The High Cost of a Late-Night Tea Service

2:15 AM. Imperial Academy dormitory. The room connected to Room 101 Royal Suite, Cadel's quarters, was as silent as a tomb. The only sound filling the stillness was the irritable scratch of my pen dragging across the rough parchment.

"……Haa."

I roughly rubbed my dry, stinging eyes with the back of my hand and glared resentfully at the top sheet of the towering stack of documents on my desk. The title printed at the top of the premium parchment stabbed my optic nerve in vivid, blood-red letters.

I froze my pen in mid-air over the words "accidental incident," pressing my throbbing brow with a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠deep sigh.

This was blatant falsification of an official document. Over those printed words "accidental incident" flashed the image of Reina, her cool purple eyes gleaming coldly as she gripped that damned 19+ gossip rag and cleaved the dining hall's marble table clean in half in one stroke.

But there was no way I could write the truth in the "cause of damage" section: [Mana surge triggered by displeasure and extreme possessiveness over her exclusive retainer being linked to another woman in a scandal].

"This job is seriously extreme. Extreme..."

I massaged my stiff neck and glanced toward the slightly ajar bedroom door. Beyond that door, on the plush premium bed, lay the culprit behind all these major incidents—the empire's strongest beast—sleeping soundly, oblivious to the world.

Imagining her snoring peacefully, I couldn't help but let out a hollow chuckle. In my past life as a girls' high school homeroom teacher, I'd dealt with plenty of troublemakers, but this was the first one who'd cause disasters on this scale and still sleep like a baby afterward.

In the end, cleaning up the mess, placating the witnesses, and fabricating an excuse (incident report) to submit to the academy admin office all night long fell to a 17-year-old shell with a decade of teaching experience.

Crack. Rolling my stiffened shoulders produced an ominous popping sound that echoed through the silent room. A heavy fatigue settled in, dark circles dragging at my cheeks like lead weights down to my jaw.

At this rate, I'd keel over from overwork at my desk before first-period magic theory even started tomorrow.

I can't keep this up. My brain's fried; no more excuses are coming. I need caffeine, stat.

I hauled my heavy body up from the desk, set aside the paperwork for that "gossip rag incident," and headed into the dark hallway toward the dormitory communal kitchen for a warm cup of tea.

The dormitory hallway in the dead of night was thick with cool night air. Only the occasional hoot of an owl from outside broke the silence; even my footsteps on the carpet seemed swallowed by the darkness.

I'd gone about halfway down the long corridor toward the dining hall when I rounded a right corner and instinctively halted, my gaze locking in place.

At the end of the pitch-black hallway, the only source of light leaking out was from the dormitory supervisor's office on the first floor. The door, which should have been shut tight, was cracked open just a sliver, and through that narrow gap, a murky, blood-red glow flickered, casting long shadows across the hallway floor.

What's she doing up at this hour? Overtime...?

Half curious, half concerned, I tiptoed toward the door and peeked cautiously through the gap.

I had to hold my breath.

The source of the red light was a fist-sized, grotesque black orb sitting in the center of the desk. Red mana pulsed within it like a heartbeat.

Her signature red horn-rimmed glasses lay on one side of the desk. From behind, the prim, principled posture she always maintained in front of students was gone. Her back was hunched as if bearing a heavy load, her rigidly tense shoulders trembling faintly.

I couldn't see her face, but Margaret Collins the supervisor was leaning close to the black orb, whispering something urgently and desperately in a rapid, barely intelligible murmur.

Seeing that weary, slumped figure made my heart sink heavily.

Ah... Don't tell me it's because of that gossip scandal a few days ago?

A horrific memory flashed through my mind: the clumsy happenstance where Supervisor Margaret caught me as I stumbled in the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠dormitory hallway, which Elarra von Sterling's pen turned into a 19+ tabloid bombshell: [Dorm Supervisor's Secret Rendezvous with First-Year Male Student].

Of course, Elarra had issued corrections to clean it up, but rumors stick like scarlet letters once they spread. Especially to the conservative academy administration or the powerful parents entrusting their noble heirs to her care—Margaret must have fallen out of favor hard.

Hunched like that, staying up until this late dawn... She's probably taking complaints from the uptight principal or irate parents via the communication orb.

Or verbally dictating an explanatory report on the incident.

Thinking she was suffering alone in the dead of night because of my ridiculous misunderstanding stirred a thick sense of camaraderie and guilt deep in my chest as a K-office worker.

That was the unmistakable silhouette of a poor educator drained by unjust overtime and emotional labor.

I quietly pulled my gaze from the door crack, turned, and headed to the kitchen.

There, I pulled out my private stash of premium Darjeeling black tea leaves. I carefully operated a magic tool to boil water silently, pouring it without a sound. Soon, the bitter, fragrant aroma of black tea filled the kitchen.

I placed two steaming cups on a tray and returned to the supervisor's office.

The door was still cracked as before, and Margaret remained oblivious to any footsteps outside, still earnestly defending herself into the communication orb.

Gripping the tray firmly, I took a very shallow, long breath and lowered my center of gravity.

The ultimate skill honed from years as an exam proctor for nationwide mock exams and college entrance tests. To avoid disturbing the hyper-vigilant senior students' focus even slightly, I executed perfect silent steps, pressing my heel lightly to the floor and shifting weight smoothly to my toes.

Swish, swish. Even the creaky wooden dormitory floor didn't squeak under my flawless weight distribution. The tea in my cups remained perfectly still, not a ripple.

I gently pushed the door open and slipped inside.

As I crossed the center of the room, a strangely sticky, heavy air pressure clung to my skin like it was pressing down.

Air's stale; no ventilation. I should open a window later.

Finally, I successfully approached to within an arm's length behind Margaret, who was hunched over the desk, focused on the orb—perfectly and silently.

"……."

To avoid startling a fellow educator enduring unjust overtime this late, I prepared my softest, kindest tone of consolation. I steadied the silver tray with two cups in one hand.

Then, carefully, I reached past her shoulder toward the empty space beside the pulsing red-black communication orb and silently set down a steaming cup of Darjeeling.

The process felt like defusing a bomb.

Clink. I'd controlled the base friction perfectly, but the porcelain cup's bottom met the wooden desk with a faint, almost imperceptible scrape—something you'd never notice without straining to listen.

That instant.

"……!!"

Margaret, who'd been hunched like she carried the world, shot up as if struck by lightning. She whipped around like a wild beast, stifling even a scream. Her chair scraped back, and her right hand darted instinctively to her pencil skirt's waistband—fierce, lethal reflexes unbelievable for an ordinary supervisor, as if drawing a deadly weapon to plunge into my throat.

But her hand, heading to her waist, froze mid-air upon spotting my hollow dark circles and the meekly placed warm tea on the desk.

To reassure my over-stressed colleague, I donned the gentlest, kindest smile of a veteran girls' high school teacher and spoke.

"Supervisor. You're working so late—truly, thank you for your hard work."

My calm voice cut through the heavy air of the office. Margaret's eyes darted wildly, unable to focus. Cold sweat beaded on her pale forehead, pouring like rain; her thin lips, blue with pallor, trembled like aspen leaves. Her chest heaved in near-hyperventilation, as if on the verge of passing out.

Her face was one of utter terror and shock, like she'd turned to face an assassin with a blade at her back.

I clicked my tongue inwardly. Aigoo... Did she get caught slacking or badmouthing the principal?

Or was she so deep in serious self-flagellation that my sudden voice from behind startled her bad?

Look at her face—ghostly white. Did I sneak up too quietly?

Sorry, I lowered my voice further, nudging the tea cup toward her with gentle warmth.

"Because of that corridor incident last time... you got tangled up in weird gossip with me. Must've been tough explaining to the academy. I'm truly sorry."

"……Hik."

A weird, deflating wheeze escaped Margaret's lips. To keep her from blaming herself, I drove home the warm consolation.

"Don't overdo the self-recrimination so late. Have some tea first. Boiling inside will only hurt your health, Supervisor. If there's anything I can help with, no matter how small, just say the word."

As my sincere apology and comfort landed.

Tomato juice seemed to explode across the cheeks of the terror-stricken, pallid Margaret—crimson flush spreading instantly. Heat raced from her nape to her earlobes, vivid even in the dim office.

She panted, unable to breathe properly, looking up at me. Her wildly darting eyes froze in mid-air. The pale cheeks burned hot; her dazed, unfocused gaze lingered helplessly on my lips.

Her lips twitched as if to speak but formed no coherent sentence. She just stared blankly before bowing 90 degrees at the waist.

"I, I will... keep it in mind...! Hnng...!"

Her trembling voice ended in a strangely suppressed, thrilled nasal whine.

Watching that ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠extreme emotional ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠shift, I nodded deeply as a K-office worker. Her mental's shattered from overtime and irate parent complaints, then bam—unexpected warm tea and sincere apology. Gotta be super touched.

Makes sense. In this soulless, noble-centric academy, only fellow educators look out for each other.

"Then, please wrap up the rest of your work well. I've got paperwork left, so I'll head out."

Basking in warm camaraderie, I picked up my remaining tea cup from the tray and left the office lightly.

I felt her gaze on my back, frozen like a statue, but figured it was deep gratitude and lingering warmth from the comfort.

Closing the door and stepping into the dark dormitory hallway, I sipped the steaming Darjeeling. Its bitter depth flowed through my rigid brain vessels, injecting temporary vitality.

The small achievement of offering someone consolation felt like a fatigue potion.

Alright, with this energy, back to the room to finish the dining hall damage report. Submit it to admin in the morning and crash.

As I stepped forward, buoyed by the satisfaction of a good deed.

Suddenly, the hallway air enveloping my back chilled unpleasantly. The mild midsummer night warmth plummeted to subzero winter in an instant—a goosebump-inducing temperature drop.

Even the faint rough breathing from beyond the supervisor's door cut off like a lie, plunging the corridor into tomb-like silence that crushed down heavily.

"……?"

I halted at the odd discomfort, half-turning my head.

Craaaack—! A sharp, ear-piercing rupture tore the silence—something massive and solid shattering under pressure.

An ominous crack climbed my spine.

Reflexively, I whipped my gaze to the source: right beside the supervisor's door, the massive stone pillar supporting the hallway.

Under the pale moonlight filtering through the end window, the thick marble pillar—which had been fine when I entered the office—now looked wretched.

As if an invisible giant beast had slashed it with lightning speed, three deep, chilling gashes—wide enough for a grown man's forearm—gaped in the center.

Shhh—. Fine marble dust flowed from the severed edges like winter snowflakes to the floor.

And from the thick shadows around the ruined pillar, a familiar, bone-chilling -100°C killing intent shimmered like heat haze, sweeping the entire hallway.

Swish—. In the darkness, a smooth silver hair afterimage and gleaming purple beast-eyes seemed to flicker toward me for a split second.

I rubbed the goosebumps prickling my arms, making my teacup rattle, and stared blankly at the horrific cracks in the pillar.

"……Haa."

I sighed deeply through hollow eyes.

This so-called prestigious Imperial Academy rakes in tuition from nobles but skimps on dorm maintenance? Built centuries ago, sure it's worn, but the pillar cracking like that under load? Deadly if it gives way while someone's sleeping.

I pressed my throbbing temples, fatigue-drenched.

I'm really overworked. Hallucinating silver afterimages in the dark, feeling the air like ice. Makes sense after cleaning up that beast's insane rampage all day—my nerves are shot.

I chalked up the cracked marble entirely to shoddy academy construction and aged facilities.

Irritation bubbled at the thought of writing yet another annoying report tomorrow—[Dormitory Aged Marble Pillar Collapse Risk and Urgent Repair Request]—but right now, I just wanted to collapse into bed.

"Gotta hurry back, finish the paperwork, and sleep... before the building crumbles."

Turning my back on the eerie hallway chill, I dragged my leaden feet straight into Room 101 Royal Suite.