Can't Give Up Celibacy 011
The stately rumble of carriage wheels rolling over the capital's cobblestones echoed rhythmically. Streetlamp light flickered through the window, briefly illuminating the interior. Amid those flashes, Iris von Evergarden was laughing out loud for the first time in ages.
"Pfft."
A lifetime cooped up in labs wrestling mana circuits was thought to have withered any sense of humor right out of her. But today, her lips kept twitching upward on their own. A disciple, of all things. Even she had to admit it was a ridiculous turn of events.
Suddenly, a vague memory from long ago echoed in her ears—something her own master had once said in jest.
'Heh heh, someday your fated one will come along like a fairy tale. Just like you showed up as a gift to me.'
'If I'm a gift, then play equation assembly with me.'
'......Well, now.'
Back then, she'd smugly dismissed it as arrogance born of ignorance. Teachers aren't geniuses, so they can't grasp the depths of my solitude. How rude. The world was full of idiots, and she alone was an isolated island. She'd slammed the door on her heart with that arrogant conviction.
"A gift, huh..."
Iris murmured, gazing at her reflection in the window. Her master hadn't been wrong. Like a lie, like a present—it had rolled right into her lecture hall on its own two feet.
But he still wasn't her real disciple. The conversation in the parlor with Corinth del Parne, the Palace Count, had been a meticulously calculated performance.
'I can force him onto the rolls as a nominal disciple if I insist. But whether my son stays on as Professor's true disciple? That I can't guarantee.'
When she'd countered that she could just ask Kasian for his consent instead of forcing it—
'Then you'd never get him.'
The Palace Count's reply had been firm as stone.
'My son's got no thirst for power or achievement. Offers of becoming a grand mage or basking in glory? They won't sway him a bit.'
'He has zero of the ambition for fame and fortune that people his age naturally crave. Right now, he's just pretending to obey out of love for his family and worry for his old man like me. He grumbles on the surface, but his heart runs deep.'
Iris propped her chin and smirked. Corinth del Parne, talking about family love? No one in the capital's nobility would buy it.
"No thirst for power? No drive for achievement?"
She shook her head. As a fellow genius, she understood Kasian's ennui all too well.
1. Parne Territory is the sticks. No high-caliber mentors in sight.
2. Kasian is a natural genius. (Just look at that equation-decomposition skill!)
3. How boring must those low-level lessons from third-rate rural mages have been for him?
4. He'd realized it: "Ah, the world's just full of boring crap."
5. Conclusion: He'd shut the door on his heart and was playacting normalcy among fools while chewing on his solitude!
"Fascinating."
Corinth's warning had only fueled her conviction. It wasn't a lack of greed. This dull world just couldn't satisfy him. Academic hunger? Of course it hadn't been sated. Who'd develop an appetite for rotten slop?
Iris was certain. She alone held the key to fling open that sealed door.
Back in the parlor, when she'd declared, "Give me your son," Kasian's shocked expression—red tea spraying from his mouth—flashed in her mind. Flustered. Terrified.
"Adorable."
She could already picture it: shattering that hard shell, dragging out the hidden talent within, spending nights delving into mana truths together. Her toy to fill the void of solitude. Her one true kindred spirit who spoke her language.
The carriage jolted around a corner. She whispered to her grinning reflection.
"Guess I should contact Master after all these years."
A disciple's disciple was basically a grandson.
The parlor air hung heavy.
...Well, heavy for me alone.
I sank deep into the sofa, protesting with the most wronged expression imaginable. Come on, even if you say so—selling off your only son to a professor? What about my human rights?
Father sipped his tea leisurely.
Clink.
The teacup hitting the saucer sounded like a judge's gavel.
"Looks like you haven't grasped the situation. Your reputation's already sunk through the basement into the mantle. Barbarian, starving wretch, illiterate savage."
"......"
"And now fortune walks in on her own two feet to repackage all your antics as 'genius eccentricities,' and you wanna say no?"
He arched a brow. Fair point. If a genius professor claimed me as her disciple, people would shrug off me eating with my hands or napping in lectures as, "Oh, that's just how geniuses are."
"That's why I didn't flat-out refuse and just went along with it!"
But grad student? Slave? Okay, she didn't say slave, but grad student and slave are synonyms.
It clashed head-on with my heir-to-the-farm life plan.
I yelped, and Father chuckled.
"Don't wanna?"
"Duh! Am I crazy? Under a professor, it'd be no play, no rest—just endless squeezing dry!"
"Sounds like you're off to the slave markets."
"Exactly! Grad student! Professor's serf!"
"What would a bumpkin like you who never sniffed Imperial Academy air know to judge so sure?"
"Does it matter how I know? You not denying it proves it's true!"
Others grit their teeth for degrees, jobs, professor gigs—or here, front-row tickets to grand mage status. But me? Even if she offered a race-change coupon to dragon, I'd pass. What good's that? Not starting a war or anything.
"Hmm. Well, there's another way."
Corinth stroked his chin, dangling bait. Oh?
I perked up, eyes sparkling. "What's that? Let's hear it. My ears are wide open."
Riiiing!
Instead of answering, he rang the bell for Alfred outside. What? Why summon the old butler now?
The door burst open.
"You called, family head?"
"Mm. Alfred."
"Yes, family head."
"Fetch Madam Argio first thing tomorrow."
Madam Argio? Rings a bell...
"And before that, send a letter by trusted courier tonight."
"What shall I write?"
"We're sending a matchmaker, so tell her to scout the quickest match possible in advance."
My jaw dropped. Oh right. Madam Argio. Empire's top matchmaker from the original story. The viper auntie who latches on and doesn't let go till you're walking the aisle?
This was straight-up forced political marriage route.
Two futures clashed in my head.
[Option A: Married Man Ending]
Marry some noble lady I've never seen → "Honey, bring home the cash." → Get bled dry → Freedom revoked → Potato farm seized → Game over.
[Option B: Slave Disciple Ending]
Iris Professor's slave → "Kasian, write papers." → Get worked → But clock out sometimes → No marriage → Keep the potatoes.
Result in 0.1 seconds. Celibacy's non-negotiable. Marriage is life's grave. Haven't tried it, but still.
Better dive into grad school hell!
I bolted upright from the sofa.
"Disciple! I'll give it my all! Total loyalty, Father! Suddenly, my passion for academia's surging!"
"......"
He lifted his teacup nonchalantly at my thunderous pivot.
"Do what you want, then."
"Yeah! Studying under someone like Professor Iris has been my lifelong dream! Haha!"
I wiped cold sweat, forcing a grin. Meanwhile, Alfred smacked his lips beside us. Smack. Regret plain on his face.
...What? Old man, what were you hoping for? You weren't seriously planning my wedding, were you?
Bet he was thrilled at the thought of collecting wedding cash gifts. Creepy as hell.
Next morning, Imperial Academy front gates buzzed with incoming carriages. I waved to Thomas the coachman and hopped down.
Thud.
The moment my feet hit ground, familiar stares poured in.
"Oh, look there. The barbarian."
"That illiterate? No manners, right?"
"Still coming to the academy after mouthing off to a professor? Thick-skinned much."
Surround-sound gossip battered my ears from all sides. But my mental armor's titanium alloy now. Compared to Korean school violence, military hazing, and family nagging at holidays, this "oh my oh my" chatter's just cute ASMR.
Bark all you want. I'm doing me. Not some direct-import Japanese bullying—zero impact.
Pretending to adjust earbuds, I scratched my ear and headed for the main building.
That's when.
"......Huh?"
Far off at the main entrance. Students parted like the Red Sea, someone standing dead center.
Princess pulling aggro again? Nope.
A black-haired, red-eyed woman waving at me. Professor Iris.
But her getup...
Ball or what? Heading to a dance?
Seductive red dress hugging her figure, black hair elegantly styled and swaying. Full makeup too. Even for a ball, you'd change later—not strut like that first thing in the morning?
Our academy girls' uniforms are dressy and cute too, but none dare approach. Total "I'm the only idol here" mode.
But.
No way... she's waiting for me?
Students murmured.
"Professor? Special day or something?"
"No way she's greeting that illiterate, right?"
"Nah."
Amid their denial, my instincts screamed danger. Eye contact. She beamed.
...Run.
I casually turned away, slipping sideways like I hadn't seen.
But as I pivoted—
Click-clack, click-clack!
Heels closed in fast. She'd blocked my path already. Up close, even deadlier beauty. Pale skin contrasting red lips, redder eyes. The black hair? Stirred some deep Korean DNA.
Damn, she's gorgeous.
No subtle distance like with blondes or silvers.
Lost in her face for a sec—
Iris flashed a sultry smile. "Your master came out personally to welcome her disciple on his first day."
Her finger tapped my tie.
"How could you ignore the handshake, Kasian?"
Silence crashed like a mute button. Students' eyes bulged.
"D-Disciple?"
"That barbarian... Professor Iris's disciple?"
"Impossible! The illiterate?!"
Every time—pick one nickname already? Shock, horror, disbelief. Negative stares stabbed me.
I facepalmed internally.
...This woman's seriously off.
Don't normals handle disciple stuff quietly in the lab with oaths? Why public execution in front of everyone!
"No running from now on. My eyes are everywhere."
She whispered in my ear. Chills.
I awkward-smiled, backing up. "Haha, running? Never. Esteemed master."
"Good. Follow. I'll show you my lab."
Ignoring my reply, she turned. Click-clack fading. I sighed.
Then—familiar faces in the crowd. Corner: Lily, blank-faced, eyes unfocused.
Eh?
Eh?
Eh?
Text bubbles practically floated over her head. Opposite, second-floor terrace: Elisia von Rosenberg peering down, fan over mouth. Purple eyes curved in amusement, like a noble spotting entertaining spectacle.
...Right.
"Coming or what?"
Iris glanced back, urging.
"Yeah, yeah!"
I trudged after her. Slave life, day one. A morning missing potato farming like crazy.