The Villain Professor's Second Chance

The room was modest, to say the least, and it carried the weight of her struggles. The shelves were filled with second-hand books, their spines cracked and faded, some with missing pages that had been hastily replaced or mended. He remembered how Amberine would negotiate with her seniors, charming them into parting with their old textbooks, saving her the need to buy new ones.

It wasn't out of laziness or a lack of desire to learn—no, it was out of necessity. She simply didn't have the money.

Ifrit's gaze moved to the small desk pushed against the wall, one leg shorter than the others, making it wobble whenever she wrote her notes. The chair was mismatched, a rough wooden piece with one armrest missing. The few pieces of furniture in the room were either gifts from seniors who had no more use for them or items she had scavenged from storage rooms in the university.

Some of the drawers didn't close properly, and others had cracks that made them nearly unusable, but she had made do.

The bed she now slept in was no better. The mattress was thin, lumpy in places, and far too old to offer any real comfort. Her blanket, though wrapped tightly around her, was frayed at the edges, with a small hole near the corner. It was second-hand, just like nearly everything else in the room, patched up to the best of her ability.

Ifrit knew Amberine didn't have the means to buy a new one, no matter how much she might have needed it.

In the flickering light of the fireplace, the entire room spoke of her struggle, her quiet battle with bankruptcy. She was living in a world filled with nobles and wealthy students, all attending the prestigious Magic Tower University without a second thought for their expenses. They had the luxury of new textbooks, enchanted robes, and rooms filled with comfortable furniture.

But Amberine… Amberine had nothing but her stubborn determination.

Ifrit, who had always been with her, had watched her navigate the harsh reality of being poor in a place that catered only to the rich. He had seen how she saved every coin, how she skipped meals to afford the materials she needed for her studies. It was a life of constant calculation, of sacrifice, of making do with far less than her peers.

She had come to the university with a single, burning purpose: to avenge her father, to find justice for his death.

But now, that purpose had been shattered. Draven's cold, emotionless admission had taken away the last thing she held onto. It was more than just heartbreak—it was the collapse of everything she had built herself upon. The professor, the man she believed to be her enemy, had also been the one to save her life. He had sacrificed his own hand for her, and that single act had planted doubt in her heart.

Could someone who had taken her father's life also be capable of such a selfless act?

Ifrit gazed at Amberine's sleeping form, his eyes softening. He knew that she had wanted to believe that Draven wasn't responsible for her father's death, that perhaps she had misunderstood, that there was more to the story. But now, with Draven's confirmation, that flicker of hope had been extinguished. She had clung to that hope because it was the only thing keeping her from spiraling into despair.

And now, even that was gone.

The girl who had come to the university with nothing but her anger, her fierce desire for revenge, now had even less. She had lost her father, her purpose, and now, her hope.

Ifrit let out a small, quiet sigh. His fiery eyes, glowing faintly in the dark, returned to Amberine. Despite everything, she had kept her flames alive, barely, but alive nonetheless. She had faced nobles who mocked her for her lack of wealth, professors who ignored her, students who looked down on her—and still, she had held her head high.

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But now, that strength was crumbling, and Ifrit could feel the weight of it pressing down on her even as she slept.

But there was something else… something Ifrit had seen in Draven that no one else seemed to notice. As a spirit, Ifrit could see the flicker of souls through their mana, the essence of who they truly were. And in Draven, despite his cold demeanor, despite the smell of blood that clung to him, Ifrit had seen something different.

Beneath the professor's sharp words and emotionless gaze, there was a deep, unwavering resolve. A desire to protect.

Ifrit knew that kind of soul. It was rare, but unmistakable. It was the soul of someone who carried the weight of the world on his shoulders, someone who sacrificed himself for others without ever asking for thanks or recognition. Draven's soul was not that of a ruthless murderer.

It was the soul of someone who bore burdens no one else could see, someone who protected those around him, even if it meant becoming the villain in their eyes.

Ifrit had only seen such a soul once before. It belonged to someone revered, someone ancient and powerful—Her Majesty, the Spirit Queen, Sylfira Luminous. The Queen of Spirits, whose only wish was to protect the balance of the world, to keep it from falling into chaos. Her strength was in her selflessness, her ability to carry the burdens of others without complaint, and without anyone knowing.

Draven's soul had the same flicker, the same purity of purpose.

He was not the heartless man Amberine believed him to be.

Ifrit's gaze softened as he looked back at Amberine. She, too, had suffered. She had lost everything, and now, even the purpose that had driven her for so long was gone. But perhaps, Ifrit thought, it was time for her to understand that the world was not as simple as revenge and hatred. Perhaps it was time for her to see the truth behind the mask that Draven wore so well.

The truth that, even in his coldness, he had been protecting her all along.

The irony of it all weighed heavily on Ifrit. Here was a girl who had lost everything, clinging to the hope of justice, only to find that the man she hated most might not be the monster she thought. And there was Draven, carrying the weight of a thousand secrets, protecting everyone around him without ever asking for recognition or thanks. The two of them, so different, yet so painfully similar.

Both carrying burdens too heavy for anyone to bear alone.

Ifrit's thoughts turned to the Spirit Queen, Sylfira. He closed his eyes briefly, silently sending a prayer to her.

"Oh, your majesty, Spirit Queen Sylfira Luminous," he whispered into the stillness of the room. "Please, bless this child with your protection. She has suffered much, and her flames flicker weakly. Guide her to the truth, and let her find the strength to stand tall once more."

With that, Ifrit moved closer to Amberine's sleeping form. The hole in her blanket caught his eye, the frayed edges a stark reminder of the hardships she faced. Slowly, carefully, Ifrit placed his small hand over the hole, a soft, gentle flame flickering from his palm.

The flame didn't burn—it was warm, soothing, and as it touched the blanket, the fabric began to mend itself, the hole closing, the threads knitting together seamlessly.

At least, for now, Ifrit thought, he could offer her this small comfort. A warmth to protect her through the night. He couldn't change the past, couldn't erase her pain or her anger, but he could give her his warmth. Until she could find the strength to face the world again, to find her path, he would be there, by her side.

The fire spirit curled up beside her, his small form glowing faintly in the dark room. He watched her as she slept, her breathing steady now, the tension in her body finally easing. He would be her protector, her guardian, for as long as she needed him. Until the day came when Amberine could stand on her own, when she could find the family and comrades she longed for once more.

"Until then," Ifrit whispered softly, his voice barely audible over the crackle of the dying fire, "I will give you my warmth."

And so, the room fell into a deep, peaceful silence. The night stretched on, and for the first time in a long while, Amberine slept soundly, her heart a little lighter, the warmth of Ifrit's presence wrapping around her like a protective shield.