The Villain Professor's Second Chance-Chapter 430: The Refreshed Morning in Aetherion

Amberine groaned as she rolled over in bed, blinking against the soft early morning light that filtered through her curtains. Something felt different. She wasn’t in Draven’s quarters anymore; this was her own room. The realization brought a rush of comfort, and she sighed deeply, pushing herself upright. Her bed was warm, the sheets were soft, and the air smelled faintly of lavender—something her mother used to insist made sleep come easier.

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"How did I get here?" she muttered, her voice groggy. She rubbed her eyes, her gaze falling on the small salamander curled up at her side. Ifrit. Without his usual flames, Ifrit looked kind of... cute. His bare form was more like a strange mix of a lizard and a salamander, with his soft, dark scales that shimmered slightly in the early light. His tiny limbs were tucked close, and his breathing was even, almost peaceful.

Amberine leaned closer, observing the gentle rise and fall of his chest. "Why do you have to be so adorable now?" she whispered. Ifrit snorted in his sleep, his eyes scrunching as if he heard her, and she smiled, shaking her head.

But how had she ended up in her own room? She vaguely remembered the dream, the desert, the cloaked figure—then Draven appearing, his magic overpowering everything. She remembered the fierce display, the brilliance of his runes lighting up the night. And then—nothing.

A shiver ran down her spine at the thought. Had Draven... carried her here? She imagined his cold expression, the disapproving glare as he picked her up. The image made her cheeks flush crimson, and she quickly shook her head, trying to dispel it. "No way. Definitely not." Draven wasn’t the type to do anything kind, much less something so... considerate.

Amberine’s gaze drifted to the bedside table, where a peculiar object caught her attention. The pen—the one Draven had called a replica of his own magic pen. She reached for it, her fingers brushing the cool metal, and she could feel the faint pulse of magic beneath her fingertips. It had an odd comfort to it, a sense of stability that she wasn’t used to. Maybe this was why she had been able to sleep so soundly.

She glanced at the clock beside her bed. It was still early—only 4:00 AM. But despite the hour, she felt surprisingly refreshed. Amberine stretched, her muscles pleasantly sore, and a sense of determination filled her chest. Today was the day of her abstract review and presentation at the symposium. She wasn’t going to let herself fail—not after everything she had gone through.

Pushing herself out of bed, Amberine walked over to the mirror, her bare feet sinking into the plush carpet. Her reflection stared back at her, her hair a tangled mess, her eyes slightly puffy from sleep. She frowned, running a hand through her hair, trying to smooth it down. She had to look presentable—confident. Today was important.

"Alright, Amberine," she said, pointing at herself in the mirror, her expression serious. "You got this. No more messing around."

She grabbed her notes from her desk, laying them out in front of the mirror. The abstract review was going to be brutal, she knew that much. The reviewers were some of the toughest scholars in Aetherion, and she couldn’t afford to make any mistakes. She had to be flawless. She had to prove that she belonged here, that she wasn’t just some fluke.

Amberine began to rehearse, her voice filling the room as she went over her points. She spoke with confidence, emphasizing the key aspects of her research, her hands moving animatedly as she explained each part. She watched her reflection, adjusting her posture, her tone, her expression. She practiced over and over, repeating the same lines until they felt natural, until she could say them without hesitation.

After what felt like hours, she paused, taking a deep breath. Her throat was dry, her voice hoarse from speaking for so long. She glanced at the pen on the desk, her curiosity piqued. Draven had used it with such ease, levitating it with psychokinesis, making it write in mid-air as if it were the simplest thing in the world. She wanted to try it—to see if she could do it too.

Amberine picked up the pen, holding it in her hand, her brow furrowing in concentration. She closed her eyes, focusing on the magic within her, the warmth of Ifrit’s power flowing through her veins. She imagined the pen lifting, hovering in the air, just like Draven had done.

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Nothing happened.

Amberine opened one eye, peeking at the pen, which still sat motionless in her hand. She huffed, her frustration mounting. "Come on," she muttered, her fingers tightening around the pen. She closed her eyes again, focusing harder this time, willing the pen to move.

Slowly, it began to wobble, lifting just a fraction of an inch off her palm before it wobbled again and fell to the floor with a clatter. Amberine let out an exasperated sigh, bending down to pick it up. "This is so much harder than it looks," she grumbled, her face flushed with embarrassment.

She spent the next few hours trying again and again, her determination unwavering despite the countless times the pen slipped from her grasp. By the time the clock struck 8:00 AM, Amberine had made some progress—the pen could now hover for a few seconds before falling, and she had managed to get it to write a single wobbly line in the air. It was far from perfect, nowhere near Draven’s level, but it was something. She allowed herself a small smile, a sense of pride swelling in her chest.

Amberine took a deep breath, setting the pen back on the desk. She had done enough for now. It was time to face the real challenge. She walked over to her door, her heart pounding in her chest as she reached for the handle. She turned it slowly, peeking out into the hallway, her eyes scanning the area.

The hallway was bustling with activity, filled with students and scholars moving about, their robes flowing as they walked. Mages, scholars, magic knights—all of them were heading somewhere with purpose, their conversations a mix of academic jargon and casual chatter. Amberine stepped out of her room, closing the door behind her, blending into the crowd.

She followed the flow of people, her eyes wide as she took in her surroundings. The scholars of Aetherion were an impressive sight, each one wearing their own unique robes, adorned with symbols that signified their rank, their field of study. She felt a pang of nervousness—she was just a student, a newcomer to this world of magic and knowledge. But she pushed the thought away, her determination taking over.

The crowd led her to a large dining hall, the smell of food wafting through the air, making her stomach growl. She hadn’t realized how hungry she was until now. The hall was grand, with tall ceilings and large windows that let in the morning light. Long tables were set up, each one covered in a wide variety of dishes—an opulent buffet that seemed almost too luxurious to be real.

Amberine’s eyes widened as she took in the sight. There were enchanted pastries that sparkled, fruits that changed color as they were touched, small roasted creatures that looked exotic but smelled delicious, and crystal-clear beverages that glowed faintly. It was like something out of a dream, a feast fit for royalty.

She grabbed a plate, her excitement getting the better of her as she began piling it high with food. She took almost everything that caught her eye—the pastries, the fruits, the roasted creatures, the glowing beverages. By the time she was done, her plate was overflowing, the food stacked precariously, and she made her way to a small table in the corner, sitting down with a satisfied grin.

Amberine looked around, watching the other scholars and knights as they ate. They were all so refined, their movements precise, their plates modest. She glanced down at her own plate, the mountain of food she had gathered, and let out a small laugh. "I guess I’m not quite there yet," she muttered to herself, shaking her head.

She picked up one of the pastries, taking a bite, her eyes widening in delight as the sweet flavor filled her mouth. It was incredible, the taste almost magical in itself, and she couldn’t help but smile as she took another bite. She was so focused on her meal that she almost didn’t notice when Professor Draven entered the dining hall.

Amberine’s eyes widened, her heart skipping a beat as she saw him. He looked the same as always—cold, distant, his eyes scanning the room with a sharpness that made her shiver. On impulse, she raised her hand, waving slightly, as if inviting him to join her. For a moment, their eyes met, and her heart leaped in her chest.

But then, just as quickly, he looked away, his expression indifferent, as if he hadn’t seen her at all. He walked straight towards another room, one with a "VVIP" sign above the entrance, disappearing behind the door without a second glance. Amberine let out a snort, shaking her head. "We’re on different levels, huh?" she muttered, her voice filled with a mix of frustration and amusement.

She turned back to her meal, deciding not to let it bother her. Draven was Draven—cold, distant, and completely uninterested in her existence. She wasn’t going to let that ruin her morning. She continued eating, her plate still piled high with food, and as she did, she felt a small movement under the table.

Ifrit had woken up, his small salamander form peeking out from beneath her robe. He looked up at her, his eyes wide, and she couldn’t help but smile. "Hungry?" she whispered, glancing around to make sure no one was watching before sneaking a piece of roasted meat under the table. Ifrit’s eyes lit up, and he grabbed the meat, munching on it happily, his tail wagging slightly.

Amberine continued to sneak food to Ifrit, her eyes darting around the room, making sure no one noticed. It was almost like a game, and she found herself smiling, a sense of warmth filling her chest as she watched Ifrit eat. It was moments like this that made everything worth it—the small, quiet moments that reminded her why she was here, why she was fighting so hard to prove herself.

After a while, Amberine began to feel the weight of everything she had eaten. Her stomach felt heavy, her body sluggish, and she let out a groan, leaning back in her chair. "Why did I take so much..." she muttered, her hand resting on her abdomen, her face scrunching in discomfort. Ifrit looked up at her, his eyes filled with amusement, and she shot him a glare. "Don’t you dare laugh at me."

Ifrit let out a soft snort, his eyes twinkling with mischief as he nibbled on another piece of meat.

He looks more like a pet than a spirit when he’s like this.

Amberine shook her head, her face flushing with embarrassment. She had definitely overdone it. The dining hall was beginning to empty, the other scholars and knights finishing their meals and heading towards their next destinations. Amberine glanced at the clock, her eyes widening as she realized what time it was.

"The abstract review session..." she whispered, her heart sinking. She had almost forgotten. She pushed herself up, her body protesting, her stomach feeling like it was about to burst. She took a deep breath, forcing herself to stand, her determination overriding her discomfort. She wasn’t going to let a full stomach ruin her chances. She had worked too hard for this.

Amberine joined the group heading to the symposium’s review hall, her steps slow, careful, each movement sending a pang of discomfort through her abdomen. The hall was grand, filled with rows of chairs and a stage at the front, where each student would present their abstract to a panel of reviewers. Amberine sat down in the waiting area, her hands resting on her stomach, her face pale.

"Please, don’t let me vomit," she whispered, her voice filled with desperation.