
“An even better time to learn more about swords with me. I’m the first-year representative, so I want to help any first-years struggling with swordsmanship.”
“Help only when asked. This side doesn’t…”
“Welcome! We welcome it! Glory to Rie-sama! You can skip lunch—sharing a blade with you would make me the happiest! Hahaha!”
…Apparently getting hit in the back by a friend is universal.
---