By the time I arrived at the advanced combat magic classroom, it was already noon.

The combat class was in a spacious training hall, lined with enchanted barriers to contain stray spells. A group of third-years was already assembled, each looking more confident—and cocky—than the last.

“Good afternoon, class,” I said, striding to the center of the room. “I’m told you’re here to learn advanced combat magic. Is that right?”

“Yes, Professor,” they chorused, though one or two smirked as if to say, what can you teach us that we don’t already know?

“Good,” I said, smiling thinly. “Let’s begin with a demonstration. Who’d like to go first?”

A tall, broad-shouldered boy stepped forward. “I’ll volunteer.”

“Excellent,” I said, gesturing for him to take a position across from me. “What’s your name?”

“Jarek,” he said, rolling his shoulders. “Top of the class.”

“Ah, wonderful,” I said, suppressing a smirk. “Let’s see if you can teach me a thing or two, then. Attack when ready.”

Jarek didn’t hesitate. He launched a barrage of fireballs in my direction. I stood still, hands clasped behind my back, letting the flames hurtle toward me.

At the last possible moment, I summoned a shield of ice. The fireballs sizzled against it, dissipating into steam.

“Not bad,” I said, letting the shield dissolve. “But you’re too predictable. Try again.”

Jarek’s smirk faltered, but he nodded. He shot a bolt of lightning toward me, fast and deadly. I sidestepped it with ease, countering with a gust of wind that made him fall on his ass.

The other students gasped. Some smirked.

“Lesson one,” I said, my voice sharp. “Power means nothing without control. Lesson two: always anticipate your opponent’s next move.”

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Jarek scrambled to his feet, his face red with embarrassment. “Y-yes, Professor.”

“Good,” I said. “Now, who’s next?”

The class proceeded with varying degrees of success. Some students showed real promise, while others struggled to grasp the basics.

The day flew by in a blur of lectures, demonstrations, and slightly misguided attempts at spellcasting from overeager students. By the end of the day, I collapsed in the faculty lounge, ready to swear off teaching forever—again.

Sherry found me there, sipping tea and looking far too smug. “So,” she said, leaning against the doorframe. “How was your first day back?”

I groaned. “Ask me again in two months.”

She laughed, walking over to pat me on the shoulder. “You did great, Dad. I heard some of the students talking about your lecture and how 'the old man' still had it.” She smirked, clearly enjoying herself far too much. “Seems you’ve already made an impression.”

I took a long sip of my tea, savoring the warmth as it spread through me. “Impressions are easy. Keeping their respect is the hard part.”

“Pfft,” Sherry scoffed. “You don’t need to worry about that. Half of them are already in awe of you, and the other half are too busy trying to figure out how you made those mana dragons.”

I chuckled despite myself. “Well, at least they’re curious. That’s a start.”

Sherry’s expression softened as she studied me. “You know, it’s good to have you back. The Academy’s been missing something... and I think you know what.”

I arched a brow. “A retired relic who complains about his joints and scares students with overly dramatic speeches?”

She rolled her eyes. “No. A teacher who remembers what this place is really about, not just to teach magic, but to shape people—to make them better than they thought they could be.”

Her words hung in the air, and I felt a pang of something I couldn’t quite name. Nostalgia? Regret? Maybe both, but I quickly masked it with a chuckle. “Flattery will get you nowhere, Sherry.”

She laughed. “Oh, please. I don’t need flattery. I’ve got the ‘Headmistress’ title for that.”

We shared a companionable silence, the weight of the day settling into something more comfortable.

“Well,” I said gruffly, setting my cup down with a clink. “Don’t get too sentimental on me, Headmistress. I still have a long two months ahead, and I expect my share of peace and quiet when I’m not herding these kids through basic spellcasting.”

Sherry smirked. “We’ll see about that. Don’t forget—there’s a faculty meeting tomorrow. Bright and early.”

I groaned, leaning back in my chair. “Why did I agree to this again?”

“Because you’re a softie,” she teased, standing up and giving me a wink. “And because deep down, you missed it.”

As she left, her laughter echoing down the hallway, I stared into my empty teacup.

Maybe she was right. Maybe a part of me had missed this. Or maybe I was just getting sentimental in my old age.