The alarm of my magical ward buzzed crazily, waking me up in the middle of the night. Again. Another intruder, they never learn, do they? I though, massaging my aching temples.
For the hundredth time this month, someone broke into my humble abode, and like the previous ninety-nine, this one would end up as fertilizer for my precious begonias.
I only hoped the spectacle wouldn’t be as boring as the last.
“Should I go brew myself a Latte or an Americano?” I pondered, stopping the annoying buzzing noise of the alarm with slight nudge at the mana web of the ward.
“Let’s go with a Latte, it has just enough caffeine to keep me awake.” I decided on a whim, taping into my mana reserves to light up the room with fist-sized spheres of white light.
I groggily put my bunny’s slippers on, and walked toward the kitchen like a zombie, lack of sleep really sucked.
Eliminating the real source of the problem has become inevitable, I though, irked by the unholy hours most of my intruders chose to commit suicide.
When I arrived in the kitchen, I started the coffee machine. It hummed softly, and the delicious aroma of brewing coffee filled the air. I could already feel my sleepiness go away. Good. This is better.
I sat down, laying comfortably in my chair, cup of coffee in hand, and summoned a screen to watch the show. I began sipping my latte, savoring the creamy texture and the slight bitterness.
The giant screen appeared, displaying a live feed of the intruder. This one seemed stronger than the oth – shit, I choked on my coffee.
Spluttering, I quickly cleared my throat and refocused on the screen.
No. No. No.
This wasn’t just any intruder. This was her.
“DAAAAAAAD! I’m HERE!” came a voice that could shatter glass.
Before I could react—or flee—a sharp magical fluctuation crackled through the air, and she teleported directly in my kitchen.
I am done for. I shouldn’t have put so much effort into her training back then.
“Hello, sweetie,” I greeted with a strained smile. “Would you like some coffee?”
“Don’t try to butter me up, Dad,” she said, her eyes narrowing. “You know why I’m here.”
I groaned inwardly. Of course, I knew. “Sherry, please. You know I’ve retired. I’m too old for—”
“Cut the excuses,” she snapped, arms crossed. “The Academy is overwhelmed with the upcoming tournament. We need you back for two months.”
“Two months? I’m over sixty! Don’t you have pity for this old sack of bones?”
“You’re sixty, not six hundred,” she said flatly. “And don’t act like you’ve been spending your retirement knitting sweaters. I’ve seen your magical projects.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose. Why did I train her so well?
“Sherry, hear me out please. I just made a major discovery –”
“Oh, silly me, I almost forgot!” she interrupted with a big grin, “you’ll be giving an introductory lecture to the new teachers, on the ‘art of teaching’.”
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I stared at her, slack-jawed. “Newbies are a nightmare, Sherry. Why me?”
“Because you’re the best, and because you owe me for dumping the headmaster position on me when I was twenty.”
“…”
I couldn’t argue with that.
“Are you still holding that over me?”
She crossed her arms, glaring. “Obviously. You’re lucky I’m not demanding more.”
I sighed. Throwing a tantrum wasn’t my style anyway.
“All right, all right. I’ll help,” I muttered begrudgingly.
“Good! I knew you’d accept.” A satisfied grin spread across her face as she grabbed my arm.
“Let’s get going, Dad. Who knows? You might even enjoy it. After all, the Academy is your legacy, built with your blood, sweat, and tears.”
She was pulling the sentiment card now? Cheeky thing.
“Fine,” I relented. “But only this once. After this, I’m done for good.”
She smirked. “Sure you are.”
We teleported straight into the Academy’s dean’s office. It was like stepping into the past. The grand oak desk, shelves packed with magical books, the faint scent of parchment and incense. It was all exactly as I’d left it. Well, almost. Sherry had added her touch: a magical clock, fresh lilies on the desk, and a ward stone.
“Still the same old place,” I muttered.
“Of course, it is,” Sherry said, plopping into the chair behind the desk like she owned it—which, to be fair, she did. “Now, let’s get down to business.”
I sank into one of the plush chairs facing her. “You’re not even giving me a moment to reminisce? Brutal.”
Sherry rolled her eyes. “Sentimentality won’t get you out of this. I’ve already prepared a schedule for you. You’ll start tomorrow with an introductory lecture for the first-years. And after that you’ll be overseeing advanced combat magic for third-years and an elective on magical ethics. I figured it’d suit your... ‘particular’ teaching style.”
“Magical ethics?” I raised an eyebrow. “Are you trying to turn me into a philosopher?”
“You’ve been grouching about the younger generation’s recklessness for decades. Put your words into action.”
I groaned again, rubbing my temples. “And the new teacher lecture?”
“Oh, that’s the day after tomorrow. Should be a breeze for you, old man,” she teased with a smirk.
I sighed dramatically. “You’re merciless.”
“And you’re soft,” she shot back, but her smirk faded into something gentler. “Seriously though, Dad. Thanks for doing this.”
Her genuine gratitude caught me off guard, and for a moment, I could see the little girl who used to cling to my robes, asking a million questions about magic. “Yeah, yeah,” I said gruffly, waving her off. “Don’t get all mushy on me now. I’ve got a reputation to maintain.”
She chuckled, standing up and stretching. “I need to get back to preparations. Guest room’s down the hall if you need it. And here—” She tossed me a faculty badge. “Don’t get lost like last time.”
“That was decades ago, and this place was still under construction!” I protested as I grabbed the badge.
“Excuses, excuses.”
“Fine. Anything else, Headmistress Sherry?”
She hesitated, then smiled. “Nope. Good night, Dad. And... welcome back.”
With a flash, she was gone, leaving me alone in the office. I looked around and let out a long breath.
“Welcome back, huh?” I repeated her words softly, the bitterness in my voice surprising even me. I’d spent years building this Academy, pouring everything I had into its foundation.
Leaving it had felt like tearing out a piece of my soul. Coming back felt like someone had shoved that piece back in—but it didn’t quite fit the way it used to.
My thoughts drifted to the faces that had once filled these halls—students, colleagues, friends. Some were long gone, others had left.
I wondered how many of them would still recognize me. How many would even care?
A soft chuckle escaped me. “Sherry isn’t wrong, I have gone soft,” I muttered to myself.
The me of twenty years ago would have cherished this opportunity to teach again.
I would have been eager to plan lessons and imagine the looks on students’ faces as they experienced their first breakthroughs in magic.
Now, I was just… tired.
I could already feel the headache coming on. Yet for some reasons, something else stirred. Anticipation? No, not quite. Maybe curiosity.
I shook my head, trying to banish those useless thoughts. I would do my part and go back home. Nothing less, nothing more. My research came first.
With a groan, I stood and stretched, feeling the satisfying pop of joints that didn’t quite move as smoothly as they used to. “All right, let’s see if the guest rooms are as comfortable as I remember,” I muttered.
I teleported directly in front of the guest quarters.
The room was simple but comfortable, with a neatly made bed, a desk, and a window that overlooked the campus grounds. Moonlight bathed the courtyard in silver.
I sank onto the bed, my gaze drifting to the window.
“Just two months,” I whispered. “What’s the worst that could happen?”
But deep down, I knew better. Nothing here had ever been simple.