Internet Mage Professor-Chapter 44: Nolan’s evil thoughts

Nolan exhaled slowly watching this.

He didn’t smile. Not outwardly, at least. But inside, there was a sense of subtle, quiet triumph.

He doesn’t care about a single thing about this place now.

The mission is completed.

That’s all that matters.

He could disappear at any time. Escape. Walk away from the farce. From the crowd. From the judgment, the politics, the spectacle. From the shame he’d worn like a second skin for months. Bwahaha!

He was free.

But... he didn’t move.

Because he knew the moment he tried, they’d know.

The Chief Mana Knight from the Black Vale Territory was still here. He could send him probably.

A shiver of mana, a small twitch in that dragon-etched helmet. The higher-ups of the Academy, the invisible eyes watching from the obsidian towers above, would feel it too.

They’d feel the ripples. His disappearance would not be quiet. It would not go unnoticed. If he tried now, it would no longer be escape—it would be a declaration.

So he stayed.

For now.

Meanwhile, at the center of the arena, Old Duldor stood like a wooden statue beneath a thousand judgmental eyes.

There was a faint twitch at the corner of his mouth, a flash of panic beneath his calm exterior.

He could feel it—the sharp, undeniable humiliation of being outplayed by a group of students he had already written off.

He hadn’t included Nolan on the voucher.

He meant to leave him out.

The plan was simple: let the useless teacher with the most problematic class fade into obscurity. Let him fail quietly, no confrontation, no paperwork, just gone with the tide after the final assessment ended. And why not? Nolan was a relic. A waste of a roster slot. His students, delinquents and misfits. It was the perfect excuse.

Except now...

These so-called delinquents were vouching for him, standing tall, proud, in front of the entire city.

And Old Duldor, the beloved Principal of Silver Blade Academy, had spoken too quickly.

He blinked once. Twice.

And then—like flipping a switch—his face changed.

"Oh, of course," Old Duldor said, louder now, and with that perfectly rehearsed smile he used during monthly Academy briefings. "You all are more than welcome. Ahem. Class 33, yes. You’re welcome to join."

The shift was so clean, so artificial, so transparent—it made Nolan’s brow twitch.

Even the students paused. The silence was suffocating.

"...What a shameless old dude," Nolan muttered under his breath.

But no one pressed it. No one challenged Duldor’s sudden change of heart. They knew it was an obvious lie. But it was a powerful lie. The kind only people with real authority could afford to tell.

Still, the damage was done.

And while Nolan and his class kept quiet, not everyone could.

"We object!"

A shrill, angry voice rose from the group of collapsed and grieving teachers.

One of them—a bald man with sunken eyes and a trembling hand—stood up, red-faced.

"This isn’t fair!" he shouted, spittle flying. "They didn’t participate in the earlier trials! They skipped the fundamental tests! The obstacle rounds! The practical formations! The magical precision assessments! We—we—trained our students properly! We followed the rules!"

Others stood too.

A woman with tattered sleeves pointed angrily. "They just walk in at the end?! They get to skip to the final assessment like it’s nothing? And we’re the ones failing?!"

The noise grew.

Louder.

Fiercer.

One after another, the failed instructors raised their voices, hearts wounded and full of grief. They had lost their chance—some after months of training the students. Their futures stripped away in a day, while this devil class, this joke of a cohort, was being welcomed like honored guests.

"They didn’t even participate!"

"They shouldn’t be here!"

"This ruins the integrity of the whole Academy!"

"They didn’t pass the mental trials!"

"They didn’t earn a seat at the final round!"

"This is favoritism!"

"This is a disgrace!"

They were loud, unified in their rage, desperate for someone to listen. But the crowd didn’t echo their anger. No, the audience had already begun shifting, their attention stolen by something else.

Calien.

He stepped forward, brushing past the failed teachers with a look that could turn thunder to ice.

"This is our territory."

His voice wasn’t loud. It didn’t need to be.

He spoke with authority. Calm. Clear.

"You came here to teach. To apply. To take up a mantle in our city. In our Academy. That means you need to prove yourselves worthy."

He pointed back toward the gates of the coliseum.

"Silver Blade City doesn’t exist to serve you. You came here for us. You want to teach here? You want your careers here? Then don’t talk like you own this place."

The teachers blinked, stunned by his audacity.

Then Erik stepped forward, fire in his eyes.

"And you think skipping the finals makes us unworthy? It’s not our fault! You didn’t include Teacher Nolan in the voucher; that is unfair! We couldn’t choose him because his name is not on the list! Clearly, our beloved teacher has been bullied by all of you, and we won’t let it happen!"

Selin followed next, calm as ever.

"Each of us walked into this Academy with baggage. And Nolan—Professor Nolan—was the only one who treated us like people, not mistakes."

Then another student. Then another.

A flood.

Each with sharp words.

Each defending Nolan like a commander on the frontlines.

"The only reason you’re all mad is because we’re not supposed to be good."

"Because if we’re good—you look bad."

"Your failure has nothing to do with us. But now that we’re here, you’re scared."

The teachers stammered.

Some tried to fight back, their voices lost in the shouting.

And then—Nolan burst out laughing. bjt only in his head, "Hah! Bastards."

These same people were the reason teachers like him had to grovel for their place in Silver Blade City.

They would praise you to your face and steal your position the moment you stumbled. But now? Now they had the audacity to complain?

Nolan thought of all the nights he stayed up reading scrolls he never understood. The days spent being ignored. The months of whispers behind his back.

"Now you’re threatened? Now you cry foul?"

He chuckled.

"Funny."

And soon, the crowd began to boo. Loud. Unified. Against the failed teachers. Not because they cared about justice—but because they had chosen a side. And that side was entertainment.

"Enough!" Old Duldor barked again, raising both arms. He didn’t want to be found out that he’s the reason Nolan’s name was not on the teacher’s list, so he must cut it off. "Let us continue the assessment! We will proceed with the final class evaluations. Granfire’s students—prepare yourselves."

The stage shifted again.

Granfire’s class was ushered in—bright armor, glowing weapons, polished staves.

Nolan narrowed his eyes, watching them walk proudly to the center. He turned slightly toward Granfire, who had been oddly quiet.

Why was he still here?

He was rich. Connected. Didn’t need to stand beside someone like Nolan.

But then Nolan remembered—he paid.

He chuckled.

And then... suddenly, Nolan thought of something evil to do.

These students are doomed.

Nolan smirked inwardly.

The creature at the heart of this final test—it wasn’t some random cursed beast. It was a demonspawn, linked to one of the lesser demon gods, Lirazel, his personal breeding material.

He is sure that thing in the ’cage’ was going to make those arrogant little kids pee in their pants.

If that’s the case, why not benefit from that? He could get more Mana Crystals if that’s the case.

With an evil grin, Nolan looked at Granfire, leaned closer, and cleared his throat.

"Do you think they’re going to pass?"

Granfire was taken aback. Why did this idiot open his mouth? Usually, whenever Nolan speaks, he says something absolutely shady. But this seemed harmless, so Granfire decided to answer honestly, "Of course not."

He wasn’t delusional; he knew that whatever was in that cage might scare his students, causing him to fail like other teachers.

So Granfire answered only with honesty.

Nolan pretended to be shocked. "What? For sure?"

Granfire felt that Nolan was acting weird. ’What is this, is he planning something again?’

"You know," he said casually, "it’s such a joy seeing confident students walk into a test. Reminds me of what being a real Mana Specialist is all about."

Granfire didn’t respond. But he found it really really weird.

Nolan continued, voice dripping with righteousness.

"Because to be a true Mana Specialist," he said, a little louder, so others could hear, "you need to believe in your students. You don’t just teach them. You trust them. You give them your reputation, your pride, your livelihood—and you stand by them."

He let his words hang there.

"And if you don’t have that kind of faith in them... well..."

He glanced sideways, pretending to sigh.

"...what kind of instructor are you, really?"

Granfire’s eyes twitched. Now, he gets it! Now he gets it! This bastard! freewёbn૦νeɭ.com

Nolan wasn’t done.

"I mean, it’s easy to sit in towers, hand out scrolls, correct essays. But that’s not why we’re here. No. We’re here to stand beside them. To bet on them."

A vein bulged at Granfire’s temple.

"You can’t claim you’re a master and then hesitate when it counts. I’d bet on my students anytime."

Murmurs surrounded them.

Teachers began whispering again, eyes darting back and forth between the two like they were sparring in the ring.

"Is he... provoking Granfire?"

"Again?"

"As usually and always, they’re spitting insults like fireballs..."

"Just like last year..."

Granfire clenched his jaw. His fists trembled. The tips of his fingers crackled with suppressed mana.

And finally—

"Alright!" Granfire snapped. "Be straightforward."