As I pushed open the door to my office, the familiar calm of the space settled over .
I shrugged off my long coat, hanging it on the rack, and found myself left in just my half-coat.
I adjusted my black gloves, feeling the leather against my skin as I looked around the room.
I realized yet again, probably for the hundredth ti today with a small sigh, that I didn’t have anything scheduled for the day.
No lectures, no etings, just empty hours stretching ahead.
Instead of lingering on the emptiness, I leaned against the desk and started looking around, searching for sothing to occupy my ti.
"Let’s start the day by cleaning my research room..."
I knew I couldn’t afford to hire anyone to clean the place, and honestly, I preferred doing it myself.
There was sothing about cleaning my own space that made it feel more personal, more aningful.
Plus, as I tidied up, I could stumble upon old notes and mories that might help jog my mind, maybe even bring back so lost pieces of the past.
Just as I was about to start cleaning my research room, the door swung open, and Clara burst in.
Her expression a mix of urgency and professionalism.
"Professor..."
She said.
"...the Chancellor, Lyssandra, wants to speak with you about a certain matter."
I couldn’t help but curse inwardly.
Of course, just when I decided to get busy and tidy up, sothing had to co up.
I nodded, trying to hide my frustration, and followed her out of the office.
Here’s the full scene written in Noel’s first-person POV, in a Korean webnovel tone — calm, reflective, and politically sharp beneath a composed exterior. The dialogue stays faithful to their personalities:
Chancellor Lyssandra — graceful, perceptive, and strategic.
Noel — cold, formal, and detached but subtly grateful.
---
The sll of bergamot tea lingered faintly in the Chancellor’s office.
Afternoon light spilled through the tall windows, brushing across the gilded fras and the polished wooden floor.
Everything about Lyssandra’s office was immaculate.
It’s interior design and everything was well done and I got jealous for a bit.
I stood before her desk, hands clasped behind my back.
She finally spoke.
"Senior professor Noel..."
She began softly.
"...your little cooking club seems to be the new headline of the week."
I didn’t say anything as she continued.
"The Delights Club."
Her lips curved faintly, not in mockery but intrigue.
"Hmm...a harmless na...
Yet sohow, you’ve gathered the heirs and heiresses of half the Empire’s powerhouses under one roof."
Her eyes flicked to a stack of reports on her desk.
I could make out the seals of several noble houses.
’Are those complaints... warnings?’
I thought in my head.
They wete likely both.
She set her pen down and interlaced her fingers.
"Tell , Professor... how did you do it?"
I t her gaze but said nothing for a mont.
The truth was...even I didn’t know.
I didn’t choose them.
Claire had handled most of the selections.
But saying that now would sound careless.
So I kept my silence.
And Lyssandra, perceptive as always, took it as my answer.
She gave a quiet sigh.
"Of course.
Even you don’t know."
Her voice softened, but the weight in her words did not.
"Still, I must caution you.
What you’ve ford here whether intentionally or not... is not just a club.
It’s a symbol...and symbols carry anings the world will force upon them."
She leaned back slightly, studying as though she were arranging thoughts like chess pieces.
"There are many different ways this... alliance of yours will be seen...but I will state to you five..."
Her eyes narrowed faintly, and she began to list them, one finger at a ti.
"First...to the noble families, it will appear as a political gesture.
A quiet attempt by the Saint Grenn heir to unify the younger generation under your influence.
Whether you intended it or not, people will see leadership...or manipulation."
She paused before continuing.
"Second...to the rival houses, it will look like provocation.
So of those students’ families have opposed each other for years and years.
Yet here they are, cooking side by side.
For proud houses, that’s a public insult. They’ll want to know your motive."
Her gaze sharpened.
"Third...to the Imperial Court, this will read as strategy and a disguised coalition.
You’ve drawn in heirs from Saint Houses during the Divine Candidacy.
That timing cannot be ignored."
’It was as Adele had said...and how I’d thought about it myself.’
I felt her words settle like stones in the room.
The Divine Candidacy which was the Holy House succession trials was already dividing the empire’s aristocracy into factions.
And here I was, gathering their children over pastries and tea.
She continued, her tone steady.
"Fourth...to the Church, it could be interpreted as alignnt.
A signal that the House of Grenn seeks favor with the Holy Grail’s successors.
With a child from the number one Saint household in your club, that interpretation will only strengthen."
Her eyes softened briefly, but only slightly.
"Fifth..."
She rested her chin on her hands.
"To the press and the public, this will look like a rebellion against tradition.
A noble professor ignoring bloodlines and status to mix the Empire’s children freely.
Admirable, perhaps...but dangerous."
Silence filled the office after that.
Only the faint ticking of a clock broke through it.
I exhaled slowly through my nose, then spoke for the first ti.
"...If that is the case, Chancellor..."
I said, my tone level and formal.
"...should I dissolve the club?"
Her gaze lifted to mine.
For a mont, I saw genuine surprise flicker in her expression as though she hadn’t expected to suggest it.
Then, softly, she shook her head.
"No." she said.
"...you won’t have to.
Not yet at least."
She turned slightly, pouring herself another cup of tea.
Her voice carried a quiet confidence that contrasted the heaviness of her warning.
"For now, I will handle the inquiries.
The noble houses, the reporters, the gossip. Leave that to ."
Her eyes t mine again.
"After all, this isn’t the first ti you’ve dealt with the upper class, is it, Professor?
You were once a civil servant of the Empire under the Imperial Security Departnt, if I recall correctly."
I inclined my head.
"That is correct."
"Then I assu you already understand how to navigate powerful nas and their tempers."
I gave a small nod, though inwardly, I wasn’t so certain anymore.
The Chancellor smiled faintly.
"Good.
Then let’s do as we always do in this academy, Professor Noel...
Let the chaos settle before it stains the carpet."
I almost smiled.
Her wit was razor-sharp even when she didn’t intend it to be.
She gestured toward the door.
"You may go. And, Professor..."
Her tone softened as I reached for the handle.
"Try not to start any more revolutions.
Not before the weekend, at least."
"...Understood."
---
Outside her office, the hallway felt quieter than usual.
For a mont, I simply stood there, letting her words replay in my head.
To think that a simple club for cooking an escape from the academy’s politics would stir the empire’s watchful eyes.
But I couldn’t deny the truth in what she said.
A club with the heirs of the Saint Houses, the nobles, and even the Third Holy Princess...
To others, it was either brilliance or audacity.
Perhaps both.
I let out a quiet breath.
"...You really can’t escape politics, can you?"
I muttered under my breath.
Still, I was grateful.
Chancellor Lyssandra had offered protection or at least, ti.
I adjusted my gloves, straightened my coat, and began walking down the marble corridor.
For now, she would handle the noble houses.
---
As I returned to my cluttered research room, I couldn’t help but sigh.
I was determined to finally clean up.
Dust rose like pale smoke as I dragged the rag across the counter.
Test tubes stood like soldiers who had forgotten their war, and the sunlight cut through the half-opened blinds, splitting the air into lines of gold and black.
It had been hours since I started cleaning, but the more I wiped, the more the ss revealed itself.
Drawers that refused to close properly...
CAbinets stacked with unmarked vials...
...and piles of parchnt that looked like they hadn’t been touched in years.
I found the first stack of papers under a broken fra.
Yellowed, wrinkled, and clipped together with rusted pins.
A headline caught my eye.
____________________________
"Prodigy Surgeon Saves Duke’s Heir After Magical Core Rupture."
_____________________________
I froze.
The na Noel Saint Grenn was printed right beneath the title.
A photo accompanied it.
His eyes were cold even then.
I looked nothing like him, yet the mirror said otherwise.
I sat down slowly, brushing off the dust.
The article described the event like a legend.
A seventeen-year-old noble, saving the Duke’s only son by repairing a shattered mana core with experintal magic.
Words like "miracle," "pioneer," and "genius" appeared more tis than I could count.
I couldn’t help but mutter.
"...So, you were that kind of person."
The second article rested beneath it.
_________________________
"Royal dical Scholar Appointed from House Saint Grenn."
_________________________
A formal announcent, praising the empire’s youngest scholar.
His achievents were listed in order...
doctorate in mana physiology, lectures in two academies, and proposals for dical magic advancent.
It didn’t sound like a man.
It sounded like a myth soone made up to keep themselves inspired.
The third one had an entirely different tone.
______________________________
"Grenn’s Reverse Healing Experint Sparks Debate."
______________________________
The text detailed an incident where Noel had absorbed corrupted mana from a patient’s bloodstream...nearly killing himself in the process.
The thod worked, but the dical Council deed it too dangerous.
The reporter described him as "possessed by his own brilliance."
I could almost hear my own heartbeat echo in the empty room.
I set the papers aside and kept cleaning.
Each drawer seed determined to give more of him
A stack of journals fell when I opened the next cabinet.
Between them were more articles about twenty in all, organized by date.
One by one, I placed them on the table, dusting each gently as if handling relics.
The fourth headline read
_____________________________
"Mana Nerve Reconstruction — Noel’s Paper Accepted by the Imperial Academy."
_____________________________
There were diagrams of nerves drawn in ink, annotated with precise handwriting that belonged to him.
It was ticulous and almost obsessive.
The writing looked like it could cut.
Another one followed
__________________________
"Local Orphan Saved by Noble Doctor’s Hands."
__________________________
The photograph was blurred, but I could make out a child’s smile.
A girl with pale hair holding onto Noel’s gloved hand.
He didn’t smile back, but he looked... tired.
Even in the image, there was sothing hollow about his gaze.
I stopped cleaning entirely.
The quiet in the room thickened.
Outside the window, students’ laughter faintly echoed from the training yard, yet none of it reached .
The next headline drew my attention.
________________________
"The Empire’s Youngest Scholar."
_________________________
The article described Noel’s early career, filled with honors and awards.
It even ntioned a speech he gave at the capital.
My fingers brushed the next page.
___________________________
"Noel’s Laboratory Receives Imperial Grant for Mana Immunotherapy."
______________________________
A detailed breakdown of his research.
Ten million earls in funding.
I couldn’t even imagine that much money.
He must have been soone powerful ,admired and possibly even feared.
_______________________________
"Patient Recovers After Noel’s Last Treatnt — Doctor Unreachable."
_______________________________
_____________________________
"Genius Noel’s Condition worsens — ’Mana Erosion Syndro’"
_______________________________
___________________________
"House Grenn Refuses Comnt."
______________________________
___________________________
"Imperial Scholar Missing After Last Public Appearance."
_______________________________
Each article grew shorter, colder.
The warmth that used to surround his na had turned to whispers, then silence.
By the twelfth, they’d already moved on to newer prodigies.
He had beco a forgotten na, buried under the next headline.
I closed my eyes, trying to recall anything...any image, sound, or mory that might belong to him.
Nothing ca.
Just an emptiness, like looking into a mirror that refused to reflect.
"If he was into being a doctor back then..how did he get into magic engineering?"
I asked myself as I thought.
The last article stopped cold.
________________________
"Noel Saint Grenn Returns—Now Assigned as Professor at Velorian Imperial Academy...in the Magic Engineering (M.E) Tower?"
________________________________
A reappearance after years of silence.
It was written in a neutral tone, but there was an undertone of disbelief.
People didn’t know what happened to him, only that he ca back suddenly and started teaching again...under a different field entirely.
The sunlight had shifted, now slanting through the window and painting the table in orange.
I leaned back in the chair, feeling the weight of multiple lives pressing down on .
I looked down at my hands.
The broom lay forgotten against the wall.
The air slled faintly of paper and regret.
"This body used to save people..."
I said quietly, the words almost foreign on my tongue.
"And now it can barely breathe..."
Was this fate’s way of mocking ?
I picked up one of the research notes lying under the pile.
It wasn’t an article, just Noel’s handwritingsharp.
"Mana conducts emotion... To heal is to absorb suffering."
Under it, a single line scribbled in a hurry:
"And suffering accumulates."
For a long ti, I didn’t move.
The wind outside shifted the curtains slightly, letting the scent of spring drift in.
It felt strange reading about soone’s downfall and realizing it was supposed to be mine.
I stacked the papers neatly, one atop another, aligning the corners with precision.
Old habits die hard.
Even in a new world, order gave comfort.
By the ti I finished, the sun had nearly set.
Golden light touched the floor like spilled honey, and the dust sparkled in it.
I stood, glancing once more at the articles.
Each headline was a Chapter of a life I didn’t live but was forced to continue.
"It’s evening now...
The eting will be happening anyti soon..."
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