The Villain Professor's Second Chance

The dining room was a battlefield of elegance and excess, with platters of untouched food scattered across the table. Aurelia leaned forward, her fiery red hair catching the candlelight, her eyes locking onto mine with unyielding intensity. The air around her practically crackled with energy—a sharp contrast to the soft clinking of cutlery as the staff quietly cleared away dishes. She had already dismissed most of the attendants, leaving just the two of us in this charged silence.

"Why did they imprison you, Draven?" Her voice was calm, but there was no mistaking the edge in her tone. It carried the authority of a queen who expected answers.

I met her gaze without flinching, letting the silence hang just long enough to feel deliberate, the weight of her question pressing against the stillness of the room. Her fiery eyes bore into me, a blend of curiosity and demand, and for a moment, the air itself seemed to hold its breath. It was a question I had anticipated, though that didn't make answering it any easier. The memories of the ambush flashed briefly in my mind—a blur of chaos, calculated malice, and the aftermath of decisions that could not be undone. After a calculated pause, I spoke with measured calm, my voice even but carrying the faintest edge of something unspoken.

"There was a misunderstanding."

Aurelia's sharp eyebrows arched higher, her fingers now drumming a deliberate, measured rhythm against the table's polished surface. Each tap echoed faintly in the room, as though amplifying the building tension. She didn't press immediately, her lips curving into a faint smirk that hinted at both disbelief and a strategic pause. "A misunderstanding?" she repeated, her voice laden with incredulity, each syllable deliberately stretched to punctuate her skepticism. "That's all you're going to give me?"

The smirk widened slightly, but her fiery eyes locked onto mine with the unrelenting focus of a predator sizing up its prey. She leaned forward incrementally, closing the space between us, her presence commanding without rising from her seat. The intensity in her gaze promised that she wasn't merely asking for an explanation; she was demanding it. "You think you can brush this off with vague words and expect me to drop it?"

I could feel the weight of the court's silence behind her words, the subtle shifts of the remaining staff as they exchanged nervous glances, wary of the storm that seemed to brew within their queen's tone. The air itself felt denser, charged with the clash of her fiery insistence against my cold restraint.

"For now."

Her gaze narrowed, and I could see the fire in her eyes flare brighter. Aurelia was not one to let things go so easily, especially when it concerned someone she deemed important enough to summon to her private table.

"Tell me everything," she demanded, her tone sharper now, like a blade cutting through the quiet, each word an unspoken challenge. Her fiery eyes bored into mine with an intensity that made the room feel smaller, as though the walls themselves leaned closer to hear my response. There was no escaping her scrutiny, and the air around us felt heavy, charged with an invisible tension that seemed to pulse with her command. She didn't just want answers—she demanded the truth, raw and unvarnished, as only a queen could.

I leaned back slightly, calculating my response. The truth was complicated, messy, and dangerous—and not something she needed to know in full. Not yet.

There are still too many things that she need to focus in.

Her magic training, the demonic case at the royal banquet, the orcs, and now the Devil Coffin.

He know that there would be a consequences if he didn't tell her, but there are already too much in her plate.

And this is something that need to be done.

"We were traveling in the arcane carriage provided by the Magic Council," I began carefully, "we were ambushed mid-journey. There was... an accident."

Her eyes locked onto mine, unyielding. "An accident?"

"Yes."

"You were attacked," she said, more a statement than a question. "And you didn't kill her?"

I remained silent. Answering too directly would only fuel her suspicions. She leaned closer, her voice dropping to a low murmur that still carried the weight of her command.

"You won't tell me."

Still, I said nothing. My silence, as always, was its own form of communication.

Her lips tightened, and for a fleeting moment, the room braced for the tempest of one of her infamous fits of rage. The tension built, her fiery gaze crackling with barely contained fury, like a storm ready to break. But then, in an unexpected twist, she exhaled deeply, her breath measured and deliberate, her shoulders gradually relaxing as though casting off an invisible weight. The shift in her demeanor was subtle yet profound, her fiery resolve tempered into something cooler, more calculating. She leaned back in her chair with a practiced ease, the movement deliberate and commanding, as if to remind everyone in the room that her restraint was not a weakness, but a choice. The atmosphere, once electric with her impending fury, softened into an almost palpable sense of control, her presence filling the space with an undeniable authority.

"You can't tell me because of something," she concluded, her tone softer now, though no less probing. It wasn't a question; it was an observation, and an accurate one at that.

I closed my eyes briefly, acknowledging her insight without words. She took another breath, deeper this time, and the tension in the room began to dissipate.

"I see," she said finally. "I understand."

The court staff who remained—silent and still as statues—seemed to collectively exhale. I allowed myself a brief moment to appreciate her restraint. Aurelia might have been fiery and unpredictable, but she was no fool. She knew when to push and when to pull back.

Her mood shifted almost imperceptibly. She reached for her goblet, swirling the wine within before taking a slow sip. The earlier sharpness in her gaze softened as she set the glass down and gestured toward the food. "Eat something. You look like you've been living on mana potions and stale bread."

"Not far from the truth," I replied, allowing a faint smirk to play on my lips. Her fiery temper was matched only by her wit, and sparring with her was a challenge I often found oddly refreshing.

She chuckled softly, a sound that carried an edge of amusement. "You've always been insufferable, Draven. Cold, calculating... but insufferable."

I inclined my head slightly, acknowledging the comment without dispute. "It's a reputation I've worked hard to maintain."

"Clearly," she said, her tone light but her eyes still sharp.

We continued the meal in relative calm, the earlier tension replaced by a strange sense of camaraderie. Aurelia's questions grew more idle, though her sharp mind was always evident.

"Do you miss teaching? No, I guess the question is, do you love it?" she asked at one point, her fork pausing midway to her mouth.

I considered the question for a moment. "It has its merits. Guiding young minds, shaping their potential... there's a certain satisfaction in it."

"And the Magic Council?" she pressed, her tone casual but her gaze piercing. "What do you think of their current policies?"

"I think," I said carefully, "that their priorities are often... misaligned."

She smirked. "Diplomatic as ever. You should run for office."

"I'd sooner exile myself to the Abyss," I replied dryly, earning a genuine laugh from her.

The sound of hurried footsteps interrupted our exchange. The doors to the dining room swung open, and a young boy burst in with all the energy of an unrestrained spell. His blonde—a shade lighter than Aurelia's former hair—shone in the candlelight, and his wide eyes sparkled with uncontainable excitement.

"Professor Draven!" he exclaimed, his voice practically bouncing off the walls. "The Professor Draven, in the flesh!"
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Prince Caelum, Aurelia's younger brother, was a force of nature in his own right. His enthusiasm was infectious, and his admiration for me was evident in every word he spoke.

"You've read my work, I assume?" I asked, my tone measured but laced with curiosity.

He nodded vigorously, pulling a thick tome from seemingly nowhere. "Your theories on mana circuit optimization revolutionized my approach to spellcasting! I have so many questions!"

And so began a lengthy discussion that spanned everything from complex magical theories to the ethical implications of arcane power. Caelum's curiosity was boundless, and his enthusiasm brought a rare warmth to the room.

Aurelia watched us with a quiet smile, her sharp demeanor softening as she observed the exchange. Her rare, genuine smile struck me deeply—a fleeting but poignant reminder of the weight she carried for the realm. She was more than a ruler; she was the unyielding cornerstone of stability in a world teetering on chaos. The light in her expression carried a warmth that was both disarming and inspiring, a glimpse into the depths of her character that so few ever witnessed. It was in moments like these that I was reminded of her resilience, her ability to hold the line not just for herself but for everyone who depended on her, even when the weight of the crown threatened to crush her.

As the conversation wound down, Aurelia glanced at the clock and sighed.

"I've kept you here far too long," she said, brushing off her gown as she rose. "You're free to go, Draven. For now."

Caelum's face fell. "You'll come back soon, won't you?"

I placed a hand on his shoulder, meeting his gaze steadily. "I will return, Your Highness."

As I exited the palace, the evening air was cool and crisp, a stark contrast to the warmth of the dining room. Waiting at the gates, Alfred stood silently, his sharp eyes glinting in the moonlight. He inclined his head slightly as I approached.

"We have much to discuss, my lord,"