The Villain Professor's Second Chance-Chapter 428: I’m Back Here Again!?

Amberine felt herself being pulled through the portal, her entire body weightless, spinning uncontrollably in a void of brilliant light and swirling magic. The sensation was dizzying, disorienting, as if the ground had disappeared beneath her and she was suspended in a boundless emptiness. She wanted to scream, but no sound escaped her lips—the rush of the portal overwhelmed everything else, and she couldn’t do anything but brace herself for wherever she would end up.

Suddenly, the sensation changed. She felt a jarring tug, followed by a rush of cold air, and before she could even comprehend what was happening, she was flung out of the portal. She hit the ground hard, her back slamming against a solid surface with a dull thud that knocked the breath out of her. A pained groan slipped from her lips as she winced, her eyes squeezing shut in response to the sharp ache that shot up her spine.

When she finally opened her eyes, her vision was blurry, but it slowly cleared, revealing the familiar surroundings of the room she now found herself in. Her heart sank. She knew this place all too well—it was Professor Draven’s VVIP quarters. Everything was unmistakable: the intricate carvings etched into the stone walls, the tall, arched window giving a spectacular view of the ocean beyond, the shelves lined with meticulously organized books, and the subtle scent of aged paper and saltwater.

She let out an exasperated breath, her shoulders slumping.

How had she ended up here again? Of all places, why here?

Amberine’s gaze flicked towards the center of the room, where Draven sat at his desk, his back partially turned to her as he faced the massive window that looked out into the underwater expanse. The soft, blue glow of the ocean beyond illuminated his figure, casting an almost otherworldly light on him. He appeared to be deep in thought, his dark eyes staring at the scene outside with a contemplative intensity. Around him, numerous papers hovered in mid-air, slowly rotating or aligning themselves in neat stacks—it looked like he was in the middle of some complex calculations or research.

He hadn’t noticed her yet, which was a small blessing. Maybe she could slip out quietly—but before she could even entertain the idea of getting up and making an unnoticed exit, Draven turned. His sharp gaze landed on her immediately, his expression unreadable as his brows furrowed ever so slightly.

Amberine’s breath caught in her throat, panic setting in as she scrambled to get up from the floor, brushing off her clothes and trying her best to look like she hadn’t just been thrown there by some mysterious force. "I-I’m so sorry, Professor," she stammered, her cheeks heating in embarrassment. "I didn’t mean to—I mean, I don’t know how I got here, it was—"

Draven’s eyes narrowed, his frown deepening, and Amberine fell silent, swallowing hard under his cold, piercing gaze. He said nothing for a moment, his eyes studying her, and then, as if something had caught his attention, his gaze shifted slightly. He raised his hand, and Amberine’s eyes widened as she noticed something peculiar—a single petal, a purplish pink one, was floating down from above, seemingly out of nowhere.

Draven caught the petal effortlessly between his fingers, his sharp eyes studying it with a focus that made Amberine hold her breath. There was something different about his expression now, a subtle shift, as if he had just confirmed something he had suspected all along. For a brief moment, his eyes seemed to shimmer, a faint blue light glowing beneath the surface, a glimmer of magic that was there and gone in an instant.

Amberine blinked, her heart skipping a beat. She wasn’t entirely sure if she had really seen it or if her mind was playing tricks on her, but there was no denying the change in Draven’s demeanor. He let out a sigh, his lips pressing into a thin line as he crumbled the petal in his hand, letting the fragments fall to the floor, their soft glow fading as they touched the ground.

"There are too many pesky people around here," he muttered, his voice carrying a hint of irritation. His words were quiet, almost as if he was speaking to himself rather than to her, but Amberine heard them clearly, and a chill ran down her spine. She had no idea what he meant by that, but it was enough to make her nerves spike, a sense of unease settling in the pit of her stomach.

Draven turned his gaze back to her, his expression once again cold, detached, as if nothing had happened. "Are you alright?" he asked, his voice flat. "Did you have nightmares?"

Amberine blinked, stunned by the question. It was so unexpected, and the way he asked it—even though his tone was as indifferent as ever—there was something there, a subtle gentleness that took her completely off guard. She opened her mouth to respond, to tell him about the nightmare, but the words caught in her throat, her mind still reeling from everything that had happened.

Before she could gather her thoughts enough to answer, Draven spoke again, his gaze flicking around the room as if searching for something. "Where is your fire spirit?" he asked, his voice carrying a note of impatience. "You shouldn’t lose him—he’s one of the bureaucrats of the spirits."

Amberine stared at him, her eyes widening in surprise. "Bureaucrat? Ifrit?" she repeated, her voice incredulous. What in the world did that mean?

Draven silenced her with a sharp look, his eyes narrowing in annoyance. "Sleep," he ordered, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Tomorrow, you have an abstract review and an oral presentation—a glimpse of what you intend to showcase at the symposium. You’ll need rest."

Amberine hesitated, her gaze lingering on Draven. She couldn’t help but wonder—why was he doing this? Why was he helping her? He had no obligation to, and everything about his demeanor screamed that he didn’t want to be bothered. Yet, here he was, asking if she was alright, telling her to rest. It didn’t make sense.

"Do you not need any rest, Professor?" she asked, her voice hesitant, her curiosity getting the better of her.

Draven didn’t answer immediately. He simply looked at her, his sharp eyes narrowing slightly, and then he gave her a gesture with his head, a silent command to move towards the bed and leave him alone. Amberine swallowed hard, nodding quickly as she turned away, walking towards the large, plush bed that stood on the opposite side of the room.

As she passed by his desk, she couldn’t resist sneaking a quick glance at the book he was reading. The title was written in an elaborate script, filled with magical terminology that went completely over her head. It was far beyond her current understanding of magic, and she found herself wondering just how much knowledge Draven held—how vast his understanding of the arcane really was.

"Excuse me," she mumbled, her voice barely audible as she moved towards the bed, pulling back the covers and sitting down on the edge. The mattress was incredibly soft, sinking under her weight, and she let out a small sigh of relief, her body still aching from the earlier fall. She settled in, pulling the blankets up around her, her eyes drifting back towards Draven.

He was back at his desk, his focus once again on his calculations, the papers around him shifting and aligning in response to some unseen command. He was scribbling something in the margins of the book, his eyes never leaving the page, his expression one of deep concentration.

Amberine couldn’t help but murmur, her voice barely more than a whisper, "This bed is very nice, isn’t it?"

Draven didn’t respond, his eyes fixed on his work, his quill moving across the page with swift precision. Amberine let out a soft sigh, her gaze lingering on him for a moment longer before she turned her attention back to the bed, her head sinking into the plush pillows. The comfort was overwhelming, the softness cradling her tired body, and she felt her eyes growing heavy, her exhaustion finally catching up with her.

Why was he being so kind to her? He was supposed to be the one responsible for her father’s death—so why was he doing this? Was it out of guilt? Was there something else at play? The questions swirled in her mind, one thought blending into the next, her consciousness drifting further and further away as sleep began to take hold of her.

Her eyelids grew heavy, her vision blurring as the darkness closed in, her thoughts becoming fuzzy, incoherent. Eventually, the exhaustion won out, her mind slipping into the comforting embrace of sleep, her body finally able to rest after everything she had been through.

____

Amberine opened her eyes, the world around her shifting, changing. She found herself standing in the middle of a vast desert, the sun blazing above her, the heat radiating off the sand, making the air shimmer and distort. She blinked, her eyes adjusting to the bright light, her mind struggling to make sense of where she was. The sand stretched on forever, the dunes rising and falling, the landscape barren except for the occasional twisted, dead tree.

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She turned, her eyes scanning the horizon, but there was nothing—no sign of life, no sign of anything familiar. She was alone, completely alone in this endless desert. A sense of unease settled in her chest, her heart beginning to pound as she took a tentative step forward, her feet sinking into the hot sand.

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Suddenly, she heard it—a rustling sound, like something moving beneath the surface of the sand. Her breath caught in her throat, her eyes widening as she watched the sand begin to shift, something pushing up from beneath. The ground trembled, and then they emerged—monsters, their forms vague, twisted, their bodies made of shadow and sand, their eyes glowing with a malevolent light.

Panic surged within her, her heart pounding in her chest as the creatures turned towards her, their movements slow, deliberate, predatory. Amberine took a step back, her breath coming in short, panicked gasps, her mind racing. She needed to do something, anything, but her body felt frozen, her feet refusing to move.

"Wield me, Amberine!"

The voice echoed in her mind, and Amberine’s eyes widened in shock. It was Ifrit—his voice, clear and commanding, cutting through the panic that gripped her. She took a deep breath, her eyes narrowing as she raised her hand, summoning Ifrit’s power, feeling the familiar warmth of his flames beginning to flow through her veins.

The monsters moved towards her, their forms shifting, twisting, and Amberine clenched her jaw, her hand glowing with the heat of Ifrit’s fire. She focused, channeling his power, and flames erupted from her fingertips, scorching the sand, the heat radiating outwards. The creatures recoiled, their forms dissolving into smoke and ash as the flames consumed them.

Amberine’s heart pounded, her body trembling as she cast spell after spell, the fire coursing through her, the heat burning away the fear that had gripped her. She fought, her breath coming in ragged gasps, her body moving on instinct, each movement precise, deliberate. The monsters fell before her, one after another, their bodies disintegrating in the blaze of her magic.

But just as she began to feel a sense of victory, a sense that she had finally gained the upper hand, she felt it—a presence, dark and cold, sending a shiver down her spine. She turned, her eyes widening in disbelief as she saw him—the cloaked figure, standing atop a distant dune, his dark cloak billowing in the wind, his gaze fixed on her.

Amberine clenched her fists, her fear turning into frustration, her heart pounding in her chest. "Please, could you just stop appearing in my dreams!?"