The Villain Professor's Second Chance-Chapter 639: The Queen’s Lesson (1)

Sunlight filtered weakly through the high stained-glass windows of the private training chamber, its once-golden rays now tinged violet by the lingering mana haze clinging to the air. The scent of scorched marble and burned silk lingered like a quiet afterthought, evidence of recent magic that had flared too brightly for the stone to remain unscarred. Every flicker of light seemed caught in suspension, hesitant to settle after the flurry of movement that had consumed the room just minutes before.

Draven stood still.

He occupied the center of the floor with a poise that was not merely physical, but cerebral—a quiet confidence emanated from him, making the space around him feel subtly rearranged for his presence. His hand hovered near the pocket where his psychokinesis pen rested, fingers curling just close enough to brush the edge of it. Not drawing. Just anchoring. There was no fidget in his movements, no restless shifting from foot to foot, only absolute control. He didn’t move, didn’t speak, only stared at the shimmering distortion still fading near the edge of the room—the spot where the ripple had struck. A subtle flicker in the magical network. An anomaly. Not natural. Not within the rules.

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He could see it still, a faint swirl of arcane residue that told him something had intruded upon the carefully woven tapestry of events. His mind already ran calculations with the clinical speed that defined him. Eleven probable causes, six of them immediately discarded for irrelevance. Of the remaining five, three were improbable enough to ignore. That left two. One was dangerously likely, and the other... unacceptable. The difference between "dangerous" and "unacceptable" was subtle but absolute in Draven’s personal system of risk assessment. Dangerous could be managed. Unacceptable had to be eliminated.

Across from him, Queen Aurelia sat on the polished floor like she owned it, hair a glorious mess of fire and sweat-slicked defiance. The usual illusions of grandeur that suffused the chamber seemed to dim in the face of her presence. She watched him, and the way her gaze narrowed said she saw more than she let on. The queen might lounge like a lazy cat, but behind her half-lidded eyes lurked a brilliant, calculating predator.

"That frown doesn’t suit you, bastard," she said, voice lazy but edged. "What—forget a footnote in your lecture notes? Or did a number in your head finally break up with its equation?"

He turned to her, let his hand drop slowly from the pocket, as if conceding that his moment of silent analysis had come to an end. Her words were a jibe, an attempt to scratch at his calm veneer. He allowed her to see no reaction. No shift in breath, no flicker of the eyes. The faint lines of tension in his brow smoothed at once, adopting the impassive expression that infuriated her so thoroughly.

"Just recalculating your chances of stabbing your own foot in our next lesson," he replied, tone flat, crisp, and surgically precise. Each syllable had the cool finality of a scalpel’s edge.

Aurelia’s eyes gleamed with an eager, almost feline spark. "Keep dreaming, professor. I only trip on people, not blades."

She was testing him, seeing if he’d crack, if he’d offer some vulnerable spot for her to latch onto. He didn’t. His posture gave her no opening. The unspoken tension between them lingered like a coiled spring, waiting to snap.

"Then perhaps I should place more swords around you," he said.

Her smirk returned, slow and sharp. He recognized the fleeting twitch of her lips. She derived a certain glee from provoking him, just as he derived satisfaction from resisting. "And here I thought this was training, not flirtation."

Draven tilted his head slightly, as if pondering her insinuation. In truth, there was no real curiosity in him about such a remark; it was reflex to appear as though every possibility needed to be weighed. He considered everything, even the trivial, because that was how his mind worked. But she didn’t need to know which of her provocations succeeded in ruffling him—if any.

He turned from her and raised his hand. The chamber responded at once, as though acknowledging his silent command. Runes etched into the marble flared with renewed brightness, an intricate dance of arcane lines glowing underfoot. The air shifted, growing heavier, pressurizing in a way that pricked at the senses. A pulse of mana swept outward like a breath held too long finally being exhaled, momentarily swirling the haze that permeated the room.

Aurelia’s smirk twitched. She recognized that aura of his: the methodical calm that meant he was about to unleash something she wouldn’t like. Perhaps some new lesson, some new torment disguised as instruction. Her heart thumped a little faster, though she’d never admit it aloud. She rolled her shoulders, as if preparing for a brawl.

"Oh no," she muttered, as if to herself. "You’ve got that look again. That ’let’s see how many ways I can ruin her afternoon’ look."

Her voice dripped with annoyance, but beneath that, an undertone of excitement. She would never say it openly, but she thrived on his challenges. Nothing else in her life ever forced her to push beyond her comfort zones like Draven’s meticulously planned "lessons" did. Everyone else tiptoed around her status, her genius, or her volatile temper. Draven did not.

"New challenge," he said. No apology or overt explanation. Just the bare minimum. "Relay style. Five barriers. Complete them all."

In the hush that followed, his words took on the weight of a formal decree. She watched him carefully, noticing the line of his jaw, the steadiness of his posture. He was serious about this. The swirling mana currents around them pulsated in tandem with his words, as though the training chamber itself acknowledged his authority.

She folded her arms over her chest, which was still slightly heaving from the earlier session. "So I’m dancing through your stupid light show now?" Her voice was thick with sarcasm, but beneath it, there was a flicker of curiosity in her eyes. She enjoyed a puzzle, especially one from him. She never liked letting him see how much it intrigued her, though.

He let her remark slide, ignoring the bait. The runes under his feet glowed more intensely. She felt the chamber shift again, as if the very space reconfigured itself. She glimpsed faint arcs of magical force weaving across the floor, preparing to form something that would no doubt test her physically, mentally, maybe even emotionally. She inhaled a slow breath, reminding herself she was Queen Aurelia, the unstoppable—at least, unstoppable to everyone but him.

Moments earlier, he’d been fixated on that strange ripple in the corner. She could still see the line of tension creeping around his eyes, the faint downward curve of his lips. Something about it had disturbed him in ways he usually hid better. But if he was shaken, that only doubled her own caution. Draven never lost composure so easily. If this new challenge was meant as a distraction—she intended to survive it, and hopefully extract more from him in the process.

All around them, the residual mana haze began to congeal into distinct shapes. She recognized the patterns of advanced barrier-craft: condensed wards swirling with runic inscriptions. The color drained from her face, replaced by a stubborn determination. She was physically spent from the prior clash, but she’d not give him the satisfaction of seeing her flinch.

He arched one brow. "Worried, Your Majesty?"

"Worried you might pass out from too much showing off, professor," she snapped back, though her tone lacked real venom. She was scanning the emerging wards, trying to gauge their nature. She caught a glimpse of a mirrored sheen, a faint distortion that made the air ripple like hot pavement. Her mind worked quickly. Mirror illusions? Reflective wards?

"Relay style," he repeated softly, as though reminding her. "Five barriers. Each one demands a different approach."

She lifted her chin. "Yeah, yeah. I got it. No preaching."

In the corner, some of the watchful palace guards hovered, uncertain whether to intervene or to keep their respectful distance. They exchanged uneasy glances, clearly aware that when Draven and Aurelia clashed, everything else in the castle sank to background noise. One guard, braver than the others, took a tentative step forward—perhaps worried for the queen’s safety. Aurelia shot him a scowl that stopped him cold. Then, with a pointed jerk of her head, she dismissed him. She didn’t need coddling, nor did she want extra eyes on her potential humiliation.

Draven stepped to one side, leaving the open floor to her. The runes flared bright, forming a circular design around the edges of the marble. She recognized the swirl of energies: This was no simple game. With Draven, it never was. Her pulse kicked up in anticipation. Exhaustion still clung to her limbs, but her pride soared. She’d finish his challenge. She always did.