The Villain Professor's Second Chance

The students watched intently as the figures came to life, their drawn robes flowing as if blown by an invisible wind. Draven didn't say a word at first, allowing the image to settle into their minds. Then, without missing a beat, he flicked his hand again, and the figures began to move, mimicking a duel.

"This," Draven said, his voice cutting through the stillness like a blade, "is the simplest representation of a battle between two mages. It looks straightforward, but there are layers to this. Every spell, every movement is calculated."

With another flick of his wrist, the chalk began sketching small mana bars above each figure. The numbers flickered as the mages exchanged spells, one's mana bar depleting faster than the other's.

"First," Draven continued, his tone calm but precise, "you must always consider your opponent's mana reserves. Magic is not infinite. It's a resource, one that can be exhausted. In battle, it's crucial to track how much your opponent is using. A spell that appears harmless might be a ploy to drain you, making you more vulnerable to a final, decisive strike."

The two figures continued their duel, one of them launching a large, flashy fireball. The mana bar above it drained significantly. The second figure, with a smaller spell, dodged and countered with a precise strike, depleting its opponent's mana even further.

"It's like chess," Draven said, his voice taking on a sharper edge. "Brute force is rarely the answer. A powerful spell may look impressive, but it leaves you vulnerable if your mana reserves can't sustain it. A clever mage waits, anticipates, and strikes only when it's most effective."

He flicked his hand again, and the first figure stumbled, its mana nearly drained. The second figure, still maintaining most of its reserves, moved in for the final blow. A simple, sharp strike. The first figure collapsed.

"Always think ahead," Draven said, turning toward the class. "Know your own limits and understand your opponent's. Don't just react. Plan. Adapt."

The students sat silently, their eyes wide, absorbing every word. Draven wasn't just teaching them how to use magic—he was showing them how to survive in a world where failure meant death. He continued, his voice a steady, cold presence in the room.

"There are also environmental factors," he added, as the chalk moved again, drawing a rocky terrain around the two figures. "A mage who knows how to use their surroundings will always have the upper hand. Water, heat, air currents, even the ground beneath your feet—everything can be a weapon or a defense if you understand how to manipulate it."

The second figure summoned water from a nearby stream, twisting it into a barrier against another fireball. It was effortless, precise, and left the opponent scrambling.

"This is what separates amateurs from professionals," Draven said, his eyes scanning the room. "Anticipation. Control. And above all, understanding. Magic is not chaos. It's structured.

It's a strategy."

With a final flick, the chalk dropped back into the tray. Draven's gaze settled on his students once more, the weight of his words hanging in the air.

"Let's not delay any longer," he said, his tone final. "Elara, you're first."

Elara rose from her seat without a word, her golden and blue mana already swirling gently around her as she stepped forward. There was no hesitation in her movements—everything about her was calculated, precise, much like the battle Draven had just described.

Draven didn't waste time. He summoned a small needle, infused with his psychokinesis, and launched it toward Elara with the speed of a bolt. Her reaction was instantaneous. A barrier of golden light formed in front of her, shimmering like water caught in sunlight. The needle struck the barrier, but instead of shattering, the shield absorbed the impact, ripples of mana flowing outward.

"Good," Draven said, his tone neutral, though there was a glimmer of approval in his eyes. He raised his hand, summoning the earthen sword he'd used earlier in their lessons, and with another swift movement, he hurled it toward her. Elara didn't flinch. Her barrier shifted, adjusting to the new attack with fluid grace.

The sword collided with the shield, but like the needle, it was deflected, falling harmlessly to the ground.

"Perfect A," Draven said, his cold gaze meeting Elara's. "You've learned how to adapt your shield to different attacks without wasting energy. Well done."

Elara gave a small nod, her expression unchanged. She returned to her seat, as composed as ever, not needing Draven's praise to confirm her skill.

Draven's eyes moved next to Amberine, who had been watching Elara closely. There was fire in her eyes—both literally and figuratively—as she stood, her fingers already itching to summon her flames.

"Amberine," Draven said, and without waiting for a response, he launched the needle at her.

Amberine reacted quickly, flames roaring to life around her as she conjured her barrier. The shield was a brilliant, fiery inferno, but this time, it was controlled. The needle struck, and for a brief second, the flames flared, but the shield held. Draven didn't give her time to relax. He summoned the sword again and threw it with even more force.

Amberine gritted her teeth, focusing harder. The flames of her barrier flickered but did not waver. The sword struck the shield, and for a moment, it seemed like the fire might engulf it—but Amberine's control held firm. The sword clanged against the flames and dropped to the floor, defeated.

Draven studied her, his sharp eyes noticing the slight tremble in her hands, the way her fire danced dangerously close to losing control. But she had done it. She had maintained her barrier.

"Perfect A," he said, his voice cool but with a hint of satisfaction. "You've learned to control your fire. But keep working. Ifrit's influence is still pulling at you."

Amberine's lips twitched into a smirk, her heart pounding in her chest. She had done it. For once, she had managed to keep her fire under control. She returned to her seat, resisting the urge to look too smug. She wasn't going to give Draven the satisfaction of seeing just how much that meant to her.

Finally, Draven turned to Maris, who stood with a quiet determination in her eyes. She wasn't like the others—her magic was different, subtle. As she stepped forward, the air around her shimmered with the faint outlines of illusions, her mana wrapping around her like a protective cloak.

Draven wasted no time. The needle shot toward her, fast and direct. Maris's barrier flickered to life, but it wasn't solid like the others. Her illusion magic twisted around the barrier, distorting the needle's path. As it neared, the needle shifted slightly, its trajectory altered by the subtle magic.Nôv(el)B\\jnn

Draven's eyes narrowed in curiosity. He hurled the sword next, watching closely as Maris's barrier responded. This time, her magic didn't just deflect the attack—it seemed to bend the space around it, warping the trajectory of the sword ever so slightly. The blade twisted in mid-air, veering off course before dissolving into nothingness.

Maris's barrier wasn't just a shield—it was something far more intricate. It manipulated not only her defenses but the offensive spell itself, as if her illusions could subtly reshape reality.

Draven's sharp eyes flickered with interest, though his face remained impassive. He hadn't expected this. Maris, once the timid girl, had developed a barrier that didn't just protect but subtly influenced the magic directed at her. A rare quality, one that suggested she wasn't merely defending—she was altering the battlefield itself.

The class held its breath, the room falling into a heavy silence as they watched Draven closely, waiting for his reaction. Maris stood still, her expression calm but with a subtle tension in her shoulders, as if she wasn't sure what to make of her own success.

Draven stepped forward, his voice cool and measured as he addressed her. "Interesting. Your barrier doesn't just block the attack—it manipulates it. A rare talent, Maris."

Maris's eyes widened slightly at the rare praise, her heart pounding in her chest. She had struggled for so long to control her magic, always fearing it wasn't enough. But now, standing in front of Draven, she felt something shift within her—a quiet confidence she hadn't known before.

"However," Draven continued, his tone as sharp as ever, "such a technique is both a strength and a weakness. It relies on your ability to anticipate the opponent's magic. Against a more powerful spellcaster, this could be exploited."

Maris nodded, taking in his words with quiet focus. She knew that Draven never gave praise lightly, and his critique, while harsh, was meant to guide her forward. She straightened her posture, feeling a sense of pride swell within her despite the caution in Draven's words.

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He turned back to the class, his cold gaze sweeping over the students once more. "What Maris has demonstrated is something beyond simple defense. She has shown an understanding of the battlefield, manipulating not just her own magic but her opponent's as well. This is advanced technique, but it comes with risks. Adaptation is key."

The other students exchanged looks, impressed but also intimidated by what they had witnessed. Maris had gone beyond their expectations, and even Draven had acknowledged her abilities—something that didn't happen often. A quiet murmur ran through the class, a ripple of admiration for the once-shy girl who had, in her own way, outshone them all.

"Class," Draven said, his voice cutting through the low hum of whispers, "this is the kind of mastery I expect from each of you. Today's test is not just about passing or failing. It's about understanding how your magic interacts with the world around you. If you cannot grasp that, you will always be at a disadvantage."

He paused, letting his words sink in, his expression unchanging. "Maris, you've earned not just a pass, but a bonus score for your demonstration."