Negotiation (1)
“Come in, Professor Cain.”
The old man’s presence wasn’t particularly imposing. A gentle demeanor paired with an intellectual air, accentuated by his monocle. The wrinkles on his face seemed less a mark of decay and more a testament to seasoned wisdom. His snow-white hair was impeccably combed, lending him the refined look of a vice dean from a portrait.
Samuel Martina.
One of the vice deans who wielded immense real power in this colossal Sacred Academy. Cain had spent the past two days gathering intel within the academy and had already committed the organizational chart to memory, so spotting him was no trouble. One might expect a power broker of this scale to exude an aura of dominance... but to Cain’s eyes, the man’s inner workings were transparently clear.
Contempt, disdain, and annoyance.
Whatever the mix, the raw urge to expedite matters and be done with it shone through. He thought he was concealing it well enough, but his courteous tone rang hollow against eyes that refused to meet Cain’s—like a half-taught whelp mimicking etiquette.
Arrogant bastard.
Lifting his teacup, Samuel spoke.
“You arrived sooner than expected, so I didn’t prepare tea for you. Shall I have some brought now?”
“No need. I just finished eating.”
Samuel knew full well Cain hadn’t rushed over the moment the summons arrived, yet here he was, spouting empty pleasantries. The brief exchange was enough to get the measure of the man.
Samuel gestured toward the sofa.
“Have a seat. This will take a while.”
“Very well.”
Cain sat where indicated. The cushion beneath him whispered luxury—top-shelf craftsmanship. Nor was the sofa the only fine piece; from the wall-hung paintings to the desk, writing tools, and even the glassware, nothing lacked quality. A vice dean’s office in the academy warranted such opulence, but there was an undercurrent of ostentatious indulgence in the details.
“....”
Even after seating Cain, Vice Dean Samuel didn’t speak right away. He sipped from his teacup, gaze averted. It wasn’t mere deliberation; the delay felt deliberate.
Cain held his tongue as well.
“.....”
“.....”
After a beat, Vice Dean Samuel finally broke the silence.
“I assume you know why I called you here.”
“The recent incident?”
“Yes. No casualties, but we can’t simply overlook it.”
Setting down his cup, Samuel’s tone turned firm.
“To cut to the chase: we’re moving to dissolve the Magic Department. A department with no students causing trouble—surely the natural course.”
“.....”
Cain listened.
“This isn’t something you can overturn by objecting. Why cling to an archaic relic like magic in the first place?”
“.....”
He listened to every word from the pup before him.
“A pathetic art that pales beside divine blessings or even the utility of aura. The academy’s indulged your stubbornness long enough. Time to end it.”
“.....”
“It’s decided. Note it well, Professor Cain.”
And having heard it all, Cain—no, the grand mage—chuckled.
“Ha.”
The grand mage mulled over the words. Magic, an outdated relic? Inferior to miracles and aura? Did this greenhorn, barely dry behind the ears, even grasp who he was spewing such nonsense at?
Ridiculous. Utterly laughable.
Clinging to his narrow knowledge as universal truth, judging the world through that flimsy lens. A clown’s farce, impossible to endure without laughter. And this—from a man perched as vice dean in the continent’s premier academy? Nothing but a snort escaped.
Which sparked a sudden curiosity. If a vice dean was this mediocre, what path had led the original young professor he’d possessed down the road of magic?
Fate had miraculously slotted him into ‘Cain Dravel’s’ body through coincidence, but he hadn’t inherited full memories. Only shallow worldly knowledge and the language for communication. The intimate depths of ‘Cain Dravel’s’ soul remained opaque.
But one truth stood clear: this young Cain had been utterly devoted to magic above all else.
After rising from his sickbed, he’d delved into the accident site to learn more about his host.
—....This is.
There, he’d seen much. Vast handwritten records and traces of relentless experiments, trials, and failures across countless spells.
To the grand mage’s eye, it was all crude beyond measure. Knowledge of magic, execution, foresight for its paths—every facet lacked polish.
Yet woven through it, across years of persistence, was the undeniable journey of a true mage pursuing the demonic path.
Another world, another dimension. Where magic was dismissed as obsolete refuse. A junior walking that lonely road alone.
The junior had departed through unforeseen mishap, but now he bore that name. As a grand mage and senior on the same path, was it not his duty to aid?
As he had in another world, as his own predecessors had for him.
First things first, then.
“Vice Dean.”
“More to say, Professor Cain? Or just Cain, now. Your title won’t last.”
The grand mage addressed the dullard before him in a low voice.
“Truth is, I stumbled on something intriguing during my tenure.”
“I’ve heard enough about magic’s ‘potential.’ You’ve never proven a word of it. No more childish tantrums.”
“Among the admin papers sent my way, I noticed discrepancies. Like the quantities or types of supplies for department upkeep not matching up.”
Vice Dean Samuel paused. His eyes flicked to Cain.
Cain continued nonchalantly.
“Odd, isn’t it? As you said, a ghost department with zero students, yet the paperwork lists absurdly high figures.”
“.....”
“Even odder: the numbers are huge on paper, but I’ve never once felt them in practice. Not a single pen, not a facility install. Nothing ever arrived at our department. Curious... very curious.”
“.....”
“Vice Dean.”
He smiled as he asked.
“How much have you skimmed using the Magic Department as cover? As its professor, I’m dying to know if it satisfied.”
“.....You little shit.”
The feigned gentleness cracked from Vice Dean Samuel’s face. Now only raw displeasure lingered.
“So what? You gonna expose me? Pathetic. Think I can’t bury a useless relic of a professor?”
Vice Dean Samuel’s presence began filling the office. Samuel Martina—a hero from decades past whose renown still shone today, his power and skill firmly in the academy’s elite tier.
In a chilling tone, he said,
“Don’t delude yourself. I’m dissolving it for convenience, not some grand scheme. I could kill you now, chalk it to explosion aftermath, and no one bats an eye.”
The pressure bore down on Cain’s shoulders like a vise. It sharpened into killing intent, grazing his nape.
A sensation that would make even strongmen tremble, skin prickling as if flayed.
Yet Cain’s face showed no ripple.
“Of course you could.”
“Then crawl away like a dead rat and leave the academy. If you value that lowly life, know your place.”
Vice Dean Samuel turned his chair, presenting his back.
“What a joke. I wondered what you’d say, and it’s this? Think sniffing out graft makes you a threat?”
“.....”
“Thought you knew your station. Get out.”
Tsking, Vice Dean Samuel issued his dismissal, but Cain lingered. If anything, his smile deepened.
As Samuel frowned to speak, Cain cut in faster.
“You’re not the only one pocketing kickbacks, right Vice Dean?”
“....What’re you on about?”
“Even a vice dean can’t pocket an entire department solo—not with magic being defunct. Takes at least three... peers of your rank.”
“Ha, blackmailing them too? Your head rolls first. Think they’ll play nice just because I have?”
“No, no. Not blackmail. A proposal.”
“What?”
Vice Dean Samuel turned, baffled.
Cain smiled.
“The Magic Department graft? Pin it all on you.”
“......!!”
Samuel’s eyes widened. He swiveled fully to face Cain, who still grinned.
“Think about it—the timeline’s off. You’ve milked it fine till now; why dissolve suddenly? Could’ve kept it limping, pockets filling quietly. So why tidy up?”
“.....”
“You got worried. Tails might start showing.”
“.....”
“Magic Department’s been around since the academy’s founding. Post its early functional days, as it declined, that’s when you moved in. Decades at least.”
“.....”
“Not short by any stretch. Feels eternal when lining pockets. But the longer, the worse.”
“.....”
“The academy’s vast. Power concentrates accordingly. You’re top-tier, but not omnipotent. Only one holds that.”
“.....”
“Question: if that one almighty learns of this, how do they act?”
“.....”
“And if you offer a scapegoat to divert their gaze, how do your ‘partners’ react?”
“You fool. Courting death, are you?”
Killing intent erupted from Samuel. No bluff this time—he was drawing power to kill in earnest. Overwhelming force that would crush a commoner, vomiting blood.
Samuel was certain the impudent pest would crumple.
Yet... why? Cain stood firm, stepping closer to plant a hand on the desk. Meeting Samuel’s eyes squarely.
“Vice Dean. Killing me gains you nothing.”
“Bold words from a loose tongue. That your last?”
Yet Vice Dean Samuel didn’t strike. For reasons unclear, he felt hearing more wouldn’t hurt. As if the words held a hypnotic mana binding the mind.
Unconsciously, he awaited the next.
“Frame your partners as the ones saddling you. Flip the script.”
“!!”
Samuel swallowed.
Cain whispered,
“Disposing of me? Trivial for you. But your partners... far stronger, sharper. You’ve coexisted till now, but post-dissolution?”
“.....They’re not the type.”
“Right. You shared in good faith, but no guarantee they reciprocate. Accomplice means leverage on each other.”
“.....”
“Let me help.”
“....You? How?”
To Samuel’s question, the grand mage replied,
“Precisely because it’s me. No one guards against worthless trash like this.”
“.....”
“Use me to eliminate those holding your weaknesses. Once they’re gone...”
“.....”
“...you ascend higher.”
For a moment, a vision flashed before Samuel: rivals and holders of his secrets swept aside. Himself clutching boundless glory—not one of many vice deans, but the singular pinnacle.
And after that....
. . . .
“.....”
When Samuel snapped back, Cain’s smile filled his view.
His answer could only be one.