Before Becoming a Professor
In the dim predawn light, when a faint ray of morning barely pierced the gloom, Euphemia awoke first, oppressed by a stifling sensation. She pushed away Ferzen von Schweig Brutein's arm wrapped around her, as if it were uncomfortable.
Finally managing to sit up, she caught the lingering traces of last night's passion beyond the slipping blanket—the musky scent wafting subtly through the air.
“……”
No matter how much she tried not to dwell on it, her mind cleared with each passing moment, vividly replaying her lewd, vulgar self. Especially the memory of wrapping her legs around Ferzen's waist, urging him deeper—it choked her with an indescribable self-loathing.
His words still echoed in her ears: 'Well done.'
To blame it on mere lust wouldn't hold; Ferzen had remained utterly composed from start to finish. That only fueled her anger more.
He was the one who had desired her body under the pretext of producing an heir.
“……”
Gazing down at her own wanton form, craving pleasure so frivolously—what had he thought? Perhaps he believed a woman like her was supposed to act that way.
At least they hadn't made eye contact then; that was a small mercy. If he'd curled his lip in mockery, his eyes laced with contempt...
Even so, she probably wouldn't have unwrapped her legs from his waist.
'Pathetic...'
Forcing a bitter, self-mocking smile, Euphemia let out a sigh. It was the result of her own choices, so even if life seemed bleak, there was nothing to be done.
How terrifying a powerless existence could be.
If there was anything she could do, it was to refuse being tamed.
Squeak!
Placing her feet on the floor, she carefully rose.
“Ah...!”
But her legs buckled in an instant, and she collapsed onto the floor with a thud.
“W-Why... why is this happening...”
Like a deer caught in a hunter's trap, her legs trembled as she struggled to stand. Then, feeling something trickle from between her thighs, she clamped them together in horror.
Unless she was a fool, she knew it was Ferzen's seed from last night, poured deep inside her.
Panicking, she grabbed nearby underwear to wipe it away—but the warm residue, not yet hardened by body heat, kept leaking endlessly.
“……”
Watching the scene persist, Euphemia gave a wry smile and tossed her semen-soaked panties onto the bed.
“You bastard... just how much did you come...”
Was this how a flower blooming in the desert felt? A sense of withering desolation.
Rustle.
At that moment, Ferzen, deep in slumber, stirred and slowly opened his eyes. Sitting up against the bedhead, he gazed at Euphemia perched on the edge.
“The sun hasn't even properly risen yet...”
“Does a lowly one like me not rise early?”
“How childish.”
“……”
His innate arrogance seemed to effortlessly conquer even sleepiness and fatigue; a single sweep of his hair restored his usual impassive, sharp gaze.
“I'll summon the maids, so fix your straps. How long do you intend to expose your breasts?”
“I-I know without you telling me...”
Only then noticing her state at Ferzen's words, Euphemia hastily adjusted her dress straps.
“This... I suppose I can't tell you to wear it either.”
His eyes fell on her black panties, rolled up on the bed, sticky and reeking of fishy odor. Ferzen clicked his tongue.
“It's your seed. Does it still feel dirty?”
Euphemia shot back with a faint, incredulous scoff.
“Was the night unsatisfying? I thought I pleased you plenty. Why so grumpy today...”
“……”
Was that sarcasm? Euphemia turned her head away without responding.
Ferzen, too, fell silent, lifting the small bell on the bedside drawer and shaking it.
A rustle came from outside, followed by a light knock as the maids entered.
“Change the bedsheets. And... she'll be exhausted, so take her for a thorough bath. Use perfumes with mild scents if possible.”
“Understood.”
“Th-The bath... I can do it myself.”
The thought of the maids seeing the marks etched across her body and the semen leaking from her privates was mortifying; Euphemia shook her head.
“A master who tires her servants is problematic, but one who bores them is equally so. They won't thank you for it—only feel inconvenienced. Such consideration becomes a nuisance.”
“Y-Your 'consideration' toward me... is a nuisance to me. I know I'm capable enough, so stop making me feel shabby and wretched.”
At Euphemia's retort, Ferzen rose indifferently.
“There are no absolute standards in this world. The closest might be the law. If you feel shabby in my presence, that's your failing.”
“……”
“If you want to complain, do so after becoming more elegant and noble. Low-class mutt.”
“You rotten... bastard...”
“You did well last night. See to it that breakfast is prepared to her taste.”
With that to the maids, Ferzen left the room.
─────
1. Lizzy Paul Liana Claudia (20 years old)
Youngest daughter of the Claudia Baron family.
Rumored to possess outstanding talent, expected to advance to Euclid rank black mage within 1~2 years.
The previous Claudia Baron passed away 3 months ago; the second son has inherited the title, while the eldest joined the Imperial Knights this year.
─────
After bathing and changing, I summoned Chris and inquired about the painter I'd asked him to fetch yesterday.
“He's waiting in the drawing room now.”
“Now?”
“He said he has urgent business in Rosenberg...”
“Ah... Come to think of it, the festival in Rosenberg is soon. An artist wouldn't want to miss that.”
I nodded, dismissed Chris, and descended to the first-floor drawing room to face the fidgeting painter.
“B-Brutein! Greetings!”
“Enough. Sit.”
“Yes!”
His restless demeanor, like a dog desperate to piss, wasn't pleasing, but I ignored it and sketched a rough outline capturing Ciel Midford's features on the spot, handing it to him.
“I'll describe in detail, so use this as reference to complete this man's portrait. I trust Chris's judgment of your skill, but if you exceed expectations, I'll add a bonus to your pay.”
“M-My skills are hardly...”
“Spare me the flattery. It's poison.”
“Y-Yes...”
Art was a basic accomplishment to some degree, so Ferzen's body came with decent drawing skills—a stroke of luck for me. No matter how detailed the description, translating words perfectly to image had limits. One slip, and it'd become abstract art.
But with the feature sketch, the painter grasped my descriptions accurately, rendering Ciel Midford perfectly.
Not 100%, but close enough.
“Not bad.”
“Th-Thank you!”
“Collect your pay from Chris.”
I took the portrait, stood, instructed Chris to pay generously, and headed to the study where my eldest brother and family head, Jeremiah von Berem Brutein, was staying.
“This is...”
“A bit much, but read it if you can.”
Handing over Ciel Midford's portrait, Jeremiah passed me a thick stack of documents in return.
“Rough info on those selected as professors like you who accepted, and the heirs slated to enroll.”
“……Thank you.”
Ferzen had never entered high society, so this was invaluable to me now.
I bowed deeply, left the study, sat in the mansion's garden, and began reading the files one by one.
“……”
No, I paused midway.
Printing existed to some extent, but personal info like this was naturally handwritten. And the handwriting in these documents was all asymmetrical, stressing me out just to look at.
Of course, it irritated without driving me to shred them, so steeling myself, I forced myself to read on...
“……”
My head throbbed.
Not from the asymmetry.
From the very first page, top entry: two names. Those two triggered the headache.
“……”
Obviously not in a positive way.
After the incident with his brother Jeremiah due to his OCD, Ferzen and Jeremiah's relationship had grown estranged. Actually, it would've been weirder if it hadn't.
So at Jeremiah's 17th birthday adult ceremony banquet, Ferzen mustered courage for the first time to apologize and congratulate him first. Their current fragile peace stemmed from that.
But the problem was Ferzen should've left quickly after.
Instead of foolishly basking in brotherly bonding over the mended tie.
'This is insane...'
Unlike Jeremiah, Ferzen never appeared in private gatherings. His rare showing drew nobles subtly sending their daughters to greet him.
The Claudia Baron was one, and the issue was Lizzy didn't just greet—she asked for a dance.
Whether it was the baron's greedy command or genuine innocent favor upon first sight, the result was disastrous.
Mid-dance, Lizzy slipped; Ferzen stepped on her foot, spraining her ankle.
Up to there, no issue. But instead of apologizing as she limped away crying, Ferzen followed and crushed her other ankle the same way.
Twitch!
The memory surged so vividly I trembled, pressing my forehead.
Lizzy was just 12 then. Ferzen mercilessly mangling a little girl's ankles was chilling.
Yet why did I empathize? No, I understood it.
I scared myself for the first time.
'Can this be dismissed as coincidence?'
I lost the will to read on. Still, mustering courage...
“Fuck...”
Alfred family.
Seeing that word, I hurled the documents away.
A marquis house rivaling Brutein.
Dread gripped me at the memories.
If this weren't a novel world, no reason for this headache or gut churn. But it was a novel world...
And I was the villain.
Thus, those two names on the documents seemed like stepping stones—paving Ciel Midford's path to stab my heart. A kind of pawn setup.
“……”
What to say? It starkly dawned: Ferzen's role was pure evil.
I'd thought handling Euphemia while checking the protagonist would suffice—utter delusion.
“Ha, haha...”
Maybe a narration trick, fake-out? Ferzen as true protagonist?
I discarded that baseless hope. If Ferzen were protagonist, his evils would've laundered clean in a spin cycle.
'No...'
No misunderstandings in his deeds. No external interference.
Pure evil, no backstory to redeem.
OCD existed, but revealing it wouldn't cleanse him—might even become a exploitable weakness.
Soap at best...
Yes... I am the villain.
The novel's title—Tenaciously Surviving as the Villain—who did it mean?
'I want to regress...'
A handful of lament drifted away on the spring breeze.