Philosophy Professor in an Accuracy-Obsessed Dumpster Fire of a Game

The game I used to play was a complete dumpster fire.

To be precise, even saying I "used to play" it felt strange.

Because there had never been much joy in it.

Its title was Imperial Academia: Chronicles of the Kingdom.

Even the name was boring.

And it truly was boring.

The developers were unhinged about historical accuracy, as if they held some personal grudge against the entire concept of fun.

To take a swordsmanship class, you first had to memorize the year a blade was forged and the lineage of its school. To learn magic, you had to pass an exam on ancient grammar, and holy magic wouldn't even open its skill tree until you'd read a theological thesis.

If you wanted to speak to a noble young lady, you had to sit through a three-hour dining etiquette tutorial. Tear the bread the wrong way and your affection score dropped; fail to use the soup spoon from the outside in, and high society would roast you alive.

Combat?

It existed, technically.

But if a sword hit you, you bled. Bleed enough, and you died. Armor was heavy, and if it was heavy, you couldn't run. To ride a horse you had to bond with it first, and if the horse got stressed, it would throw you mid-battle.

There was even a winter event where forgetting your coat gave you a cold. Neglect the cold and it became pneumonia. Neglect the pneumonia, and your character died.

Players called it this:

An accuracy-obsessed dumpster fire.

I agreed completely. That game really was a dumpster fire.

And I had played that dumpster fire for 5,700 hours.

The notification popped up in the bottom-right corner of my monitor.

I stared at the words in a daze. Then I slowly began to clap.

Clap.

Clap.

Clap.

"Wow."

I meant it.

"My life is completely wrecked."

A philosophy graduate who couldn't make money. Who taught classes no one listened to. Who wrote papers no one read. Who published a book that sold fewer copies than he had friends.

That was me.

I was a philosopher. More precisely, I was closer to an unemployed man who claimed to be a philosopher.

Philosophy doesn't pay.

I knew that better than anyone—because I was genuinely failing to make money with philosophy.

So why had someone like me poured 5,700 hours into this dumpster fire?

Because this game had philosophy in it.

No—more accurately, it had a ridiculous amount of it.

The process by which a genius of the magic department, consumed by distrust of humanity, became the Great Witch. The route where a frontier princess, seized by the logic of power, awakened as the Demon King. The branch where a model student of the holy department, crushed under the weight of faith, became a Fallen Saint. The ending where a hero candidate, after saving the world, decided to manage it and became a dictator.

The game was not fun—but when it came to the process of a human being collapsing, it was obsessively thorough to the point of madness.

One choice. One class. One line of dialogue.

Those small things stacked up, and a person became a monster.

I liked that.

More than games where you hit things with swords and blew them up with magic, the process of a human being persuading themselves into becoming a monster was far more terrifying.

So I read.

I read the lore books no one else opened. I read the NPC dialogue everyone skipped. I read the philosophy lecture texts. I read the kingdom history annotations, the noble family genealogies, and the theological debates.

On the strategy boards, everyone said the same thing.

I upvoted those comments.

And then I attended every single philosophy class.

What a dumpster fire.

I snorted a laugh.

But right then—

My chest tightened strangely.

At first I thought it was my stomach. I figured it was the cheap cup noodles I'd shoved into an empty gut.

It wasn't.

My fingertips went cold. I couldn't draw a proper breath. The monitor screen wavered.

I collapsed over the desk and looked at the screen one last time.

The in-game text blurred and spread.

And then—

I died.

When I opened my eyes, there was ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠a ceiling.

An unfamiliar ceiling.

Of course it was. My studio apartment ceiling had mold on it; the one above me now did not.

Instead, there was gold-leaf molding and a chandelier so elegant it was almost offensive.

"……."

I blinked.

Once. Twice. Three times.

The ceiling did not disappear.

A dream?

My body was far too vivid for a dream. The bed beneath my back was soft, and the sunlight coming through the window was warm.

Somewhere, a bell was ringing.

Dong. Dong. Dong.

I slowly sat up.

And nearly screamed on the spot.

"Ow, damn—"

That wasn't my voice.

It was a little lower, a little thinner, and somehow naturally unpleasant—elegant, yet with a sarcasm that seemed to cling to the ends of words all by itself.

It was a long way from the voice of my previous life.

I got out of bed and walked to the mirror.

And froze.

A stranger stood in the glass.

Black hair. Pale skin. Thin lips. A sharp chin. Narrow, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠slit-like eyes. A face that looked like it was sneering even when it wasn't smiling.

In a word—

"Corrupt official."

He genuinely looked like a corrupt official.

The kind of face that would feast on fatty meat bought with the people's taxes, cook the books behind closed doors, and chase women the moment opportunity allowed.

He hadn't said a word yet, and already he looked like he'd taken a bribe. He hadn't done a thing yet, and already he looked like he'd threatened a student with their grades. Just standing in front of the mirror, he looked like a man who had sold his conscience somewhere along the way.

I carefully tried a smile.

The man in the mirror smiled with me.

"……."

I wiped the expression off immediately.

Smiling made it worse.

Now he looked like the sort of man who could quietly bury someone and then sit down for a calm cup of tea.

In that moment, something rose in my mind.

Ian Werner.

Philosophy professor at Lumenhart Empire Academy. Age twenty-nine. Specialties: ethics, metaphysics, political philosophy.

Student evaluations: worst. Faculty reputation: also worst. Class satisfaction: even worse.

His nickname—

"Werner the Snooze."

I pressed a hand to my forehead.

"I'm screwed."

No—this wasn't just ordinary screwed.

I knew that name. Ian Werner.

An unpopular professor NPC from Imperial Academia: Chronicles of the Kingdom. A character almost completely unrelated to the main story. He taught philosophy classes, and most players skipped him entirely.

On the strategy boards, they called him this:

I stared blankly into the mirror.

"Of all people, it had to be this bastard?"

I wasn't a student. I wasn't a noble. I wasn't a hero. I wasn't a genius mage.

I had become a philosophy professor inside a dumpster fire of a game.

And not just any professor—an unpopular general-education instructor whose face alone annihilated trust on sight.

"……."

I was silent for a moment.

Then I thought.

Still, if I'm a professor, do I at least get a salary?

A philosopher's instinct. Livelihood came before worldbuilding.

I rummaged through the desk.

There was an envelope. Inside were a few coins and a pay stub.

"……."

I set the statement down quietly.

"It's exactly the same as my previous life."

Even in another world, philosophy didn't pay.

Then someone knocked on the door.

Knock, knock.

"Professor, are you awake?"

A young man's voice came from outside.

I hesitated for a second. Who was this? Did Ian Werner have a teaching assistant?

I dug through the memories—or rather, I groped for the ones left in this body.

Academy administrative assistant. Name: Martin. Assigned to the philosophy department. In practice, a minder who confirmed whether the professor was still alive and shepherded him to the classroom.

I cleared my throat.

"Come in."

The door opened.

A brown-haired young man entered carrying a stack of documents. The moment he saw me, he let out a sigh of relief.

"Thank goodness. I was sure you'd be late again today."

"Again?"

"Yes. Last semester, you were late to the first lecture three times."

"……."

"And once, you mixed up the classrooms and taught ethics in the stables."

I closed my eyes.

Ian Werner. He was even more of a disaster than I'd thought.

Martin held out the papers.

"Today's lecture roster. It also includes the student list for this semester's Introduction to Philosophy."

I took the documents without much thought.

Introduction to Philosophy. A common required general-education course at the academy. One of the classes students hated most.

The sword department said, "Why think when you can just solve it with a blade?" The magic department said, "Unproven speculation is worthless." The holy department said, "Truth already belongs to God."

Impressive. The class was doomed before anyone even enrolled.

I flipped through the roster.

And my hand stopped.

The first name.

Elise Morgan.

A chill ran down my spine.

Elise Morgan. First-year, magic department. The one who would one day become the Great Witch of the Black Forest.

In the late game, she put the entire northern empire to sleep with a curse. People aged and died inside their nightmares without waking; the forest turned black; three moons rose in the sky.

Cause of her fall: extreme distrust of humanity. Betrayal in childhood. Isolation at the academy. And at the decisive moment—no one took her hand.

I looked at the next name.

Leonora Wallenstein.

Princess of a frontier duchy. First-year, sword department. The woman later called the Demon King.

Strictly speaking, she was not a true ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠demon monarch. But she destroyed seven human kingdoms and united demons and other races to wage war against the empire.

Her creed was simple.

The strong rule. The weak do not even deserve protection.

I swallowed.

Next name.

Serena Arcelia.

First-year, holy department. Candidate for the next Saint. The Fallen Saint who would one day burn the Holy Empire's great cathedral to the ground.

Her corruption route was infamous. Players called her a saint at first; after the ending, they called her this:

The Saint Whose Light Went Out.

She collapsed because she loved God, and because she believed God had abandoned her, she smashed every altar.

And the last name.

Karen Astra.

Special scholarship student, sword department. Hero candidate. The one who would one day slay the Demon King and save the world.

The problem came after that.

After killing the Demon King, Karen tried to control every kingdom so the world would never fall into chaos again. She eliminated those who resisted and sealed off cities that wouldn't obey.

She said it with a smile.

For the peace of the world.

Players called that ending the Psychopath Hero route.

I went rigid, still holding the roster.

"Professor?"

Martin called to me.

"You don't look well."

"Martin."

"Yes."

"Is this semester's Introduction to Philosophy enrollment exactly as listed here?"

"Yes. Though most of them are only here because it's required."

"Of course."

"The sword department students in particular really hate philosophy class."

"I understand."

I would have hated it too. If you'd come to swing a sword and someone suddenly told you to study ontology, anyone would hate it.

But that wasn't the problem.

On this semester's Introduction to Philosophy roster were all four future calamities.

The Great Witch. The Demon King. The Fallen Saint. The Psychopath Hero.

This was no coincidence.

Even in the game, Introduction to Philosophy was a class linked to hidden branches. No one had simply thought it important.

Because taking philosophy never gave an immediate reward. Stats didn't rise. Sword mastery didn't improve. Magic slots didn't open.

Instead, very small choices changed.

Whether to distrust someone. Whether to help someone. Whether to justify your own rage. Whether to treat another person as a means.

Those trivial sentences decided the fate of the world later on.

I looked down at the roster.

In my previous life, philosophy had saved nothing for me. Not my bank account. Not my lectures. Not my life.

And yet now—

Inside this damned accuracy-obsessed dumpster fire of a game, philosophy might be the only means of stopping the future calamities.

"Professor, twenty minutes until class starts."

Martin said.

I lifted my head.

"Martin."

"Yes."

"What was I supposed to teach in today's lecture?"

Martin checked the papers.

"It's the first class of Introduction to Philosophy. The topic is: Why do humans reason?"

"……."

An insane topic. Clearly designed to put the students to sleep from day one.

I folded the papers.

"We're changing it."

"Excuse me?"

"I'm changing today's lecture topic."

Martin looked at me in alarm.

"But Professor, if it differs from the syllabus, there may be administrative issues."

Of course. Accuracy-obsessed dumpster fire. Even changing a lecture topic was an administrative problem.

I took the black professor's robe from the coat rack.

"If there's a problem, I'll take responsibility."

"You will, Professor?"

"Why so surprised?"

"Last semester you said you didn't want to take responsibility and filed for sick leave."

"……."

Ian Werner. The more I learned, the worse he got.

I put on the robe.

The fabric was strangely heavy. The academy crest was embroidered in silver thread across the black cloth.

Standing before the mirror, I looked at my face again for a moment.

Still shifty. Still venomous. Still the face of a man who could ruin someone's future and remain completely unbothered.

Not good.

People are weak to first impressions. And mine was historically catastrophic.

But it was fine.

Philosophers don't make a living off their looks. Making a living off philosophy at all is nearly impossible to begin with.

I adjusted my glasses.

Behave carefully.

With this face, if I didn't want to be misunderstood, every word had to be measured. Don't smile without reason. Don't be alone with female students. Don't throw weight around. Above all—never look down on anyone.

People remember repeated attitude longer than they remember a face.

That was the conclusion of a philosopher who had already failed in modern society.

I walked out the door.

The corridor was wide. Outside the windows, white spires and blue roofs stretched away. Students passed laughing; knight candidates ran by with wooden practice swords.

It didn't feel real.

And at the same time, it was far too real.

The stone floor was cold; the air was dry. From somewhere came the mingled smells of horses and ink.

The academy I'd seen on a game screen had been a clean backdrop. In reality, it smelled like a place where people lived.

I walked the corridor thinking.

This world is not a game.

It might still be too early to say that for certain. But one thing was clear.

If someone died here, there would be no reloading.

And if I failed—

Elise Morgan would become the Great Witch. Leonora Wallenstein would become the Demon King. Serena Arcelia would become the Fallen Saint. Karen Astra would save the world and then crush it underfoot.

I arrived at the classroom door.

Students' voices carried from the other side.

"Introduction to Philosophy? What a waste of time."

"I wouldn't be here if it weren't required."

"I heard Werner's class is great for falling asleep."

"Have you seen his face? He looks exactly like some shady noble bureaucrat."

"Shh. What if he hears you?"

"It's not like it's wrong."

I stopped with my hand on the doorknob.

It hurt. More than I expected.

But my face was far too damning to argue the point.

I exhaled quietly.

It's fine.

In my previous life, people had looked at philosophers strangely too. This life had simply added a face to match.

Change it one piece at a time.

People aren't persuaded all at once. But in front of repeated questions, they begin to waver, little by little.

I opened the door.

Creeeak.

The noisy classroom fell quiet.

A tiered lecture hall. Wooden desks. Stained-glass windows. And several dozen students.

Their eyes locked onto me.

Some turned away at once. Some stared with open wariness. One young woman pulled her book a little closer to her chest.

I noted the reactions quietly in my mind.

Even if it's unfair, understand it.

With this face, they had every right.

I looked over the students—and found them at once.

Front row, left side. A black-haired girl with a book open in front of her.

Elise Morgan.

She didn't even look at me. Her eyes were cold, sunk deep, like someone who already doubted everything in the world.

By the window. A red-haired girl sat with her chin propped on her hand.

Leonora Wallenstein.

Her posture was crooked, but her gaze was sharp. She was already reading the entire classroom like a battlefield.

Center. A platinum-blonde girl sat with her hands neatly folded.

Serena Arcelia.

She was smiling softly. But the smile was so thin it looked ready to tear at any moment.

Back row. A golden-haired girl was smiling brightly.

Karen Astra.

The smile was bright. Too bright. So bright it looked hollow.

I stood at the lectern.

My fingertips trembled slightly.

The future calamities were sitting in my classroom. And still with the faces they wore before they became monsters.

Not yet a witch. Not yet a Demon King. Not yet a Fallen Saint. Not yet a psychopath hero.

Right now, they were only students.

I set down the attendance book.

"I am Ian Werner."

A few students yawned. One already looked ready to sleep.

Good. The lower the expectations, the greater the impact.

I walked to the blackboard.

I picked up the chalk. And I did not write the original topic—Why do humans reason?

Instead, I wrote this:

The classroom went still.

A dozing student opened his eyes. The whispering ones shut their mouths. Martin, by the door, was staring at me with a face gone pale.

I looked at the students.

"That is today's topic."

Elise Morgan lifted her head for the first time.

The corner of Leonora's mouth curved up, just slightly.

Serena's fingers twitched.

Karen was still smiling.

I set the chalk down.

"Picking up a sword does not make you a monster."

My voice carried through the hall.

"Learning magic does not make you a monster either."

I slowly looked across the students.

"Believing in God does not make you good, and saving the world does not automatically make you a hero."

Karen's smile stopped for the briefest instant.

"Human beings do not become monsters overnight."

I said.

"First, they persuade themselves."

The air in the room changed.

"I was hurt, so I'm allowed to do this."

Elise's eyes narrowed.

"I am strong, so I am allowed to rule."

Leonora looked straight at me.

"I am allowed to discard myself for God."

Serena's hands clenched tight.

"I am allowed to trample a few people in order to save everyone."

Karen's smile vanished completely.

I rested my hands on the lectern.

My audience was made of future calamities. I couldn't use a sword, couldn't cast magic, had no holy power.

All I had was the philosophy that hadn't earned me a single coin in my previous life.

But what else was I supposed to do?

A philosopher is a human being who dies clinging to useless questions.

I spoke to the students.

"So today, I will ask you this."

Silence settled over the room.

I tapped the sentence on the board with a fingertip.

"With what kind of reason do you think it would be acceptable to become a monster?"

In that moment—

The entire classroom froze solid.

No one opened their mouth easily.

And then—

The black-haired girl in the front row. Elise Morgan slowly raised her hand.

The Great Witch who would one day drown half the world in nightmares looked at me with a face that was still only a student's.

And she asked.

"Professor."

Her voice was cold.

"Is becoming a monster necessarily a bad thing?"

The air in the room sank colder still.

Several students sucked in a breath. By the door, Martin gripped his stack of papers with both hands.

I looked at Elise.

I should have been afraid. I should have been flustered. From the very first lecture, the future Great Witch was picking a fight head-on.

But—

Here it is.

My heart pounded.

This was the moment I had waited for countless times in my previous life. Those hellish hours in a classroom where no one answered and no one asked anything. Inside that silence, I had always thought—

Someone, please, just argue with me. Someone, please, even if it's stupid, just throw a question. Someone, please, break this rotting silence.

And now—

The future Great Witch was asking me, right to my face:

Is becoming a monster necessarily a bad thing?

What a magnificent question.

Moral philosophy. Ethics. Theories of the human. Self-justification. The banality of evil. The boundary between monstrosity and humanity.

Everything was inside that single sentence.

I almost smiled.

No. To be precise, I did smile a little.

But I had to be careful. With this face, a smile just looked like a predatory professor sizing up a young female student as prey.

I adjusted my glasses with the calmest expression I could manage.

Stay composed.

This wasn't a provocation. This was a debate. No—something rarer than a debate.

This was a philosophy battle.

I opened my mouth slowly.

"An excellent question, Miss Morgan."

Elise's eyebrows shifted, just slightly.

She probably hadn't expected that. No scolding, no dismissal, no mockery.

I picked up the chalk again.

"Then let me ask first."

I wrote briefly on the board.

I looked at Elise.

"What do you mean by a monster?"

The entire classroom held its breath.

Elise Morgan regarded me for a moment.

Then she slowly opened her mouth.

"A being that others fear."

I nodded.

"Then is a king a monster?"

"……What?"

"People fear kings. Taxes, punishments, orders for war—all of them come down in the king's name. So is a king a monster?"

Elise's eyes wavered.

I continued.

"The same is true of priests. Anyone who speaks of divine punishment becomes an object of fear. The same is true of knights. A person who carries a sword is a source of terror to those who do not."

The tip of the chalk tapped the board.

"So then—is fear a sufficient condition for being a monster?"

Elise did not answer.

No. It wasn't that she couldn't answer.

She was thinking.

The moment I saw that look in her eyes, I was certain.

This is fun.

This child does not run. She can hold onto her own ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠question to the end.

Dangerous. Definitely dangerous.

But philosophically—

She was the finest student imaginable.

I desperately forced down the corner of my mouth as it tried to rise.

"I will ask again."

I looked across the entire classroom.

"What makes a human being become a monster?"

No one was falling asleep.

At last, the first class was beginning.