Academy’s Undercover Professor

The man was like a silent lake shrouded in morning mist at dawn.

Cold, still, and motionless.

Like a perfectly calm surface of water—his every movement was restrained, silent, ◆ Nоvеlіgһt ◆ (Only on Nоvеlіgһt) and without excess.

Even when the classroom door shut behind him.

Even as his polished shoes carried him to the front podium.

Even when he placed a stack of documents on the desk.

There was no sound.

And that stillness spread across the classroom like ripples on the water’s surface.

“Uh...”

Even the noble students who had been loudly chattering fell silent, swept up by the atmosphere.

The more reserved students’ eyes gleamed with curiosity as they turned their attention to the figure standing at the front.

His tall frame was perfectly complemented by his suit, which didn’t have a single wrinkle. A fitted black frock coat was draped neatly over it.

Elegant, yet understated attire.

When the man took off his silk hat and casually tossed it, it glided smoothly through the air and landed perfectly on a coat rack at the corner of the platform.

And in that one fluid movement, his face—previously obscured by the hat—was revealed.

A sharply defined jawline and a high, straight nose. Eyes steady and unwavering.

Strong and charismatic, his gaze was so intense he didn’t look like any ordinary new instructor.

His long hair, unusual for a man, was neatly tied back at the nape of his neck.

Gulp.

Some of the noble students who had been whispering behind his back unknowingly swallowed hard under the pressure.

“Pleasure to meet you. My name is Ludger Cherish, newly appointed instructor at Seorn Academy.”

The moment he spoke—

It was like someone had poured water onto a dreamy watercolor painting.

The classroom, immersed in a still, surreal hush, was suddenly pulled back into reality.

* * *

“Since it’s the first day of the semester, we won’t begin with lectures just yet. However, there are a few preliminary announcements I’d like to make.”

I slowly hung my frock coat on the rack.

Continuing the dialogue wasn’t difficult. I simply spoke the lines I had already prepared in my head, timing them as needed.

This was a performance.

I was the actor on stage, and the students were my audience.

All I had to do was keep my monologue flowing naturally, in time with the rhythm and breath of the moment.

The script was already in my head.

“My class covers the field of Manifestation. But it won’t be limited to that alone. Instead, I’ll be focusing on more practical applications—going beyond theory to explore how these principles work in real life.”

As I scanned the room, I noticed a few shoulders flinch.

Good. That was the reaction I was looking for.

Given this identity’s background as a former soldier, maintaining this stern tone and piercing gaze wouldn’t seem out of place.

“Also, my course will be open not just to second-years, but to first-years as well. In short, it’s a combined class.”

A stir ran through the room.

Naturally, the current audience—all second-year students—were caught off guard.

But there was no rule stating that classes had to be divided strictly by grade, so it wasn’t impossible.

As the murmurs started to die down, I spoke at the perfect moment.

“Enough.”

Snap.

The classroom fell silent in an instant.

Every eye turned back to me.

“I understand you may be dissatisfied with the idea of taking a class alongside first-years. That’s only natural. But don’t worry—I won’t be dumbing things down for their sake. I won’t be teaching anything so basic it would insult your level.”

Relief spread among the students.

The structure of Seorn’s curriculum was more similar to a university than a high school—though not entirely one or the other. There were a few quirks, such as the point-based reward and penalty system.

At Seorn, students chose courses aligned with their specialties, completed them, and earned academic credits accordingly.

These were prodigies, students considered geniuses wherever they went.

Even first-years weren’t lacking in ability compared to second-years. That was why I had decided to run a mixed class.

Why?

Because if I taught only second-years, the students’ focus would naturally shift to me.

They’d already known each other for a year. Their curiosity wouldn’t be directed at their peers—it would be directed at the new instructor: me.

But if I placed first-years in the same classroom?

The second-years’ attention would be divided between the newcomers and myself.

Which meant far less scrutiny on me overall.

They might complain, but they wouldn’t dig too deep.

The first-years were, in a sense, a smokescreen and a shield—meant to keep anyone from questioning my qualifications as a teacher.

“Why are first-years allowed to take the class?”

A hand shot up from one of the students.

I turned to see a girl with long wavy blonde hair flowing down to her waist.

Her gaze was steady and her tone carried a serious, almost rigid quality.

Other students seemed to recognize her and began whispering among themselves. What, was she someone important?

Something about her face felt oddly familiar.

That face... I’d seen it somewhere before.

‘Someone I’d rather not remember, maybe...’

Well, she asked, so I answered.

“Because I believe they deserve the opportunity as well.”

“What sort of opportunity are you referring to?”

“I find it unfortunate to restrict classes solely based on grade level. As an educator, I don’t believe that’s the right approach. Regardless of year, all students should receive equal opportunity to learn. That’s what I believe.”

Of course, some might ask why I didn’t mention third-years and above.

They were allowed too, if they wanted. But let’s be honest—third-years barely had time to handle their core required courses.

Realistically, only the first- and second-years had enough room in their schedules.

“Of course, this also means that my course won’t be bound by year. I pride myself on the fact that what I teach is quite different from the norm.”

And no, this wasn’t just me throwing things out randomly.

I had prepared thoroughly for this.

If sharing a few tips and insights from my previous life helped me toward a more peaceful future, then it was worth it.

“It’s difficult to accept without knowing exactly what the course entails.”

“If you’re curious, come take the class. It’s no fun if I tell you in advance.”

I said it in a deliberately teasing tone, and a small wrinkle formed on the girl’s forehead.

Sorry, but I had no intention of revealing the course content just yet.

If anything, I wanted to make them impatient—to stir their curiosity even more.

After all, there’s nothing students at this academy fear more than a mysterious class they can’t predict.

“That said, one warning. If anyone’s planning to take this class thinking it’ll be an easy A just because I’m a new instructor...”

I paused for effect, drawing a slow breath.

Then delivered my final line with force.

“...I’ll personally etch the true meaning of education into your bones.”

In other words:

Don’t come to my class.

If second-years had to sit through class with first-years, it’d be a blow to their pride.

And on top of that, I just flat-out told them this class wouldn’t be easy. The prideful ones would likely scoff and say, “Screw that, I’m not taking this.”

I’d just scattered landmines in plain sight—if someone still stepped on one and blew up, that was on them.

Of course, saying all that outright would’ve made me a failure as a teacher.

But I’d wrapped it all in justifiable logic—leaving myself room to maneuver.

There was always a “reason.” If they wanted answers, they’d have to attend the class to find out.

It was an irresponsible promise I had no intention of keeping, but what could I do?

This was the only kind of strategy available to someone who had never lived by playing things straight.

“That’s all. Any questions?”

I asked fully expecting a flood of raised hands and protests from the students.

* * *

The classroom was dead silent.

When Ludger asked if there were any questions, not a single student raised their hand.

They simply shifted their eyes, gauging the mood.

It wasn’t that they had no questions. They were probably curious about the assignments, the exact structure of the class, or what he’d taught in the past.

Even trivial things.

But no one said a word.

They were all overwhelmed by Ludger Cherish’s presence.

‘That’s a new instructor?’

‘I heard he was former military, but that atmosphere is no joke...’

‘I heard he’s at least a 4th-Circle Mage. Think it’s true?’

That suffocating pressure—too intense for someone so young. Even just locking eyes with him made it hard to breathe. That wasn’t imagination.

Even the noble students who had mocked him for being a “fallen noble” avoided his gaze and swallowed dryly.

If the aristocrats were like that, no way the others would dare step up.

Everyone had come to the same silent realization while listening to Ludger Cherish.

This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.

That man—there was no way he spoke without meaning every word.

His gaze. His tone. That firm, unwavering voice.

A person couldn’t possibly give off such an air unless they truly took pride in what they taught.

What exactly is he planning to teach? If it isn’t theory-based, then is it practical combat? And if so, how would that work?

Thoughts like that bubbled up and faded away, again and again, in everyone’s minds.

But one thing was certain:

The class taught by Ludger Cherish... would not be easy.

“Any questions?”

He asked again.

And though it sounded like he was genuinely opening the floor, the students weren’t fooled.

The moment anyone raised their hand, they’d be marked by Ludger for sure.

Just look at that piercing glare—it radiated a clear message: No questions allowed.

Even the blonde girl who had spoken earlier was silent now.

“No questions, then. That concludes the orientation.”

On the very first day of the semester—

The suffocating introduction came to an end.

* * *

As the orientation wrapped up, the students slowly rose from their seats and filed out of the classroom.

I stood on the podium, quietly observing the scene.

I’d said everything I needed to. They’d understood, right?

Still, I couldn’t help but feel a bit stunned that no one raised a hand when I opened the floor to questions.

I’d spent the night before mentally preparing myself to handle every kind of inquiry imaginable—and now all that preparation was wasted.

A place like this academy... wasn’t it supposed to be filled with students with oversized egos?

I’d expected them to bombard me with challenges, maybe even mock me a little. Had I overestimated their boldness?

‘No, wait...’

It could be the opposite.

What if they were deliberately ignoring me?

I’d heard of that. Even back in 21st-century Korea, students sometimes did that to new teachers.

They’d feign indifference or deliberately ignore the instructor to throw off their rhythm—especially toward young female teachers.

It was a tactic typically used by dominant students trying to wrest control of the class from the teacher.

They’d mutter something like “Ugh, so annoying,” and when the teacher snapped back, they’d say, “Huh? I wasn’t talking to you,”—that sort of subtle sabotage that’s impossible to confront directly.

Maybe this silence was something like that?

‘Hmm.’

I’d gone out of my way to sound serious and intimidating—was that the wrong move?

Could be that this strict demeanor had rubbed the self-assured students the wrong way, provoking their pride.

‘That... might be a problem.’

In the military, a subordinate ignoring a superior, or in the workplace, a junior ignoring a senior—in school, it’s a student ignoring a teacher.

People say that’s when the teacher’s “lost the room.”

If I let that happen early on, the rest of the semester would be a nightmare.

So should I try to soften up a bit?

‘No. It’d be weirder if I suddenly changed now. I need to commit.’

Trying to smile and act friendly now would feel off. It wasn’t in my nature.

And besides, all the personas I’d played so far had a similar vibe.

It’s already been three weeks since I got here.

By now, anyone who’s heard of Ludger knows what kind of person he is. His résumé even says “former soldier”—so suddenly switching up my image would just seem fake.

I put on the frock coat I’d hung up earlier and adjusted my hat.

Even as I moved, the few students still lingering in the classroom didn’t dare approach me.

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It wasn’t that they weren’t interested—I could feel the subtle scrutiny in their gazes.

I figured someone would at least ask a cliché question like “How old are you?” or “Do you have a girlfriend?”—but no one even opened their mouth.

Kids these days... terrifying.

* * *

Step, step.

With a leisurely pace, I exited the lecture hall and began walking down the corridor.

Since it was the first day of the semester, my work was done for the day.

The course add/drop period wasn’t over yet, so anyone wanting to change classes still had time.

The real lectures would begin in three days.

Until then, I needed to think carefully about how to maintain control of the class once it started.

At the very least, I had to avoid being labeled an unqualified teacher.

That was what I was thinking as I looked ahead—when I noticed something odd.

Every student walking down the hall moved out of my way.

Both male and female students alike flinched the moment they spotted me and pressed themselves against the walls or windows to make space.

What the hell? Why?

Don’t tell me the rumors of me being some intimidating new instructor had already spread throughout the academy?

I’d heard there was some kind of internal Seorn network—like a university forum, similar to Everytime back on Earth. Could that be the cause?

Just as I was thinking that the semester might be more difficult than expected, someone spoke to me.

“Hello.”

I stopped walking and turned to face the woman greeting me with a smile.

“You’re the newly appointed instructor Ludger Cherish, correct?”

“Yes, that’s right.”

She had soft pink hair with subtle waves at the ends, and a warm, sheep-like smile that made her feel inviting.

She wasn’t wearing a student uniform, so she probably wasn’t a student.

Could it be...?

Before I could make a guess, she spoke in an energetic tone.

“Ah, I thought so! Nice to meet you. I’m Selina. I’ve also just been appointed as a new instructor here at Seorn. I guess that makes us colleagues.”

“I see. Pleased to meet you.”

As I gave her a polite nod, she glanced around somewhat awkwardly—then leaned in and asked in a timid voice:

“Um... have you eaten yet?”