Villainess X Villain: They are obsessed with each other!-Chapter 22 -: 21 Orin Belebright.

The meeting chamber of Royal Arcane Academy stood completely empty, except for one large discussion table in the center.

Professors sat along both sides of the table.

Some remained silent, staring ahead. Others quietly read thick papers on infinite theorems.

In front of each professor stood a nameplate showing their title.

Almost everyone was a senior professor.

At the head of the table was an empty chair. The nameplate in front of it read:

Dean: Orin Belebright

"Tsk! Where is this old man stuck again?" A sharp voice broke the silence.

Senior Professor Lucian Duskwood sat in the third seat on the right.

His short black hair was neatly combed, but his brown eyes were narrow with annoyance.

His face was tight with a deep frown.

The woman directly across from him looked up. She wore a crisp formal uniform, and her expression was hard as stone.

"Watch your words, Lucian," she said coldly.

Her nameplate read:

Senior Professor: Jaya Balan

Lucian Duskwood leaned back in his chair and gave a loud, mocking snort.

He crossed his arms, brown eyes glinting with irritation.

"That old man deserves every bit of that tone," he muttered, loud enough for half the table to hear.

"Calls us all here like it’s urgent, then can’t even show up on time. Typical."

Jaya Balan didn’t flinch. Her face stayed calm and stern, like carved stone.

"Still," she said evenly, "he is a respected figure. You shouldn’t speak of the Dean like that."

Lucian barked a short, bitter laugh.

"Come on, Jaya. How are you still defending him?"

His frown deepened, twisting his features. "You know exactly what he’s doing right now."

Jaya’s eyes narrowed just a fraction.

"Even so, he is the Dean. A little respect wouldn’t kill you. And maybe he’s late because something important came up. Work. Responsibilities."

Lucian leaned forward, elbows slamming lightly on the table.

"What work?" he sneered, voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Gambling again? Or did he finally find a card game that accepts enchanted dice?"

A few professors at the far end hid small smiles behind their papers.

"Ahem..." Someone coughed to cover a chuckle.

Jaya’s lips pressed into a thin line, but she didn’t rise to the bait.

"You’re impossible."

Lucian leaned back even further, arms crossed, that smirk growing wider like he’d just won a private bet with the entire room.

"And you’re too polite for your own good, Jaya. I’ve told that fool a hundred times, stop gambling."

"He loses every single hand, every single night. The man has vaults full of gold, yet he lives like a beggar the morning after."

"And don’t even get me started on how he leaves those dens."

He paused for effect, voice dropping to a mock-whisper that still carried to every corner.

"Every. Single. Time. He walks out wearing nothing but his dignity, and half the time even that’s gone."

"Just underwear, bare feet, and that stupid grin like he’s proud of it."

Jaya’s mouth opened. "You—!"

But the word died on her tongue.

Her stern mask cracked for half a second. Just last month she’d seen it herself.

Golden rings on every finger, jeweled brooch gleaming at his throat, fine velvet cloak billowing behind him as Dean Orin Belebright strode into the Silver Dice Den like royalty.

Two hours later the same man shuffled out the back door, stark naked except for threadbare smallclothes, arms wrapped around himself, still humming cheerfully.

She’d ducked behind a barrel so fast her knee banged the stone.

Pretended she saw nothing. Felt her face burn for a full week afterward.

Lucian caught the flicker in her eyes and pounced.

"Ohhh, that face," he said, pointing lazily. "You’ve seen it too, haven’t you? Don’t lie. I can tell."

Jaya pressed her lips together so tight they almost vanished.

Lucian gave a theatrical sigh and glanced toward the empty chair.

"I’m telling you right now, that old fox is late because he lost his clothes again. Probably haggling with some alley tailor for a second-hand robe so he doesn’t have to walk in here looking like a plucked chicken."

"Give it ten more minutes. He’ll stroll through those doors with nothing but rags."

A ripple of stifled laughter ran down one side of the table. Someone quickly turned it into a cough.

Jaya glared at Lucian, but there was no heat left in it, just tired resignation.

"Shut up," she muttered.

Lucian only grinned wider. "Make me."

"I will kill you if you say another word," Jaya snapped.

She shot to her feet so fast her chair scraped the stone floor.

"Oho, getting violent now, are we?" Lucian rose too, slow and mocking, rolling his shoulders like he was warming up for a brawl.

"Come on then. This time I’ll make you eat dirt and—"

He took one step out from his seat.

’Ahem."

A dry, deliberate cough floated in from the doorway.

Lucian and Jaya whipped around at the same instant.

Lucian’s eyes lit up like twin lanterns. He spun back to Jaya, flashing a triumphant grin.

"See? Told you. Gambling. Again."

Jaya’s fists clenched so hard her knuckles bleached white. She stared at the floor, defeated, cheeks burning.

"Ahem." The cough came again, louder this time.

"You do realize I’m standing right here, yes?"

An old man shuffled through the doorway, one hand scratching at his wrinkled cheek, the other clutching a gnarled walking cane.

He wore the embarrassed grin of someone caught with his hand in the cookie jar, except the cookie jar was apparently a high-stakes gambling den.

His long, wild hair and beard looked like they’d lost a fight with a windstorm.

His once-fine robes were now tattered rags hanging off his straight, wiry frame.

No golden rings. No jeweled brooch. Just threadbare cloth and bare dignity.

He took awkward, shuffling steps toward the head of the table.

Jaya, still standing, couldn’t hold it in.

"Dean, I gave you silver, actual coin, to shave that ridiculous beard. So why is it still there?"

"Heh heh..." Orin Belebright gave a sheepish chuckle and rubbed the back of his neck.

"Hah!" Lucian dropped back into his chair with a snort.

"I’m sure he gambled that money away too. Probably lost it to a street urchin playing three-card monte."

The other professors exchanged glances, some amused, some long-suffering.

Dean Orin finally reached his chair.

He lowered himself into it with the careful grace of a man whose pride was more bruised than his body.

"I... apologize for being late, everyone," he said, voice scratchy but warm.

He spread his hands in a helpless little shrug. "Unforeseen circumstances."

Lucian leaned forward, elbows on the table, grin razor-sharp.

"Unforeseen circumstances named ’dice’ and ’bad bluffs,’ I presume?"

Orin’s eyes twinkled despite the embarrassment.

"Perhaps we should begin the meeting before certain individuals start taking bets on my next misfortune."

Jaya sank back into her seat, arms crossed, still glaring daggers, but the fight had leaked out of her.

For a long moment, the chamber stayed silent.

The professors exchanged quick glances, still half-expecting another gambling joke.

Then Dean Orin Belebright straightened in his chair.

The embarrassed grin vanished. His voice dropped low, steady, and suddenly carried real weight.

"So. Today I’ve gathered you all to discuss the class-deciding competition that begins in a few hours."

He paused, letting the words settle.

"I know it’s late notice. Most of the decisions were already made weeks ago. But there is one important matter we must address right now."

Every professor leaned forward slightly.

The playful tension from before evaporated.

This was the Dean they rarely saw, the one who could command a room without raising his voice.

He looked around the table, meeting each pair of eyes.

"This meeting is about a special student."

"Special student?" Professor Eldric from the far end raised an eyebrow.

"Is it second-year Rosalina Valentina?" someone asked quickly.

"Or perhaps Julius Augustus Hayes?" another added.

A murmur rippled through the room.

"Well, they are called the greatest talents of the continent, after all."

"Both of them could wipe the floor with anyone in the competition."

"Rosalina’s spell casting flawless. Julius’s understanding is also unmatched"

The professors slipped easily into discussion, names and achievements bouncing back and forth like sparks.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

The Dean’s cane tapped the table three times, sharp, deliberate.

The voices died instantly.

"You’ve misunderstood," Orin said quietly.

"The special student is not one of the talented prodigies."

He leaned forward, hands folded on the table.

"This one isn’t gifted. Not by blood, not by mana, not by any natural blessing. What he has is something far rarer in our world."

He let the silence stretch just long enough.

"Hard work."

A few professors frowned, confused.

"You might know him," the Dean continued.

"He was once called the talentless trash of the Thorne clan."

"Thorne?" someone whispered.

"Trash of the Thorne clan?"

"Wait... is it who I think it is?"

Orin gave a small nod.

"Yes."

He spoke the name clearly, without flourish, but it landed like a stone in still water.

"The special student is Cyprian Thorne."