The Villain Professor's Second Chance

Amberine blinked, taken aback. "Wha—Why?" she stammered, her eyes widening as her face flushed. Her hands clenched at her sides, and she tried to hide her surprise.

Draven's gaze flicked up, pinning her in place with its intensity. "This," he said, tapping the page, "is amateur at best. Your attempt to theorize about elemental convergence lacks any solid grounding. You jump straight to conclusions without a single piece of verified data to back it up.

You don't even begin to address the foundational aspects of energy balance, nor the limitations that come from merging such opposing forces."

Amberine opened her mouth to protest, but Draven continued, his voice unwavering, cold, and precise. "You assume things without any proper testing, and your hypotheses are based purely on conjecture. It is riddled with fantasies and not a single calculated analysis to make it worth pursuing."

Amberine tried again, her voice cracking with emotion. "But I—"

Draven silenced her with a raised hand, his eyes narrowing. "Theories are meant to be based on factual potential, Amberine. What you've presented here is nothing more than wishful thinking disguised as research. You need to go back and learn—study the fundamentals before attempting something like this."

He leaned back in his chair, his gaze never leaving her face. "I suggest you read some summaries from the recent articles in the Weekly Magician Journal. It might help you understand the complexity of what you're trying to achieve."

Amberine's brow furrowed, her frustration evident. "But, Professor, isn't that a completely different topic? The journal focuses on high-energy transmutation, not elemental convergence."

Draven's expression remained unchanged. "Exactly. Which is why you need it. Until you understand energy transmutation and how forces interact, you have no business attempting elemental convergence." He gestured towards the door, his tone dismissive. "That will be all, Amberine. Do your homework, and do not waste my time until you have something that shows even a basic understanding."

Amberine grumbled, her frustration boiling beneath the surface, but she knew better than to argue further. She muttered something under her breath and picked up her papers. Her face flushed, her movements stiff, she turned and headed towards the door, opening it with a forceful yank.

What she wasn't expecting, however, was to find Elara standing right outside, her hand raised, about to knock. Amberine's eyes widened in surprise, and before she could react, Elara's knuckles knocked squarely against her forehead.

"Ow!" Amberine yelped, taking a step back and rubbing her forehead. She glared at Elara, who looked entirely indifferent.

Elara blinked, her gaze unmoving. "Oh," she said, her voice as expressionless as ever. "I thought you were the door."

Amberine's face turned red, her irritation boiling over. "The door? Are you serious? I was standing right here!" she snapped.

Elara tilted her head slightly, her expression still blank. "You were in front of the door," she pointed out, her tone almost as if stating the obvious.

Amberine threw her hands up in frustration. "Ugh! Stop it! You're doing it on purpose!"

Elara's eyes shifted towards Amberine, but her expression was so indifferent it was impossible to tell if she was serious or not. She paused, then said, "Sorry."

Amberine narrowed her eyes at her. "You're not sorry. You just enjoy messing with me."

Elara offered the slightest shrug in response. "If that's what you think."

Amberine clenched her jaw, clearly about to say something else, but instead, she huffed, turned on her heel, and stomped out, muttering angrily under her breath. Elara watched her go, her gaze unchanging before she turned her attention back to the office.

Draven had watched the exchange, his eyes narrowing slightly with a faint sense of annoyance. He let out a barely audible sigh. "What do you want, Elara?" he asked, his tone cold, yet the edge softened just enough to indicate curiosity.

Elara stepped into the office, closing the door behind her. She stood tall, her posture straight, her eyes meeting Draven's without a hint of fear. Her stoic expression made her look even more confident, her demeanor entirely at odds with Amberine's flustered exit.

"Professor Draven, I'd like you to be my thesis supervisor." Her voice was clear, and her request was stated without hesitation or uncertainty.n/o/vel/b//in dot c//om

Draven raised an eyebrow. It wasn't often that students came to him with such direct requests, especially given his reputation. Most of them lacked the nerve, and those who did were rarely worth his time. "And why should I consider that?" he asked, leaning back, his cold gaze assessing her.

Elara's expression didn't change. She stepped forward, placing her thesis proposal on his desk with deliberate care. "I believe my research aligns with your expertise. I'm investigating the potential origins of the golden mana trait inherent in my lineage—the Valen lineage—and its possible connection to celestial forces.

I know it's a difficult subject, but I believe I can prove the legitimacy of this hypothesis."

Draven reached out, taking the proposal without breaking eye contact. He flipped open the pages, his sharp eyes skimming the content. The formatting was precise, the language clear and to the point—unlike the chaotic jumble that Amberine had presented to him earlier.

He let out a slow breath, the time around them seeming to stretch as he moved through each page, his sharp mind taking in the structure of her arguments, the supporting theories, and the calculated risks she was willing to take.

He finally closed the document, setting it on his desk, his cold gaze locking onto Elara. "While the formatting is certainly superior to what I had to endure moments ago," he began, his voice dripping with a mixture of sarcasm and precision, "your topic, Elara, borders on the utterly ridiculous."

Elara's eyes widened slightly—just a hint of surprise. She hadn't expected such an immediate dismissal. "Ridiculous?" she repeated, her normally indifferent voice showing just the slightest tremor of shock.

Draven nodded, his expression unchanging. "Yes. You are attempting to research something that lacks any concrete basis. Celestial forces? Golden mana connections to divine entities? It's akin to researching ghosts or gods—concepts without defined, observable parameters.

Unless you have a clear and verifiable object of study, your research will amount to nothing more than a collection of empty words."

For a moment, silence filled the room. Elara was rarely one to be caught off guard, and even more rarely at a loss for words. But Draven's blunt assessment had struck at the core of her proposal. She stood there, her lips parting slightly, struggling to find a response.

But then, just as quickly, something shifted in her. Her eyes regained their composure, the initial shock giving way to determination. She straightened her posture, her gaze hardening. She wasn't willing to give up this easily.

Draven watched her carefully, noting the change. A flicker of something—something like approval—passed through his eyes. He leaned forward, his voice lowering slightly. "Unless," he continued, his tone taking on a different edge, "you're not attempting to define the object. Perhaps, you are attempting to prove why there might be a connection in the first place?"

Elara blinked, her eyes narrowing slightly as she processed his words. "What do you mean?"

Draven's expression remained cold, but there was a hint of something—an invitation, a challenge. "If you can provide me with a convincing argument as to why this connection might exist—why it's worth investigating despite the lack of clear evidence—then you may proceed. Innovation, after all, requires the courage to challenge the unknown, to seek answers where others see only questions."

For a long moment, Elara was silent, her gaze unwavering as she processed his words. Then, slowly, a small smile tugged at the corner of her lips. It wasn't a smile of victory or triumph—it was a smile of acknowledgment, of understanding. She had been given a chance, and she was going to take it.

"Understood, Professor," she said, her voice steady. "I will refine my argument and present you with the proof you require."

Draven nodded, leaning back. "Good. Bring it to me when you are ready. But make no mistake, Elara—if it lacks substance, I will not hesitate to dismiss it. You have potential, but potential means nothing without solid results."

Elara bowed her head slightly. "I understand. Thank you, Professor."

Draven watched her for a moment longer, his gaze sharp, assessing. Then he gave a curt nod. "You may leave."

Elara turned, picking up her proposal and heading towards the door. Just before she opened it, she paused, looking back at him. "Professor," she said, her voice softer now, "I appreciate your willingness to let me try. There aren't many who would."

Draven's eyes flicked up, meeting hers. For a moment, something softened in his gaze—something that vanished as quickly as it appeared. "It's part of a professor's duty to give the students a chance,"