Magic Academy's Bastard Instructor

A steady influx. An origin point system that maintained the balance of the world within reach. Among the anomalies that sustained this equilibrium was Saintess Selena.

Gifted with the stigmata that allowed her to witness certain thresholds before they occurred, many in the Theocracy revered it as a divine blessing. But to Selena, it was anything but.

To her, it was a curse.

A woman who bore a gentle smile, yet lived under the suffocating burden of foresight. To see the world's continuity unravel, to witness moments before they came to pass, it left her in dread each day.

What if she saw the end of the world?

The thought alone was enough to suffocate her. And knowing she had already seen the moment of her own death made it harder to breathe with each passing day.

Still, she understood her purpose. She had to live until the very end. To preserve the world's equilibrium. For if she faltered, another force would rise in her place, and that imbalance could shift everything.

Just nearly three weeks ago, during the banquet of her inauguration, Selena had seen one such disturbance in the balance of the world. An anomaly that stirred the flow of continuity itself.

Aetherion's second princess, Astrid Barielle Aetherion.

Selena had seen visions of the young woman's path. Like threads of fate that interpolated with a magnetism that defied logic. A force that could disrupt the origin of equilibrium. A polarity that pulled at the world's axis.

A presence powerful enough to set continuity into constant flux, like opposing poles—North and South—locked in a struggle to realign the world itself.

A woman who possessed the rare power to anchor a constant, even with the ever-shifting current of the world's continuity.

"Do you truly see nothing, Lady Selena?" Aston asked as he stood behind her on the moonlit balcony.

Selena kept her eyes fixed on the pale moon above, the breeze gently brushing her black hair. "No… there is nothing. Not of a man with emerald eyes."

Aston nodded quietly. He had hoped she might foresee another murder carried out by the so-called Ripper. But, as always, she had given him the same answer.

"I understand," he said. "Forgive me. I won't ask again."

Selena offered a small smile, waving a hand dismissively. "No need to apologize. It is my role as an oracle, after all."

But even as she said it, her mind remained in turmoil.

"...."

She bit her lip, her thoughts drifting to a vision she had misinterpreted not long ago. A vision that, at the time, had seemed vague. It wasn't until a week later that she realized that it was a glimpse of the tragic terrorist attack that had devastated the Zyphran Dominion a month prior.

And by then, it had already been far too late.

Her gift was powerful, yes, but it was not infallible. Even the slightest misreading could cost countless lives.

"...."

She closed her eyes.

…And for the first time in years, she wondered if the end she had seen for herself was not just her own, but the world's.

"Cardinal Nietzsche," she began.

"Yes?"

"If I were to see the world's collapse… would you still believe it could be saved?"

Aston hesitated for a moment, then answered quietly, "Even if it… couldn't be saved. Then I will save it."

Selena's brows furrowed slightly, but his next words brought a slight relief to her heart.

"Because I'm the strongest."

* * *

"So… you really are Zen? Like, really, really?" Astrid asked, her eyes wide with disbelief.

"Yes."

"And you were forced to change your name legally when the Astreas adopted you?"

"Yes. Yes."

The somber mood that had filled the room just moments ago had completely disappeared. Astrid now looked like an entirely different person. Her eyes sparkled with curiosity, and her expression was bright and youthful.

There was an innocence in the way she looked at him, a charm so sincere it was almost endearing.

"...."

But in Vanitas's mind, another image briefly overlapped her face. The Astrid who, in a different route, had turned into a villainess, committing mass genocide under Franz's command.

The one who had lost all hope and descended into despair, becoming nothing more than a puppet, and was considered a global weapon of death.

And yet, looking at her now… it was difficult to believe they were ever the same person.

"But why did you introduce yourself as Zen? Why did my mother call you Zen? Gosh, it would've been so much easier if you were just called Vanitas," she said, tilting her head slightly.

"It's the name she was used to," Vanitas replied. "And… well, I wasn't used to being called Vanitas at the time."

"Ah."

Astrid's expression shifted, becoming more composed, and her tone turned formal.

"Then, allow me to offer my condolences. I heard about what happened to Lady Astrea. I never had the chance to meet her in person, but I remember stories about her work at the research facility when I was younger."

When Astrid had started visiting the facility, Clarice Astrea had already passed away. However, Vanitas, who had often visited due to his close connection with Astrid's mother, Julia Barielle, continued to frequent the place even after her death.

"But… why did you stop visiting?" she asked. "Mother… she wanted to see you at least once, before she… passed."

Vanitas hesitated for a moment, then replied, "I was caught up in a lot of things… but I did make time to attend her funeral."

"Ah, I see." Her voice dropped to a whisper, and a short pause followed before she spoke again, her gaze lowering to her lap. "Did you… recognize me? When we first met at the University Tower?"

Vanitas leaned back slightly, eyes drifting toward the candlelight on the table.

"Yes," he admitted. "I recognized you the moment I saw you."

Technically, it wasn't a lie.

"Then why didn't you say anything?" she asked.

"Because I wasn't sure if you'd remember me," he said.

"No." Astrid shook her head gently, her gaze soft. "Maybe I didn't recognize you at first… but I've never forgotten Zen. Just like now… you've always looked out for me, even back then."

"I believe that's enough for tonight," Vanitas said, rising to his feet.

"Ah—wait, tell me more stories—" she protested, standing quickly and following him as he walked away.

Vanitas turned. He reached out and placed a gentle hand atop her head.

"Go to sleep, Princess," he said.

Astrid's eyes lowered, and she gave a small nod. "Un."

As she turned and began walking back toward her room, Vanitas made his way toward the front door. Just as his hand reached for the handle, her voice called out again.

——Vanitas.

He paused, turning his head slightly. "What?"

Astrid hesitated for a moment, then said, "Even if it's outside the University Tower… please, call me Astrid."

There was a beat of silence between them. Vanitas eyed her for a brief second before responding.

"And inside the University Tower," he replied, "you are to call me Professor."

Astrid smiled slightly, a small warmth rising in her chest. "Of course… Professor."

With that, Vanitas gave a slight nod and stepped out into the night. She stood in the hallway a few moments longer, watching the door quietly before retreating to her room, still smiling.

For the first time, the vast halls and the spacious rooms didn't feel as suffocating as they once had. For the first time, the isolation didn't feel so oppressive.

In fact, it felt like she needed it now more than ever as she buried her face into her pillow, her cheeks flushed.

"...."

Ba... Thump! Ba... Thump!

….Because if anyone had heard the way her heart was pounding, they would have surely known.

…..

Charlotte was ruthless.

Over the past month, she had been tasked with intercepting and neutralizing multiple assaults orchestrated by the Ainsley and Esmeralda factions. The orders were to capture if possible or subdue if necessary.

But Charlotte didn't care for restraint.

Vooosh—!

She reduced them to ash with no hesitation as flames devoured flesh and bone until nothing remained. Her eyes gleamed with a chilling detachment. These men had taken her brother from her. Why should she even consider sparing them?

Capturing was merely optional. And besides, the men surrounding her, the Gambino operatives, were all cut from the same cloth. Cold-blooded killers who didn't hesitate to take a single life.

And Charlotte… fit perfectly among them.

"Miss Astrea," one of the Gambino enforcers called, dragging a wounded Ainsley subordinate across the gravel. "What should we do with this one?"

Charlotte turned slowly, eyes flickering over the bloodied man writhing in pain.

"Bury him," she said flatly.

"He's still alive."

"And so was my brother."

A brief pause, then the enforcer nodded with his eyes closed. "Yes, ma'am."

Charlotte didn't bother to watch as they dragged the man away. Her eyes had already drifted upward, following the snowflakes falling gently from the sky.

There was still one person she had yet to find. Dante Esmeralda, the Duke who had vanished without a trace. His disappearance left a bitter taste in her mouth.

He needed to burn.

They all did.

Every last one of them who had dared to kill Vanitas… who had mocked the Astrea name…

They would all pay.

And the Astrea flames would be the fire that consumed them.

* * *

Dante Esmeralda, after fleeing Aetherion, had only one destination left.

The Zyphran Dominion.

To most, it would've seemed absurd to seek refuge in a nation known for its authoritarian regime and rigid command economy. But Dante wasn't like most. He was a desperate man, and in desperation, even madness can seem logical.

There were rumors that the Araxys operated deep within Zyphran's underworld. A cult rumored to possess forbidden knowledge—dark magic—and more importantly, there had been talks that they had the means to extend one's lifespan.

And for a man like Dante Esmeralda, who had already seen everything life had to offer and had lost all of it, that possibility was worth pursuing.

The journey was grueling and perilous. Refusing to take the railway systems, which were far too traceable, and dismissing motor vehicles due to the dangers that prowled outside major empires, Dante chose the most discreet option available, carriages.

Five of his most loyal men accompanied him, men who had sworn allegiance not to the Esmeralda Duchy, but to Dante himself. Men who, like him, had nowhere else to turn.

The roads beyond the Empire were treacherous as they winded through desolate forests, cold mountain passes, and ruined trade routes barely patrolled anymore.

At some point during the journey, the carriage came to a sudden halt.

"What's going on?" Dante barked, pulling aside the heavy curtain.

"Sir Dante," one of the men called from outside, crouched beside the wheel. "The axle's cracked. The wheel's busted again."

"Again?!" Dante snapped, his frustration boiling over. "That's the third time this week!"

The guard stood up, wiping his hands against his coat. "The terrain's too rough, sir. These old roads weren't meant for prolonged travel like this. We'll need to replace the wheel before we can move again."

"How long will it take?"

"An hour, maybe two. If we don't run into trouble."

Dante sighed, leaning back against the seat. His joints ached from the cold, and the silence surrounding the forest beyond the road sent a chill down his spine that had nothing to do with the weather.

It had already been a week since they left Aetherion. What was supposed to be a two-month journey now seemed endlessly drawn out.

With the delays and the route they'd chosen, it wouldn't be surprising if it took half a year, perhaps even longer.

"Sir Dante," Erick, his most loyal man and longtime consultant, sat calmly at his side. "It'll be fine."

"It'll be fine?" Dante snapped, frustration boiling over. "Fine?! For all we know, scouts could already be tracking us. Who knows how long until they figure out our route?"

"Don't worry, Sir Dante. There are no scouts."

"What?"

"They won't find you."

Dante narrowed his eyes. "And how do you know that?"

"Just because."

It was then that Erick's form began to shift. His features distorted slightly, his once-familiar eyes glowing deep red.

Dante stiffened, instinctively inching back in his seat. "You…"

"They won't find you," the figure repeated, his voice growing colder by the second. "No one will."

He recognized those eyes.

"P-Prince… Franz?" Dante gasped, reaching for the sword at his waist. "W-Where's… Erick?"

Franz tilted his head, a slight smile curling on his lips. "Oh, you mean this guy? Six feet under."

"....!"

Dante moved to draw his blade, but before it could be fully unsheathed, Franz's foot slammed down on his arm.

"Akh…!" Dante cried out, bones groaning under the pressure.

In desperation, he surged aura into his fist and swung upward, only for Franz to catch it with ease.

Smack—!

A single punch landed squarely on Dante's face, bursting his nose and rattling his jaw as blood splattered across the interior of the carriage.

Smack! Smack! Smack!

Another hit. And another. Each strike came like a hammer. His cheekbone cracked, teeth scattered, and his lips were torn open.

Franz's expression didn't change. Not even a twist of anger. Only that cold indifferent gaze that bore down on Dante.

Dante's vision blurred, his body slumping. The once-formidable Duke of Esmeralda had been reduced to a bloodied mess.

Hearing the commotion from inside the carriage, his men rushed to help. But within moments, screams echoed from outside.

The carriage door creaked open, and Dante, now barely conscious, tumbled out and collapsed into the snow.

When his hazy vision focused, he saw two more bloodstained figures standing before him.

"...."

At first glance, they appeared to be the men he had brought with him.

But they weren't.

Their eyes were crimson.

Then, their appearances began to shift. Their features morphed, their hair slowly lightening into a distinct golden blonde.

"What is this…" Dante muttered in disbelief.

All three of them, his supposed guards, now bore the same face.

Franz Barielle Aetherion.

As his gaze drifted to the side, his breath caught in his throat. Two bodies lay strewn in the snow, limbs severed as blood soaked into the frozen ground.

It was then when he realized.

"...."

He had walked right into hell itself.

"You see," one of the Franz figures said, stepping forward. "When you're summoned to court, you go to court. You'd have been granted protection… until your execution, that is. But no. You chose the worst option."

The cold wind howled in the distance.

"And now," Franz continued, his crimson eyes glinting. "No one can protect you. Not from me."

"...."

One of the Franz duplicates stepped closer and crouched beside the broken Duke, gently cupping his bloodied cheek.

"Because of you," he whispered. "My beloved little sister is dead. So… you can't blame me for what happens next, can you?"

"L-Lord F-Franz…" Dante stammered, his voice shaking. "T-The Esmeraldas have served the Empire f-for generations. W-We… we would never dare orchestrate an attack against the p-princess…"

"I know," Franz said with a small smile. "Because only I can do that."

"...."

Dante froze. The implication was like ice in his veins. What did that mean?

"Lord Franz! It was an accide—"

Smack!

* * *

The train station bustled with activity. After purchasing two tickets to Aetherion, Vanitas and Astrid took their seats on one of the benches, quietly waiting for their departure.

"What will happen to Silas?" Astrid asked, her gaze fixed on the departing trains. "With everything going on with his family, he won't have a choice but to withdraw from the university, will he? His name is practically under public scrutiny now."

She had thought Irene to be rather ruthless. Some of the actions attributed to the Ainsleys seemed far too extreme for even Astrid to believe.

It was hard to fathom that her clingy sister had been the one responsible for exposing both the Ainsleys and the Esmeraldas so thoroughly.

Of course, corruption among the nobility was nothing new. But the thought that Irene might have done all of this out of a sense of obligation for Astrid's death brought a faint smile to her lips.

And with a Marquess and a Duke family being brought down in such a grand fashion, she hoped this would serve as a clear example to the other noble households.

"He won't. The Ainsleys will maintain their status," Vanitas said.

"How?"

"It'll be all up to you, Astrid."

"Ah?"

Astrid blinked in confusion. She was well aware of the bad blood between Silas Ainsley and Vanitas's little sister, Charlotte, so she couldn't quite understand what Vanitas was implying.

Even if she asked, Charlotte wouldn't tell her anything. And Astrid herself wasn't particularly close to Silas either.

"The actions of a parent should not be attributed to the child," Vanitas said. "Silas is a talented mage. It would be a shame if his future was cut short just because of this incident."

"....?"

This entire incident was orchestrated by Vanitas himself, though. But Astrid didn't voice that thought aloud.

"What should I do, then?" she asked.

"It depends on what you say. But the goal is to salvage whatever remains of the Ainsleys, at least publicly."

What Astrid didn't realize was that there was one key element she wasn't aware of.

Vanitas planned to take control of everything the Ainsleys possessed.

With the collapse of their business enterprises and growing financial pressure, it was only a matter of time before bankruptcy hit.

And once Silas, soon to be the heir after his father's imprisonment, took over, everything the Ainsleys held would effectively fall under Vanitas's control.

Through Silas, Vanitas would absorb the entire Ainsley Marquess empire.

The perfect revenge for Arwen.

An hour passed quietly before the sound of the train's whistle echoed through the station. The locomotive rolled in with a low rumble, steam exuding as it came to a halt.

Vanitas rose from the bench and turned to Astrid.

"It's time to go home, Astrid."

Astrid paused for a moment, then a smile pulled across her lips.

"Un."