They Never Liked Me to Begin With

“Professor…….”

The next morning.

Martin walked into my room looking like a dead man.

To be precise, he was still alive. But his eyes belonged to someone who had already pawned his soul for about three administrative forms.

I was sitting at my desk. Last night’s lecture notes lay open in front of me. The topic planned for the next class was “Principles and Exceptions.”

Of course, looking at Martin’s face, something more urgent than principles and exceptions had clearly arisen.

“What is it?” I asked quietly.

Martin wordlessly held out a single sheet of paper. The paper was thick. A seal had been stamped on it. The wording was needlessly long. And at the very top, it read:

“…….”

I looked at the paper. Martin spoke in a grim voice.

“You’ve been summoned…….”

“I see.”

“The Administration Bureau…….”

“So it appears.”

“It says to appear by ten o’clock this morning.”

“What time is it now?”

“Nine-forty.”

“Rather tight.”

“Yes. There’s a high chance the Administration Bureau sent it this way on purpose.”

I looked down at the paper. Below, the reasons for attendance were listed.

I read them one by one. Then I slowly nodded.

“More than I expected.”

Martin looked at my face.

“Professor…….”

“What is it?”

“I told you yesterday…….”

“Told me what?”

“That the Administration Bureau would dislike you…….”

“Ah.”

I remembered. Yesterday in the corridor, Martin had said: The Administration Bureau will dislike you, Professor. And I had answered: That’s fine. They probably never liked me to begin with.

“…….”

I fell silent for a moment. I hadn’t expected those words to come due this quickly. It was a cliché. A perfect cliché. Philosophers question the causality of the world, but the causality of a game was far too powerful.

Martin rubbed his face with both hands.

“Are you all right?”

“I’m fine.”

“Really?”

“Probably.”

“Professor, the Administration Bureau is scarier than you think.”

“How scary?”

Martin spoke seriously.

“They can kill a person with paperwork.”

“…….”

I looked at the attendance request again. It was certainly frightening. There are times when administration is more terrifying than swords or magic. Especially in a hyper-realistic trash game.

I stood up from my seat. I put on my black professor’s robe. Adjusted my glasses. And looked in the mirror. The man in the mirror looked excellently villainous today as well. He hadn’t said a word yet, and already looked like he had embezzled the student council budget. He didn’t look like someone being summoned to the Administration Bureau so much as someone heading there to bribe it.

I slowly exhaled.

Behave yourself.

When I go to the Administration Bureau, do not smile under any circumstances. Do not make unnecessary sarcastic remarks. Respect the regulations rather than fight authority. Even if the other side attacks, bow your head first.

And most importantly: do not put your hand inside your coat as if about to offer a bribe.

I looked at Martin.

“Will you accompany me?”

Martin looked startled.

“Me, sir?”

“Yes.”

“The old Professor would have gone alone.”

“What did the old me do?”

Martin thought for a moment.

“When summoned, you usually got angry, made excuses, or submitted a sick leave form.”

“Impressive.”

“And once, you turned around right at the Administration Bureau door.”

“Why?”

“You said it was a bother.”

I closed my eyes. Ian Werner. The more I learned, the more of a talent he was. Precisely, in the direction of being a complete disaster.

“I won’t do that this time,” I said. “And if you’re there, misunderstandings will decrease.”

“Misunderstandings?”

“My face.”

“Ah.”

Martin understood far too quickly. It ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠stung a little. But he was right. If I walked into the Administration Bureau alone with this face, even without having done anything wrong, it would look like a crime scene.

Martin tucked the documents to his chest.

“Understood. I’ll go with you.”

I nodded.

“Thank you.”

At those words, Martin made another awkward expression. Good. The assistant was still in the process of being won over.

The Administration Bureau was at the eastern end of the academy’s central main building. It was not glamorous. Rather, it was excessively rigid. Black stone floors. High ceilings. Filing cabinets packed tightly along both sides. And a phrase hanging on the wall.

A frightening saying. Philosophers are generally not on friendly terms with order. Because questioning is the act of lifting the floorboards of order.

As we walked down the Administration Bureau corridor, staff members glanced at me one by one. Curiosity and wariness mixed in those gazes. Rumors had probably already spread. Introduction to Philosophy had become strange. Professor Werner was telling students stories about monsters.

He had told the Hero candidate not to be deceived by the name “Hero.” He had told the Saintess candidate that self-sacrifice could be an escape. He had debated power with the royal candidate. He had told the Archmage candidate that distrust was a form of faith. Looking only at the words, he was a completely problematic professor.

I felt wronged. Of course, all of it was true. But there was context.

When we arrived in front of the Administration Bureau door, Martin said quietly,

“Professor.”

“What is it?”

“Please do not smile this time.”

“I know.”

“I’m serious.”

“I said I know.”

“You must not smile from nervousness.”

“I won’t smile.”

“Even if a philosophically interesting question comes up, you must not smile.”

“…….”

I fell silent for a moment. That one might be a little difficult. Martin looked at my expression and sighed.

“Please.”

“I’ll try.”

With an uneasy face, he knocked on the door. Knock, knock. A low voice came from inside.

“Enter.”

The door opened. Inside was a long conference room. A long table in the center. Administration Bureau staff on both sides. And at the far end sat a middle-aged man with gray hair. Sharp eyes. A neat mustache. An impeccably tailored uniform. Documents arranged at precise angles on the desk. Anyone could see he was a man of the Administration Bureau.

Martin whispered low,

“That is Bureau Head Oswald Crane.”

Oswald Crane. I had heard the name even in the game. Head of the Academy Administration Bureau. In the original work he was close to a background NPC. Someone who occasionally appeared to assign demerits when students violated regulations. Among players, his nickname was: Document Golem.

I nodded inwardly. It suited him well. Oswald Crane looked at me. No—more precisely, he looked at my face. And very slightly furrowed his brow. A familiar reaction. I would have furrowed mine too.

“Professor Ian Werner,” he said. “Thank you for responding to the attendance request.”

“It is only natural.”

I bowed my head. A few Administration Bureau staff members looked slightly surprised. Probably the original Ian Werner would have started with sarcasm right here. I did not. Conduct. Conduct was everything.

Oswald flipped through documents.

“Recently, various reports have been filed regarding your Introduction to Philosophy class.”

“Is that so.”

“Yes.”

He lifted the first document.

“First. Use of provocative topics that deviate from the syllabus.”

I answered quietly.

“I judged it to fall under the syllabus item ‘Ethical Judgment and Self-Awareness.’”

Oswald’s hand paused for a moment.

“……You checked that item?”

“Yes.”

A small silence settled over the conference room. One Administration Bureau staff member looked at me in surprise. Why the surprise? Wasn’t it natural for a professor to check the syllabus? Ah. The original Ian Werner must not have done so.

Oswald flipped documents again.

“Second. Classroom change procedures due to increased auditor numbers.”

I said,

“I submitted the change application, seating arrangement adjustment form, class safety management confirmation, and professor attendance request form.”

Martin quietly held out the documents beside me. Oswald received them. Silence again. He looked at me.

“You prepared all of them.”

“I received assistance from Assistant Martin.”

Martin flinched. I continued,

“I judged that administrative procedures are more accurate when following the advice of the person in charge rather than handling them alone.”

Martin’s eyes widened a little. Oswald also shifted his gaze slightly to Martin.

“Assistant Martin.”

“Yes, Bureau Head.”

“Is that true?”

“Yes. It is true.”

Martin spoke carefully.

“This time, the Professor checked and signed every document himself.”

This time the Administration Bureau staff murmured more loudly. This time? A great deal of history could be felt in that single phrase.

Oswald looked at me for a moment.

“Very well.”

He lifted the third document.

“Third. Issues of student emotional safety.”

Here it came. The real problem was this one. Oswald’s voice lowered a little.

“During class, Professor, you asked students ‘reasons one may become a monster,’ and had them debate ‘whether it is permissible to sacrifice someone.’”

“That is correct.”

“Do you not consider it a dangerous topic?”

“It is dangerous.”

The conference room grew quiet. Oswald’s brow moved.

“You admit it?”

“Yes.”

I nodded.

“It is a dangerous topic.”

The Administration Bureau staff exchanged glances. They had probably expected excuses. That it was a misunderstanding, that the students had exaggerated, or that it had been wrapped in educational purpose. Of course the educational purpose was real. But claiming it was not dangerous would be a lie.

I said,

“However, if we refuse to handle it because it is dangerous, the students will end up handling that question alone in far more dangerous places.”

Oswald’s eyes narrowed.

“Explain.”

I slowly regulated my breathing. Good. From here on, it was a philosophy battle. Except the opponent was not a student but the Bureau Head of Administration. And the opponent held not a sword but a stamp. That side was more frightening.

I said,

“Students already think such things.”

“Such things meaning?”

“Because I was hurt, am I allowed to take revenge?”

I spoke one by one.

“Because I am strong, am I allowed to dominate?”

“Because I am good, am I allowed to sacrifice myself?”

“For the sake of the many, am I allowed to abandon the few?”

“If there is destiny or an order, can I avoid responsibility?”

Oswald said nothing. I continued,

“I did not create those questions.”

The air in the conference room grew a little heavier.

“I brought those questions into the classroom.”

Oswald asked,

“Why must it be the classroom?”

“Because the classroom has a stop.”

“A stop?”

“Yes.”

I said,

“When a student rages alone, they do not stop. Inside their own head, they keep reinforcing their own logic.”

Elise’s face came to mind.

“A strong student can keep only people who justify their power by their side.”

Leonora’s red eyes came to mind.

“A deeply faithful student can collapse while believing self-sacrifice is a virtue.”

Serena’s trembling hands came to mind.

“A Hero candidate can erase one person’s face with the words of saving many.”

Karen’s thin smile came to mind.

“And some students, without even knowing what they are, can simply follow the options created by others’ expectations.”

Rina’s blank paper came to mind. I looked at Oswald.

“A classroom should be a place that stops such thoughts.”

Silence. Oswald rested his fingers on the documents. His expression was still rigid. But less hostile than before.

Then a young administrator sitting on the right spoke.

“But Professor.”

“Please speak.”

He adjusted his glasses and said,

“If students debate such topics, they may instead learn dangerous ideas. The moment you ask the reasons for becoming a monster, it may look as though you are teaching how to become one.”

A valid point. I nodded.

“That is possible.”

The young administrator seemed flustered. He probably hadn’t expected me to admit it again.

“Th-then…….”

“But teaching about disease in a medical class is not recommending disease.”

His mouth stopped. I said,

“Not knowing poison does not prevent poisoning.”

The conference room grew quiet.

“Students already carry their own poisons.”

I spoke very slowly.

“My class is not a time for feeding poison, but a time for examining what one is drinking.”

Martin looked at me from beside me. The light in his eyes had changed a little. Oswald stroked his chin.

“Plausible words.”

“Thank you.”

“But plausible words are always dangerous.”

I nodded.

“I agree.”

Oswald’s eyes widened very slightly. I said,

“That is why regulations are necessary.”

At those words, the Administration Bureau staff looked at me all at once. Why look at me like that? Was a philosopher not allowed to speak of regulations?

Oswald asked slowly,

“Are you saying, Professor, that regulations are necessary?”

“Yes.”

“In a philosophy class?”

“Yes.”

I spoke clearly.

“Questions must be free, but students must be safe.”

The air in the conference room shifted. I took out the documents I had prepared from inside my coat. Fortunately, I drew them out very slowly so they would not look like a bribe. Martin breathed a sigh of relief beside me. I placed the documents on the table.

Oswald blinked at the document title.

“What is this?”

“The discussion rules I will apply in my class.”

I explained.

“First. Do not forcibly demand personal confessions from students.”

I pointed to the first line with my finger.

“Second. Do not use ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠anonymous assignments as evaluation scores.”

The second line.

“Third. Do not publicly interrogate a specific student’s wounds.”

The third line.

“Fourth. Handle dangerous remarks arising during discussion with re-examination questions rather than punishment.”

The fourth line.

“Fifth. Connect students who become emotionally unstable after class to the assistant or counseling staff.”

The fifth line.

“Sixth. The professor shall not conduct prolonged private interviews with students alone; when necessary, interviews shall be held with the assistant present.”

When I read that line, Martin looked at me. The light in his eyes was almost close to emotion. No—rather than emotion, it was relief. Because of my face, that clause was especially important.

Oswald slowly read the documents. The Administration Bureau staff also tilted their heads from the side. Only the sound of turning paper filled the conference room. After a while, Oswald said,

“Did you write this draft yourself?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“I know that my class is dangerous.”

I said,

“So rather than insist it is not dangerous, I thought the danger must be managed.”

Oswald looked at me for a long time. I did not avoid his gaze. Of course my face was still sinister. But my words were honest. People remember repeated attitudes longer than faces. Probably.

Then Oswald set the documents down.

“Strange.”

“What is, sir?”

“That Professor Ian Werner would say such things.”

The conference room grew quiet. Martin stiffened slightly. Oswald spoke without hiding it.

“I will be frank. You have not received good evaluations from the Administration Bureau, Professor.”

“I am aware.”

“Tardiness, classroom mix-ups, unsubmitted documents, excessive sick leave, evasion of student complaints.”

“…….”

The original Ian Werner. Truly impressive the more one learned. Oswald looked straight at me.

“So when I received this report, I thought the Professor was once again irresponsibly agitating the students.”

“That is understandable.”

“You admit it?”

“Yes.”

I bowed my head.

“If the reputation I have built thus far is like that, then judging so is rational.”

The conference room grew quiet again. Martin also looked surprised. Probably the original Ian would have exploded in anger here. But I was not him. Was I wronged? A little. Because it was not a reputation I had built. But as long as I lived in this body, this reputation was also a debt I had to handle. It had been the same in my previous life. Philosophy was always the work of shouldering questions others left behind.

I said,

“So I will change from now on.”

Oswald’s eyes wavered.

“Words are easy.”

“True.”

I nodded.

“So I will leave it in records rather than words.”

“Records?”

“Class operation principles, auditor lists, anonymous assignment management methods, post-class counseling connection records.”

The eyes of several Administration Bureau staff sparkled. Ah. These people. They reacted to the word “records.” As expected of the Administration Bureau.

I continued,

“If necessary, I will submit periodic reports to the Administration Bureau.”

Martin froze beside me.

“Professor.”

Despair clung to the quietly whispering voice. Probably the problem of who would write the reports. Sorry, Martin. Let’s write them together.

Oswald fell silent ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠for a moment. He flipped through the documents again.

“Periodic reports, you say…….”

Oswald’s eyes changed. It was the look of a Document Golem that had found prey. I realized what I had just done. Ah. I was doomed. In trying to protect the philosophy class, I had voluntarily increased administrative work. Typical of a hyper-realistic trash game. Choices come with prices. In this case, the price was paperwork.

Oswald said,

“Very well. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠First, I will authorize a one-month trial operation.”

Martin drew in a small breath.

“However, there are conditions.”

Here it came. I nodded.

“Please speak.”

“First. Submit the auditor list every week.”

“Yes.”

“Second. When class topics may significantly affect student emotions, submit a prior topic summary.”

“Yes.”

“Third. To ensure psychological pressure does not concentrate on any specific student during discussion, the assistant shall leave observation records.”

Martin’s face went white.

“Yes,” I answered in his place.

“Fourth.”

Oswald looked at me.

“Be careful with remarks regarding Imperial Hero education policy.”

The Karen matter. I had expected it.

“The remark ‘Do not be deceived by the name Hero’ is considerably sensitive.”

“I acknowledge that.”

“It has room to be interpreted politically.”

“That is possible.”

“Will you refrain from such remarks in the future?”

I fell silent for a moment. Saying yes easily here would be convenient. But I could not. Karen Astra was a child who would be devoured by the name “Hero.”

I said,

“I will be careful with the wording.”

Oswald’s eyes narrowed.

“The wording?”

“Yes.”

I looked at him.

“But I cannot stop teaching students to distinguish between a role and themselves.”

The conference room grew quiet. Oswald asked,

“Why?”

“Roles can support a person, but they can also swallow them.”

I said,

“Hero, Saintess, Princess, Genius, Commoner Scholarship Student.”

I spoke the titles one by one.

“Such names show a student a path. But at the same time, they can deceive them into believing there is no other path.”

Rina’s face came to mind.

“I believe a professor’s work is not to inject a role into a student, but to ensure they do not lose the self that must bear that role.”

Oswald did not answer. The young administrator in the corner of the conference room bowed his head slightly. He seemed to have thought of something. Everyone lives with their own roles. Administrator. Professor. Student. Hero candidate. Saintess candidate. Roles are convenient. But convenient names sometimes imprison people.

Oswald opened his mouth after a long while.

“The words are good,” he said. “The problem is what results those words produce in reality.”

“Correct.”

“That is why one month.”

Oswald stamped the document. Thud. The sound of the stamp echoed through the conference room.

Some of the tension left Martin’s shoulders. I also breathed a sigh of relief inwardly. I had survived. At least Introduction to Philosophy would not be canceled immediately.

Oswald organized the documents.

“Professor Werner.”

“Yes.”

“One last question.”

His voice lowered a little. It did not seem like an official inquiry.

“Why have you suddenly changed like this?”

The conference room grew quiet. Martin also looked at me. I could not answer for a moment. I could not speak the truth. Actually I am a second-rate philosophy professor from another world, and the world you live in is a complete trash game I played for 5,700 hours. If I said that, I would be dragged not to the Administration Bureau but to the infirmary.

I said slowly,

“I simply realized it late.”

“Realized what?”

“That a professor who finds students who ask questions bothersome—”

I paused for a moment. The classroom of my previous life came to mind. The room where no one asked questions. The time when my words disappeared into empty air. The helplessness I hid behind jokes that philosophy doesn’t make money.

And now. Students asking whether becoming a monster is bad. Students asking whether they are predetermined beings. Students asking whether a Hero is allowed to ask for help.

I said,

“—is difficult to call a professor.”

Oswald looked at me. His face was still stern. But he no longer looked at me as if at a corrupt official the way he had at first. At least a little less so. Probably.

Oswald closed the documents.

“Very well. Today’s investigation ends here.”

“Thank you.”

I bowed my head. Politely. Not too deep. Not too shallow. Conduct. Conduct was everything.

But the moment I raised my head, one of the administrators sitting on the right flinched upon seeing me. Why? Ah. I had been smiling a little. Doomed. I immediately erased the expression. But it was already too late. The administrator slightly pulled the documents toward his chest. Oswald also looked at me with subtle eyes. Martin whispered very quietly beside me.

“Professor.”

“I know.”

“I told you not to smile.”

“Sorry.”

“Your expression just now looked like someone who, after getting trial operation approved, was already planning how to take over the Administration Bureau from behind.”

“……That bad?”

“Yes.”

I quietly and completely lowered the corners of my mouth. This body. Truly difficult.

The moment we left the Administration Bureau, Martin leaned against the wall.

“We survived.”

“That bad?”

“Yes. I was prepared for Introduction to Philosophy to be canceled.”

“Canceled?”

“The possibility was low, but if it’s the Administration Bureau, they would have at least reviewed it.”

A frightening place. I looked down at the approval document in my hand.

There were many conditions. Reports had increased. Martin’s workload had increased. But the class had been protected. That was enough.

“Martin.”

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry.”

Martin looked at me.

“For what, sir?”

“Your work has increased.”

“……Yes.”

The answer came too quickly. I cleared my throat.

“I will write as much of that part as possible myself.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“You, Professor?”

“Why so surprised?”

Martin looked at me for a moment. Then shook his head.

“No. Just…….”

“Just?”

“You’ve been strange lately.”

“In a good way?”

Martin deliberated. He deliberated far too long.

“Mostly, yes.”

“Mostly, is it.”

“Your face is still on the bad side.”

“I know.”

We walked down the corridor. Administration Bureau staff glanced at us from behind. Wariness still mixed in those gazes. But they had changed a little. At first it had been the look of “That guy caused trouble again.” Now it was the look of “Why did that guy submit the documents properly?”

Good. The first stage of trust is not being moved. It is bewilderment. Why is that person like that? He’s not as bad as I thought? Did I misjudge him? People re-evaluate each other little by little that way.

I was about to go down the stairs. Then at the end of the corridor, someone could be seen waiting for us. Golden hair. Bright eyes. Neat posture. Karen Astra.

Martin immediately stiffened.

“Professor.”

“I know.”

I stopped walking. Karen saw me and slightly bowed her head.

“Professor Werner.”

“Miss Astra.”

I checked the surroundings. Martin was there, and this was the Administration Bureau corridor. We were not alone. Good. Conduct was possible.

“What is it?”

Karen looked at the approval document in my hand.

“I heard you were summoned to the Administration Bureau.”

Rumors were fast. The academy had only a medieval setting; the speed of rumors was no different from modern SNS.

“There was no major problem.”

“Was it because of my question?”

she asked. I paused for a moment. Karen was not smiling. There was apology on that face. And a little fear as well. The face of someone who thought her question had created a problem for someone else.

I shook my head.

“No.”

“But…….”

“Questions are not a sin.”

Karen’s lips stopped. I said,

“If a professor cannot bear a question, that is the professor’s problem, not the student’s.”

Karen looked at me quietly.

“Do you truly think so?”

“Yes.”

I nodded.

“However, questions have weight.”

“Weight?”

“Feeling that weight is not wrong.”

Karen slowly clasped her hands. In the previous class, she had asked for the first time. Whether a Hero was allowed to say “help me.” Now she was probably asking something similar again. Whether a student was allowed to ask questions. Whether a Hero candidate was allowed to waver. Whether, when someone was summoned because of her words, she was allowed to feel that guilt.

I said,

“Miss Astra.”

“Yes.”

“It is not because of your question that I was summoned.”

I lightly waved the approval document.

“It is because of my class method.”

Karen’s face was still apologetic. I added,

“And I chose the class method.”

Quiet silence.

“So the responsibility is also mine.”

Karen’s eyes wavered. She had probably recalled the words from the previous class. Do not shift the responsibility of choice onto others. I had to practice that as it was. Words are easy to teach. The problem is whether the one who spoke them lives that way.

Karen said quietly,

“You are a strange person, Professor.”

“I hear that often.”

“Have you been like this from the beginning?”

“Probably not.”

At my answer, Karen made a slightly puzzled face. I did not explain further. Karen fell silent for a moment. Then she spoke very carefully.

“You’ll…… continue the next class too, right?”

I looked at her. The golden-haired Hero candidate. The child who would later save the world and try to manage the world. Right now she was asking whether the class would continue. She did not want to hear the correct answer. She wanted to confirm that her question had not been closed.

I nodded.

“I will continue.”

A very small tension left Karen’s shoulders.

“I’m glad.”

Those words were truly small. But I heard them. Martin seemed to have heard them as well. He said nothing.

Karen bowed her head.

“Then I’ll see you at the next class.”

“Yes.”

Karen turned. Then she stopped one step later. And spoke again.

“Professor.”

“Go ahead.”

“If the Administration Bureau dislikes you…….”

She hesitated for a moment.

“May we testify?”

I stopped. Martin stopped as well. Karen smiled a little awkwardly.

“That the class is necessary.”

Those words were careful. But they were enough. In my previous life, I had never received applause in a classroom. A student had never said my class was necessary. Yet now. Inside this hyper-realistic trash game. In the body of a philosophy professor with the face of a corrupt official. A Hero candidate was saying she would protect my class.

I almost smiled. I must not. Truly must not. If I smiled at this moment, I would look not like a moved professor but like a mastermind who had recruited a student to his side. I desperately pressed down the corners of my mouth.

“Thank you.”

Karen looked at my expression and said very quietly,

“……If it’s hard, you don’t have to smile.”

“…….”

Martin turned his head beside me. His shoulders trembled a little. He seemed to be laughing. Traitor.

Karen bowed her head again and disappeared down the far end of the corridor. I watched her back. Martin said quietly,

“Professor.”

“What is it?”

“The students are truly being won over.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes.”

He deliberated for a moment, then added,

“I still don’t know about the Administration Bureau.”

“That’s fine.”

I folded the approval document.

“They probably never liked me to begin with.”

Martin looked at me.

“Professor.”

“What is it?”

“If you say that again, I feel like you’ll get summoned again.”

“…….”

It was plausible. This world strangely collected on such words well. I quietly nodded.

“I’ll be careful from now on.”

We started walking again. Beyond the window at the end of the corridor, the academy garden was visible. Students were passing by. Someone laughing, someone holding books, someone heading to the training grounds. A few of them looked at me. They did not immediately turn their heads away as before. Of course they still kept a careful distance. Even so, things were changing. Very little by little. The class. The students. Martin. The Administration Bureau. And probably me as well.

I looked down at the approval document in my hand. Introduction to Philosophy discussion-type class trial operation approval. It was funny. In my previous life, my philosophy had failed to hold onto money, position, or students.

Yet in this other world, I had even obtained an Administration Bureau approval document. Of course, as the price, reports had appeared. Philosophy still doesn’t make money. Moreover, now the paperwork had increased as well.

But.

I adjusted my glasses.

“Martin.”

“Yes.”

“Let’s start by making the report form.”

Martin let out a deep sigh.

“You truly seem like a professor.”

“Is that a compliment?”

“Today, yes.”

Good. Today I had gained one thing. The Administration Bureau did not like me. But the class had survived. That was enough. For now.