013: Liberal Arts Building Rooftop Garden
Liberal Arts Building Rooftop Garden. It was empty for now, so I claimed it. It was a spot where someone showing up wouldn't raise any eyebrows, but I had no other options. If I'd poked around some secluded corner on the ground level, I was bound to run into the saintess.
"Haa, you real idiot. Even idiots aren't this level of moron."
I leaned against the railing and tore at my hair. The fatal mistake I'd realized right after escaping Iris's lab earlier was hitting me hard in the bones. I hadn't asked the most important thing.
'Where's the personal lab, and where's the key?'
I should've asked that so I could pack my bags today and hole up there immediately. Go back now and ask? No way in hell. Who was gonna handle that awkwardness? Me? Or the professor who'd been locked in for thirty minutes? And what if she recognized my face again?
"Sigh, fuck my luck."
I lay down on the bench, planning to catch a nap until class, and clasped my hands toward the sky.
"Please, I beg you."
I wasn't religious, but times like this called for praying.
"Tomorrow when I ask, please let her say, 'Oh, it's all ready, so move in today.'"
Whoosh—the wind seemed to carry my prayer.
"Make the location some secluded annex with no signs of life, not even a rat, next to a warehouse or whatever, just quiet. And the most important option."
"Put the professor's personal lab very, very far away. Like, no-entry zone within a one-km radius."
Forget the view or mold. I could deal with that. But "move-in ready" and "distance from professor's lab" were non-negotiable.
Please!
Second Greenhouse Garden, the venue for Intro to Herbal Medicine. Sunlight poured through the glass ceiling, and the air was thick with the scent of all kinds of plants. The syllabus had just one line: [Aims to understand the basic concepts of herbs]. Whether in Korea or here, tenured professors scribbling half-assed syllabi was universal.
Murmurs rose.
"Look, she's here."
"Iris the professor came out to greet him personally?"
The way they looked at me like some barbarian had shifted from yesterday. If yesterday it was just "annoying pest" vibes, today it was several levels more blatant. Jealousy and suspicion.
"How can that brute be Iris the professor's disciple?"
"He didn't solve some genius problem, right? Just got lucky?"
"The professor must've made a mistake. Magic from a barbarian like that?"
Insults I could take, but these snake eyes were suffocating. I played it cool and headed to a corner spot in the greenhouse. Amid that, two stares especially stabbed my back.
One was Elisia. She propped her chin, staring right at me.
'Gonna lose it for real.'
Why the hell was she in my class? Unlike the others, no malice—just pure curiosity that was super burdensome. Her face practically screamed, 'What the heck is this guy?' I wanted to erase it with a giant eraser.
And the other: Hector. If looks could kill, I'd be quartered already. His eyes burned with near-murderous hostility.
'Dude, Hector's a knight—why's he pissed?'
If he were a mage, it'd make sense. But why was a sword guy jealous of a mage disciple spot?
'Makes zero sense.'
Or if it was about the incinerator thing, that was legendary grudge-holding.
Surrounded by malicious glares, vertigo was setting in.
'Don't snake me, you psychos. I'm getting a real panic attack.'
If I foamed at the mouth and collapsed, it'd be "Barbarian had a seizure in class" rumors.
Suddenly, an original scene flashed: heroine Lily making panic-attack meds for Hector's sickly flounder of a sister. What were the ingredients again? Fuzzy text floated in my mind.
'Purple moonflower? No. Blue sunflower? Red starflower?'
Memory fuzzy. All I knew: [color] + [sun/moon/star] + [flower]. If I nailed that, I could brew it later.
"Damn, why am I already stressing panic-attack meds in this twisted life?"
Fortune or misfortune? I retreated to the wall in the back corner of the crowd, escaping reality.
Then.
Thud, thud! Rough footsteps on the dirt, and a woman with serious presence strode in from the entrance. Tanned, healthy dark skin. Muscled, solid arms. Wide leather dress to the ankles, topped with a dirt-caked leather apron. Cowboy hat with a wide brim.
Her whole vibe screamed, "This is the empire's new women's workwear!" Hip as hell.
She grinned.
"Nice to meet you, new students."
Her gravelly voice was magnetic.
"I'm Muller Viscountess, in charge of your Intro to Herbal Medicine."
Oh. Digging this professor already? Which meant everyone else was thinking the opposite.
"...Is she really the professor?"
"Looks like it."
"The world... her dignity..."
To highborn lads and lasses' refined tastes, her outfit was terrorism. But I was the opposite.
'Hip as fuck.'
I crossed my arms and nodded. That wasn't tacky. The nonchalant chic of the leather apron, hat maximizing utility without losing style. Straight out of my past-life memories of Seongsu-dong leather workshops—avant-garde workwear. My jam.
'She gets fashion, that auntie.'
But as I admired her stomping approach, a bad premonition crawled up my spine.
'Hold up.'
A character this distinct couldn't be an extra. Extras were bald prof #1, strict prof #2. This design was too detailed.
"Professor in that? Ridiculous."
A nearby student's grumble triggered a spark in my hazy original-knowledge databank.
[Eccentric new herbalism prof this year.]
[Heroine Lily's hidden ally.]
[Provider of the key ingredient for panic-attack meds—purple moonflower or blue sunflower or red starflower or whatever.]
'...Oh, right.'
I sighed inwardly. This was her. Obvious now. Major supporting character. Another name added to my avoidance list.
'Fuck, named NPCs everywhere.'
This school wasn't for extras. I minimized my presence and slunk to the back of the crowd.
Then, Muller Viscountess tipped her hat brim and spoke.
"One thing before class."
Her voice gravelly. As murmurs persisted, she smirked.
"My outfit's a bit out there, I get it. But let me clarify: I'm not an adjunct. I'm a full professor, officially hired."
Full professor. Idiots who didn't grasp the weight still whispered.
"A full prof in that..."
"Right?"
Sigh. These fools. No street smarts? I'd already sensed it—fresh from nearly dying to Iris yesterday. Professors were untouchable. Even in sackcloth.
Her eyes sharpened.
"Keep treating me like a clown instead of a professor, and I can make the rest of your academy life very uncomfortable. Professor's personal prerogative."
"...!"
"Think you can handle that?"
The room went dead silent, like ice water dumped. Students bowed their heads in shock. I tsked at the sight.
'Tsk tsk. Human greed has no end, repeating the same mistakes.'
Power crushes all.
"Good. Let's start class. Follow me."
She led, and the disciplined flock trailed like chicks. I stuck to the rear, invisible.
*
We arrived at the greenhouse's remotest corner. Unlike the flower-filled entrance, this was barren wasteland. Empty dirt patch.
'Why waste prime land? Give it to me—I'd plant potatoes or sweet potatoes and harvest like crazy. Damn.'
Suppressing my farmer blood, Muller Viscountess eyed the group.
"First class, so let's start light with Q&A."
She pointed at a slick-looking guy up front.
"Student, where do you think herbs come from?"
"Uh? Markets, from merchants?"
One-dimensional. She nodded impassively. "Good. Not wrong. Next student—where does the merchant get them?"
The tapped girl fidgeted. "From herb gatherers? Pros, right?"
Two-dimensional. "Good. Next—where do the gatherers get them?"
"Uh... secret forests or hidden lands only they know?"
Smooth so far. She nodded satisfied, tapping the dirt with her leather boot.
"Good. Deeper now."
Her eyes gleamed sharp.
"So, where does that land get the herbs from?"
"...Huh?"
Students' eyes wavered. The question turned subtly pedantic. Land getting herbs? Nobles' "sound smart" syndrome kicked in.