Prepare for the Counterattack
“Commoners?”
The classroom was still quiet before class began. In the center and on the left, clusters of boisterous noble students decked out in flashy jewelry chattered away, while the right side—though not entirely silent—was comparatively subdued, with groups whispering among themselves. These were the commoner mages.
“Yeah, and?”
“What, here to mock us for being commoners?”
Everyone had mana, but talent for magic was the exclusive domain of nobles and the great magical families. For commoners, it was a dream job beyond an unreachable cliff. But as time passed, a new trend emerged. In some families with faint traces of ancient mage blood, the talent would miraculously bloom after generations. Those kids were the commoner mages here.
To their families, they were blessed children, objects of pride and envy. But once they entered Luna Magic Academy, the treatment changed. Harsh discrimination, abuse, bullying, and talents that paled in comparison to true mages. They had no choice but to shrink back and stay quiet.
Watching the commoner mages eye me warily, I waved my hand dismissively, as if to say there was nothing to fear.
“Nah, I'm just trying to get along with you guys.”
They knew I was a servant-turned-instructor, and that the noble mages harbored hostility toward me. But that didn't translate to sympathy or friendliness. “The enemy of my enemy is my friend” only holds if there's a chance of standing up to them. Otherwise, I was just another thorn in their side.
“Ah… sure.”
“You don't really need to hang with us.”
It wasn't outright hostility, but their intent to keep their distance was clear. How should I play this? Maybe act casual and brazen?
“Alrighty then.”
Ignoring their wariness, I thick-skinnedly wedged myself into their group. Despite grumbles like What the hell?, I lowered my voice and steered the conversation.
“You guys must have a ton of gripes about academy life, right?”
Yeah, even a kid who scarfed the neighbor's baby food could pick up on that. My obvious ulterior motive. But these commoners, with the perception of baby-food thieves, just shook their heads.
“We're just grateful we get to study.”
“No complaints here.”
“We live in thanks, that's all.”
Their responses sounded like those of people resigned to their fate, disheartened by reality.
Who didn't know commoner mages faced discrimination and abuse? Even I, a former servant, knew it full well.
Are they dodging?
No will to fight back against their lot? These cowards.
“Don't dodge. You really gonna keep coming to this academy and take this crap? It won't mean shit even if you graduate.”
Commoner mages weren't treated as real mages anywhere. They had to build connections, rack up grades, and earn merits during academy days. Only then could they land jobs as assistants to skilled mages or get hired by magical families after graduation.
“No will to fight back at all?”
“You fight back, Instructor.”
“Our lives are more precious.”
They dispersed the group entirely to avoid me. Left alone like a total outcast, I stood with a bitter heart and spat out harsh words.
“You might not win, but at least you gotta thrash around. That's what makes you human, at least.”
“……”
“I'm here to help you guys. Change your minds, come find me anytime.”
“Won't happen.”
These weaklings! It wasn't that bad, but feeling oddly slighted, I left the spot. I figured gaining support from the commoner mages would give me leverage to suppress wicked witches like Ios Savin.
Guess I gotta seduce Darian after all.
Yesterday, I'd tried tempting Darian to join me, but she'd freaked out like she was foaming at the mouth, so I couldn't push further. She overflowed with hatred for Ios, yet feared confronting her.
A bit later, class started. I leaned against the door, pretending to monitor the students while half-listening. Then a thought struck me.
I've been too complacent.
I'd approached too rashly. Popping up out of nowhere preaching “Let's revolt!”—who'd join that?
But I had a reason for my complacency. Ios Savin. Or Elias Quinnel—Eri. Several factions vied for control of the academy, but these two leaders commanded the largest forces. Though students here, outside they were scions of renowned families or high nobles. I hadn't anticipated the professors backing them.
Searching records to find pretext for punishing Ios, I found no rule violations—and suddenly professors warned me off digging into her.
She's bought the hatred of so many, yet stayed scandal-free. No wonder.
Professors cleaned up her messes. Like gangsters in my world relying on family pull to commit crimes scot-free.
Fantasy or reality, it's all the same bullshit.
Until now, I'd fantasized about beating down those punks with sheer power. But even with power, I couldn't touch them. That's reality. Fantasy or not didn't matter.
“That concludes today's lesson.”
As the professor wrapped up, students surged out. Leaning by the door, I blankly watched them go when—swish.
“Huh?”
Something slipped into my front pocket by a passerby, gone in a flash. Tossed in like trash, I assumed it was garbage.
“Still think I'm some servant, huh? Ugh, jerks.”
Like back when I'd bow and dump trash on command. Couldn't see the face in the crowd. What junk was it? I pulled out a torn notebook page.
“…?”
Unfolding the neatly folded scrap revealed: Lunchtime, basement level 3, fifth cell.
Not trash. A secret rendezvous. I popped the paper in my mouth and swallowed the evidence.
They haven't given up yet.
I skipped lunch with just a piece of bread, heading straight to the meetup. When Leden and Sena asked where I was going without eating, I lied about stomach trouble. Hope it pays off.
The basement was off-limits, normally requiring a professor escort. But level 1 was tacitly overlooked. If caught exploring, you'd just get a warning to leave.
Level 2 got risky—guard magic lurked everywhere, threatening life. Level 3 was similar, but rare since level 4 was truly deadly, avoided even by professors and treated as nonexistent. Only the headmistress entered level 4 and knew its secrets.
“Ugh, so dingy.”
The human-grinding spot I'd seen was level 2; Vivian's “punishment” torture was level 1. Level 3, though. As an instructor with professor privileges, I could access it, but students picking it as a meetup? Bold.
“So… traps that way, so head this way.”
Using a basement map I'd obtained, I navigated traps to the spot: fifth cell. Cells were spaced absurdly far apart, empty of people or bugs—eerie silence. Heart-pounding fear of shadows lunging from the dark.
Raising my lantern, I confirmed the “Ⅴ” over the bars and entered. Empty cell, no prisoners. Then I spotted someone cloaked in dark robes I'd missed.
“Had to meet in a cell?”
I set the lantern on a rickety table. Light revealed the figure better: slim jaw under the hood suggested female. But not ordinary—faint scales on her cheek.
“Too filthy and damp. No other spot?”
“Luna's cells are old but untouched—perfect for secret meets.”
“Fair point. Cells exist but rarely used. Level 1 suffices anyway.”
The robed woman covered her mouth with her hand and chuckled hoho, striking a mysterious witch pose. It annoyed me; I drummed the table.
“Enough theatrics. Get to the point—I'm starving and cranky.”
“Same here. Moments like this, I'd love to eat a human.”
“…Eat a human?”
She doffed her hood. Definitely no ordinary witch. Scales on cheeks and jaw, ragged red bob cut, sturdy horn curving up. Blazing yellow slit-pupil eyes made me gulp.
Is this the dragonkin Leden mentioned?
Luna hosted unimaginable races, but rare and hidden. Dragonkin among them—clearly a dragon polymorphed into human form.
Less haughty, more shrewish, she haughtily lifted her chin.
“Pleased to meet you, human. First time like this, right?”
“You really eat humans?”
“I would, but haven't. I'm half-human, half-dragon.”
Still planning to eat 'em. I glared tensely; she giggled at my reaction.
“I'm Igneel, witch of dragon blood. Heard from a friend you're scheming for the commoners.”
“They didn't trust me.”
“Obviously. Who blabs about fighting back? Even whispers reach those bastards quick.”
Igneel wasn't tall—Sena-sized build, but solid, scaly. Chest modest. Wait, something off?
“Hold up. Dragons are usually noble stock, right? Why side with commoners?”
“…Take that back.”
“Huh?”
She bowed her head, glaring fiercely. Cute, but those eyes terrified.
“Not all dragonkin are nobles.”
“Uh… sorry.”
“Damn dad—if he hadn't been a wastrel chased out, I'd be noble too.”
Dark family history…
“If he hadn't gone to that femdom brothel, I wouldn't even exist…!”
“Didn't need to know that much.”
“If Mom hadn't been his type, he wouldn't have fallen for her—!”
“Don't overshare.”