The next morning, I found myself seated at a long table in the faculty conference room, surrounded by a dozen professors and staff members. Some faces were familiar, old colleagues from my headmaster days, but most were new—young, eager, and radiating the kind of energy I could barely fathom anymore.

Sherry sat at the head of the table, her presence commanding as she addressed the group. “Thank you all for coming. As you know, my father—Archmage Aldric—is back with us. He’ll be teaching a few courses and offering guidance during the tournament preparations.”

All eyes turned to me, ranging from polite curiosity to outright awe. I fought the urge to squirm under their scrutiny and instead leaned back in my chair, offering a casual nod. “Pleasure to be here,” I said dryly. “Though I suspect my daughter volunteered me for more than I bargained for.”

A ripple of laughter eased some of the tension in the room. Good. Humor was always a reliable defense mechanism.

Sherry gestured to a wiry, bespectacled man seated a few chairs down. “This is Professor Callen. He’s been overseeing advanced combat magic since your retirement.”

Callen adjusted his glasses and gave me a tight smile. “It’s an honor to meet you, Archmage. Your techniques have entered the curriculum.”

“Glad to hear it,” I replied politely.

“And this,” Sherry continued, motioning to a younger woman with vibrant green hair, “is Professor Elira. She specializes in mana theory and manipulation.”

“Pleasure,” Elira said, her smile sharp. “I’ve been dying to pick your brain about your research on mana resonance.”

“Careful what you wish for,” I said with a smirk. “My research isn’t exactly light reading.”

A boisterous laughter filled the room, startling the new teachers.

“Hi Eldric, didn’t think you would come back here,” said a familiar voice.

“Hello, Carl. Long time no see.”

The source of the voice was a broad-shouldered man with a graying beard, sitting near the middle of the table. His eyes twinkled with mischief as he leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. Carl Blackthorn—Head of Magical Artifacts and an old friend from my student and headmaster days.

"Still as grumpy as ever, I see," Carl added, chuckling. "I half expected you to burst in here ranting about how you were dragged out of retirement."

"Give it time," I shot back, earning a round of laughter from the room. "I’m just saving my energy for when it really counts."

Carl grinned, the years melting away in his expression. "Good to have you back, old friend. This place hasn’t been the same without you."

The introductions continued, and I made an effort to commit names and faces to memory. Most of the faculty seemed competent, though a few struck me as a bit too idealistic. Idealism was dangerous in a place like this—it often led to blind spots.

As the meeting progressed, the conversation shifted to tournament logistics. Sherry and the professors discussed everything from participant pairings to warding the dueling arenas. I listened quietly, only chiming in when someone asked for my opinion.

When the meeting finally adjourned, Sherry pulled me aside. “Not bad for your first faculty meeting in decades.”

I gave her a pointed look. “You owe me for this.”

She grinned. “Add it to the tab, and don’t forget about your course for the new teachers is going to take place in the afternoon.”

I groaned inwardly, already feeling the strain of a day that had barely begun. "A course for the new teachers? When did that get added to my itinerary?"

Sherry’s grin widened. "It’s been on your schedule since you agreed to come back. You’re the Academy’s most experienced educator, and they could use some insight."

"Insight, huh?" I muttered, rubbing my temples. "More like a crash course in survival."

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

"You’ll be fine," she said, patting my arm in mock reassurance. "They’re eager to learn from a legend."

"A legend who just wants a nap," I replied, but she was already walking away, her laughter echoing down the corridor.

....

By the time I reached the designated classroom, my patience was already wearing thin. The room was filled with young and mid-career teachers, all chatting animatedly. A few glanced my way with anticipation as I entered.

"Good afternoon," I said, closing the door behind me. The chatter died down instantly. "I understand you’re here to learn how to teach more effectively. Is that right?"

A murmur of agreement rippled through the room.

"Good," I continued, moving to the front of the room. "Because teaching isn’t about standing in front of a class and lecturing."

I let the silence stretch for a moment, scanning their faces. Some looked intrigued, others skeptical. Perfect.

"Let’s start with a question," I said, leaning against the desk. "How many of you think teaching is just about imparting knowledge?"

A few hands went up, though not as many as I expected. Interesting.

"Not entirely wrong," I said, nodding. "But if that’s all you’re doing, you’re missing the point. Magic—like teaching—isn’t static. It’s alive. It grows, changes, and sometimes rebels against expectations. Your job isn’t just to teach students spells or theories. It’s to guide them as they learn to think, adapt, and grow."

Elira, the mana theory professor, raised her hand. "How do you balance freedom and discipline?"

"Good question," I replied. "The key is knowing your students. Your challenge is to recognize who needs what—and when. For instance, unruly students who are a danger to themselves and others needs discipline first."

As soon as my words left my lips, a boisterous laughter filled the room.

I turned toward the source of the laughter, already recognizing the familiar timbre. Carl stood in the doorway, arms crossed, a wide grin on his face. His presence seemed to lighten the room instantly, as it always had.

"Unruly students needing discipline, huh?" he said, stepping inside. "Is this advice based on your own rebellious streak back in the day, Aldric? Or am I the only one who remembers how many potions you set on fire during Alchemy Basics?"

The room erupted in chuckles, and I couldn’t help but smirk. "If I recall correctly, Carl, you were the one egging me on half the time. And the other half, you were the one putting out the fires."

"Teamwork," he said with a wink, finding an empty chair near the back.

"Glad you could join us," I said, gesturing for him to sit. "Though if you’re here to critique, feel free to grab a broom and demonstrate how to clean up a classroom full of magical chaos."

More laughter followed, and I allowed it to settle before turning back to the group. "Now, as I was saying, discipline and freedom are tools. But it’s how you wield them that matters. Let’s explore that idea further with an example."

With a wave of my hand, I conjured an illusion of a classroom scene. The spectral students varied wildly: one was casting a spell that made their chair float, another was doodling animated stick figures in the margins of their textbook, and a third was glaring at what was left of his botched spell as if his own magic had personally betrayed them.

"Here’s your scenario," I said, stepping aside. "This is a beginner’s class on elemental magic. Your task is to maintain order while also encouraging creativity. Who wants to go first?"

Kana, the young artefact professor, was the first to volunteer, her confidence evident as she approached the illusory classroom. She addressed the floating-chair student first, deftly redirecting their spell into a more controlled levitation exercise. The doodler she tasked with creating a magical diagram relevant to the lesson. For the sulking student, she crouched down, engaging them in a quiet, reassuring conversation.

When she was done, I nodded in approval. "Good use of redirection and individualized attention. You kept their focus while allowing them to express themselves. What would you have done differently?"

Kana considered for a moment. "I might have set clearer boundaries at the start to prevent the floating chair in the first place."

"Excellent point," I said. "Anticipating chaos is just as important as managing it. Anyone else?"

Carl, predictably, raised his hand. "Let me have a crack at it."

As he took his turn, Carl’s approach was more direct. He clapped his hands sharply, the illusionary students freezing mid-motion. "Alright, listen up!" he barked. "If you want to float chairs, do it after class. Right now, we’re focusing on elemental magic. You—" he pointed to the doodler, "—show me what you’re drawing. Looks fun, but let’s tie it to today’s lesson."

By the end of his demonstration, the classroom illusion had transformed into a cohesive, albeit still lively, group.

"Different approach, same result," I said. "Notice how Carl’s authority worked because he balanced it with engagement. Discipline doesn’t mean shutting students down—it means channeling their energy."

After a few more volunteers and discussions, I dispelled the illusion and addressed the room. "Every class is different. They won't behave the same way, and your teaching style will need to adapt constantly. Remember: your goal isn’t perfection. It’s progress—for your students and for yourselves."

The room was quiet for a moment before the group erupted into applause. Even Carl joined in, nodding approvingly.

As the teachers began leaving, Carl approached me, his grin as wide as ever. "You haven’t lost your touch, Aldric. Though I do think you scared a few of the younger ones when you called them out on their ‘idealism.’"

"They’ll thank me later," I said with a shrug. "Or they’ll blame me. Either way, they’ll learn something."

Carl laughed. "Good to have you back, old friend. The Academy’s better with you here."

I watched him go, his easy confidence as infectious as ever. Maybe Sherry was right—maybe I did still have something valuable to offer here. But first, I was going to need that nap.