The obsidian-black carriage bearing the formidable Faulkner family crest ground to a halt before the towering iron gates of the Royal Magic Academy.
The sprawling courtyard was vibrating with an unnatural buzz. Hundreds of students had gathered, and the whispers spreading through the crowd were as subtle as a wildfire.
"Did you hear? The Trash Professor finally woke up from his coma just to get officially expelled."
"I heard he crawled to the Duke begging for intervention, but the family completely disowned him this time."
"Look... the carriage door is opening!"
I stepped out, my leather boots landing softly on the cobblestone.
The moment I emerged, a suffocating silence slammed into the courtyard. It wasn't the silence of respect; it was a toxic cocktail of bewilderment and raw contempt. But I didn't cower. I stood tall, my spine perfectly straight inside my long black trench coat, my gaze sweeping over them with the clinical detachment of a surgeon holding a scalpel.
Without a conscious thought, my [Analytical Vision] passively engaged.
[Ping! Environmental Analysis Initiated...]
Crowd Density: 140 Students, 12 Guards.
Prevailing Sentiments: Mockery (85%), Morbid Curiosity (10%), Direct Hostility (5%).
Threat Detection: 3 concealed kinetic projectiles (mud clumps) located in the hands of targets at 4 o'clock.
I ignored them. I walked forward with a cold, unhurried arrogance, brushing past the muffled snickers.
Suddenly, a figure stepped directly into my trajectory, brazenly blocking my path. It was a student from Class 9. Bart. The spoiled son of a wealthy Baron, and a notorious bully who had frequently tormented the weak, original Adrian.
"Oh, look who decided to return from the dead!" Bart sneered, his loud, grating laugh echoing across the courtyard. "Tell me, Professor, did you bring a handkerchief to wipe your tears when the Principal throws you out in front of everyone? Or are you here to drop to your knees and lick our boots so we withdraw the petition?"
I stopped. I didn't take a single step back.
I simply locked eyes with him. My stare was so profoundly empty, so utterly devoid of human warmth, that Bart's arrogant smirk began to twitch.
Through my analytical interface, I could see his kinetic vectors. The mana in his right forearm was highly unstable and aggressively gathering. He was secretly prepping a low-tier spell—a cheap shot meant to publicly humiliate me.
"Move," I commanded. My voice wasn't a shout. It was low, quiet, yet laced with an absolute, crushing authority that dared anyone to disobey.
"What? Are you threatening me, you piece of tra—"
Before the syllable could leave his mouth, my hand shot forward like a viper. It was a blur of calculated motion. I clamped my gloved fingers ruthlessly around his wrist. I didn't use brute strength; I used geometric precision. I applied exact pressure to the specific nerve cluster acting as his mana valve, forcefully reversing the flow of his gathering energy.
Crack!
The mana didn't fire outward. It violently imploded backward into his own arm.
"AAGGHH!" Bart shrieked, instantly collapsing to his knees. He clutched his convulsing right arm, his face pale with sudden, agonizing muscle spasms from the localized mana combustion.
"I warned you," I stated coldly, not bothering to spare the writhing boy a second glance.
I stepped over him and continued my walk toward the Grand Lecture Hall, leaving a sea of utterly stunned students in my wake. The silence that followed me this time was entirely different. It was heavy. Suffocating. It was the silence of fear.
I reached the massive mahogany doors of the Grand Hall. Inside waited the Board of Trustees, the Principal, and thirty furious, spiteful students ready to tear me apart.
I pushed the heavy double doors open, the blinding morning sun flooding into the gloomy amphitheater with me. I strode straight down the central aisle, ascending the central podium.
Thud.
I dropped my leather briefcase onto the wooden desk. The sound echoed like a gunshot.
Principal Oswald peered down at me from the judges' elevated seats, his thick spectacles glinting with clear disdain. "Professor Adrian. You are late. Are you prepared to defend yourself against the undeniable charges of academic incompetence and systematic fraud?"
I calmly popped the latches of my briefcase and pulled out my meticulously drafted equations. I raised my head, letting my piercing gaze sweep across the amphitheater of hostile faces.
"I am not here to defend myself," my voice echoed, cold, rhythmic, and absolute. "I am here to prove that every single concept you have been taught in this Academy up to this very day... is fundamentally wrong."