The Villain Professor's Second Chance-Chapter 380: Desperate Situations Calls For Desperate Skills

Draven stood before the children, his sharp eyes scanning the room. His gaze was stern, unyielding, and it commanded a silence that filled every corner of the space. The children sat in front of him, each of them gazing up with wide, attentive eyes. There was a palpable energy in the room—anticipation, mixed with a hint of nervousness.

"That will be all for today," Draven finally said, his voice clipped and efficient. "Dismissed."

A collective breath seemed to be released. The children scrambled to their feet, a flurry of movement that sent chairs scraping against the floor and echoed through the room. There was a sense of excitement in their actions—a youthful energy that spoke of eagerness to practice what they had learned, even if the lesson had been far from simple. The children, despite their circumstances, radiated a kind of hope that couldn’t be easily dimmed.

Amberine, standing at the back of the room, watched them with an expression that was part curiosity, part disbelief. Next to her, Maris had her arms crossed, her gaze following the children as they moved. Amberine leaned over slightly, her voice a low murmur. "They’re really taking this seriously, aren’t they?"

Maris nodded, her brow furrowed. "They are. And they’re... good at it. Better than I thought they’d be."

Amberine let out a soft huff. "I don’t know if it’s impressive or terrifying," she muttered. She couldn’t help but feel a sense of unease watching these young children learning to wield magic that she herself had struggled with in her first year at the Magic Tower University.

The children began making their way towards the door, their movements hurried, almost eager. Some offered quick bows to Draven, while others simply nodded their respect before dashing out of the room. Draven remained impassive, his eyes following them but giving away nothing of what he was thinking. He stood there, a figure of authority that none of the children seemed willing to question.

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Amberine watched them leave, her gaze shifting from one child to the next. She noticed a young boy with messy dark hair who paused at the door, turning back to look at Draven. There was something in his eyes—determination, perhaps, or something deeper. The boy nodded, almost to himself, before disappearing through the doorway.

Draven gave no sign of noticing the boy’s silent gesture. He simply turned, his hands clasped behind his back, and began walking towards the door. "Follow me," he said, his voice carrying easily through the room. There was no need to raise it; both Amberine and Maris knew better than to question him.

They followed him out of the orphanage, stepping into the cool night air. The darkness of the slums enveloped them, the narrow alleys crowded with shadows that seemed to stretch endlessly. The cobblestones beneath their feet were uneven, worn from years of use, and they seemed to swallow the little light that came from the stars above.

Amberine pulled her cloak tighter around her, her eyes darting around as they stepped further away from the orphanage. She had always hated the slums—the way the air felt heavy with despair, the way the narrow streets seemed to close in around her. It was a place filled with people who had nowhere else to go, people who were forgotten by the rest of society.

Suddenly, the door of the orphanage burst open, and the children spilled out into the alley. Amberine’s eyes widened as she watched them scatter, their laughter echoing through the narrow streets. The children moved with a grace that took her by surprise. They jumped over barrels, scaled low walls, and leapt onto rooftops with an agility that spoke of countless hours of practice.

Amberine turned to Maris, her eyes wide. "Are they...?"

Maris nodded, her expression one of astonishment. "They’re... parkouring," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Amberine watched as a young girl, no older than ten, jumped from one rooftop to another, her movements fluid and confident. The girl landed without a sound, her feet finding purchase on the edge of the roof before she disappeared into the darkness. Amberine could only stare, her disbelief growing with each passing second.

"They’re like... little acrobats," she muttered, more to herself than to Maris.

Maris didn’t respond, her gaze still fixed on the children as they moved. There was something almost mesmerizing about it—the way they seemed to flow through the environment, their bodies moving as if they were weightless. It was a skill that had clearly been honed out of necessity, a way to navigate the harsh realities of their lives.

Draven stepped up beside them, his gaze following the children as they disappeared into the shadows of the slums. His voice, when he spoke, was calm, almost detached. "Desperate situations call for desperate skills."

Amberine glanced at him, her brow furrowing. There was something about the way he spoke that made her uneasy—a cold, calculated logic that seemed to strip away any sense of humanity from the children they had just watched.

Draven continued, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Those children are unpolished gems, shaped by necessity. They are tools—resources that no one else bothers to see. I am simply gathering them, honing their potential."

Maris gulped, her eyes darting back to the now-empty rooftops. "They’re... skilled," she murmured.

Draven’s lips curled into a faint, humorless smile. "Indeed. In a world that often ignores them, they have become the best at what they do—gathering information, navigating unseen. No one cares enough to watch over a group of orphans, which makes them the perfect eyes and ears for my purposes."

Amberine felt a shiver run down her spine at his words. There was a coldness to his logic that made her stomach twist, yet she couldn’t deny the truth in what he said. The children were skilled, and they were invisible in a way that no adult could ever be. They moved through the slums unnoticed, blending in with their surroundings, and that made them valuable.

Draven’s sharp eyes turned to Amberine and Maris, his gaze piercing. "Speaking of which, I noticed you and those cheeky royal knights tailing me earlier."

Amberine’s eyes widened in surprise, and she glanced at Maris, who stiffened beside her. Draven’s expression remained impassive. "I bet that excitable adjutant of Sophie was eager to catch me in some ’evil deed,’" he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

He gestured dismissively, his tone almost mocking. "Feel free to tail me, but try not to be so foolish as to get caught. I have no patience for unnecessary interference."

Amberine swallowed hard, nodding in response, while Maris clenched her jaw, her eyes narrowing slightly. She took a step forward, her voice soft but steady. "I’m... sorry, Professor. It wasn’t meant to be spiteful. I just—"

Draven cut her off with a slight wave of his hand. "It’s fine. I don’t mind. I suppose I’ve given enough reasons to be under suspicion. In fact, I find it curious that there hasn’t been an official warrant for me yet." There was a hint of amusement in his voice, a dark glimmer in his eyes as he looked at them.

Maris blinked, her surprise evident. She hadn’t expected him to be so... understanding. If anything, she had anticipated a reprimand, perhaps even a threat. But Draven’s response was almost casual, as if their actions were of little consequence to him.

Draven turned, motioning for them to follow. He led them back inside the orphanage, his steps measured and deliberate. Amberine and Maris followed in silence, their minds still reeling from everything they had seen and heard.

They entered a dining room that caught both girls off guard. Unlike the worn exterior of the orphanage, the interior was unexpectedly refined. The dining room was filled with elegant furnishings—a polished wooden table, chairs upholstered with rich fabric, and a chandelier hanging from the ceiling. The walls were adorned with tasteful decorations, and the entire space had an aesthetic charm that seemed entirely out of place in the slums.

Amberine’s eyes widened as she took in the contrast, her gaze moving across the room. "This... doesn’t fit," she murmured.

Draven gave a slight shrug. "Appearances are often deceiving. The orphanage’s exterior serves as a disguise—one that keeps prying eyes away."

Maris nodded, her eyes still wide as she took in the surroundings. There was a sense of care in the way the room was decorated—a stark difference from the harsh, unforgiving exterior of the building. It was almost as if this space was meant to be a refuge, a place of comfort amidst the chaos of the slums.

Draven gestured for them to sit at the table. Amberine and Maris exchanged glances before taking their seats, their curiosity piqued. Draven moved with a purpose, every step deliberate as he sat across from them, his gaze steady.

"Now," he began, his tone shifting to one of business, "I understand that you, Neophyte Maris, and Neophyte Elara are set to present at the upcoming Arcane Symposium. You’ll be presenting alongside Professor Astrid, correct?"

Maris nodded, her posture straightening as she spoke. "Yes, Professor. We’re working on the Orb of Emotion project. The goal is to channel emotions into the orb and control them, showcasing the theory of emotional magic manipulation."

Draven’s eyes narrowed slightly, his expression unreadable. "A commendable endeavor, though fraught with risks. Emotional magic is as unpredictable as the human heart itself. You would do well to ensure that your control is absolute. The last thing we need is an emotional surge causing chaos at a prestigious event."

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Amberine nodded, her gaze steady. "We’re doing everything we can to make sure it’s stable, Professor. We’ve been practicing daily."

Draven leaned back slightly, his gaze still fixed on them. "See that you do. The symposium is not a place for failure. It is an opportunity—to prove yourselves, to show the world what you are capable of. Do not waste it."

Maris and Amberine exchanged a glance, determination settling in their eyes. They both nodded, understanding the gravity of his words.

"Only for this day, I’m open for consultation regarding your research,"