Teacher's role

Nolan strode through the cracked marble halls of Silver Blade Academy, grinning like a madman who'd just hit the jackpot.

His eyes twitched. His smile was the kind that made children cry.

If insanity ever wore joy as a mask, Nolan's face would be the masterpiece.

"Hell nah," he muttered, giggling under his breath like someone who'd just hacked reality itself. "Me? Teach? With an internet power I just acquired? Pfft. Not a chance."

Each step echoed like victory drums in his ears.

His robe flared dramatically as he rounded a corner.

A few low-ranking staff glanced up, startled.

Nolan nodded politely, wearing the smile of a kind, responsible educator.

But inside? He was plotting his escape like a fugitive breaking out of prison.

"I'm not wasting this," he whispered to himself. "No one's touching this treasure. The Internet? Mine. All mine."

Yet—because life had a sense of humor—he couldn't take two steps without running into someone he knew.

"Hey, Teacher Nolan!" a cheerful girl called out, balancing two massive books. "Still looking sleepy as always!"

"Y-Yeah," Nolan answered stiffly, forcing a wave, his eye twitching. "Study hard!"

Inside, he was screaming.

Bookworm Fara! She's the only one who knows my last lecture on useless Multiplication tables! Why is she waving at me!? No—stay away. I'm escaping!

Then came another student, wearing an oversized headband and armor too big for his frame. He grinned. "Yo, Nolan-sensei! Still skipping class?"

"I was researching battle formations," Nolan lied smoothly.

Crap. That's Galven—the airhead who talks to his sword like it's his girlfriend. Why are they all here? I need to go. Now.

A group of junior teachers strolled by.

"Nolan, finally taking things seriously?" one of them asked with a smug grin.

"Always have," Nolan replied coolly.

Inside? He was squirting saliva from his mouth to these hairless roosters.

Why are there so many people in this hallway? Can't I just leave quietly? Screw it. Next person I see, I'm faking a nosebleed.

He kept walking, still grinning, still nodding—faces everywhere.

Students he barely taught.

Teachers are probably betting on how long he'd last.

They all smiled.

Nolan smiled back.

Inside?

"I SWEAR I'LL KILL THE NEXT PERSON WHO SMILES AT ME."

These are all the people he talked to while saying a bunch of bullshit he could come up with.

Now, practically everyone knew him.

But why did Nolan feel like some kind of fate didn't want him to leave this accursed place?

Fortunately, there's his salvation.

The final door.

Freedom just a few steps away—SLAM!

A burst of red light exploded in front of him, freezing him mid-stride.

Nolan squinted.

"What the—?"

A red system screen floated into view.

Not the familiar soft blue of his Internet interface.

No.

This was harsh, angry red. It pulsed like a siren.

[SYSTEM WARNING - WISDOM WIDE WEB CORE DIRECTIVE]

A teacher must not abandon those in need of learning.

The host has received power. But power without purpose is a void.

The hosts have been marked. Internet Access is bound by Purpose.

The host's actions reflect the worth of the host's gift.

Abandoning those who need the most will result in the irreversible loss of the host's WISDOM WIDE WEB-connected ability.

The host's choice is final.

Proceeding to abandon the duty as a teacher will result in immediate termination of System Access.

Nolan's eyes widened.

"What…?"

His heart sank like a stone.

It felt like the system was peering into his soul.

Soon, Nolan felt the air vanishing from his lungs.

He blinked.

The screen stayed.

"Wait… wait, what the hell? No! That's not fair!" Nolan barked. "This is my power! I didn't even ask for it! You gave it to me! I will not share it with anyone!"

The system didn't care.

It pulsed again.

Cold. Steady. As if it was final.

He tried to swipe it away.

Nothing.

With his chest, feeling tight, he stepped back.

"You've got to be kidding me…" he muttered. "If I leave… it's gone?"

He reread it. Once. Twice. Five times. Same message. Same threat.

This WISDOM WIDE WEB wasn't bluffing.

His legs shook.

A bead of sweat slid down his neck.

"I can't run?" he whispered. "I really have to teach… using the internet? Using my cheat?"

He stared at the screen.

It stared back.

Nolan felt like it wasn't a message, but an ultimatum.

He paced in a small circle, rubbing his temples, biting his cheek raw.

"No… this doesn't make sense. I finally got the ultimate cheat. The Internet! I was going to get Mana crystals in my own way—not as a teacher and buy every damn game, crush every game and level up silently in this world!" he hissed.

"I was gonna be a legend! I was gonna eat steak every day and never wake up before noon! Who gives a shit about anything!?"

His pacing quickened.

"And now what? Teach? Again!? Those brats!? Those mouthy, lazy, sleepy kids who don't even do their reading!?"

He kicked the wall.

The marble cracked.

He screamed into his arm.

Then—he froze.

A voice echoed faintly in his mind.

"Mister Nolan… thanks. That was the first time I understood something in class."

Earth.

The only student who'd ever thanked him.

He closed his eyes.

That kid… the one he told to fight back.

The one who got him fired.

His lips trembled.

"…Damn it," he whispered.

He stood there, unmoving, for a long time.

The red screen faded.

Nolan didn't smile.

He didn't grin.

He didn't scream.

He simply turned around—like a man walking back into the storm.

Back through the halls.

Back past the faces.

The Academy loomed ahead, towering like fate itself.

Nolan slid both hands into his pockets and let out a long, slow breath.

"Well then…"

He cracked his neck.

"Let's meet those lucky bastards."

…

Meanwhile, in one of the upper-floor classrooms of Silver Blade Academy, chaos reigned.

A balding man in a professor's robe stood frozen before a group of seated students. His entire body was soaked in sweat.

His hands trembled at his sides, knees barely holding up his weight. He tried to speak, but no words came out.

Then suddenly—wham!

One of the students stood up and kicked the professor square in the chest.

The man yelped and flew backward, rolling across the floor with a pained grunt. His robes twisted around his legs, one of his shoes flew off, and his ink bottle shattered beneath him.

"Is that all you've got, huh?" the student barked, stepping forward with the aggression of a lion ready to maul. "You think you can teach us?"

He was a tall young man, probably no older than seventeen, with fire blazing around both fists.

Mana pulsed from him in waves—dense, sharp, furious.

His body was wrapped in a shroud of red-orange energy, and the emblem of a Seventh Stage Mana Conjurer pulsed on the back of his hand.

Flames licked the edges of his uniform coat, but he didn't seem to notice—or care.

"Give us a real professor already!" he roared. "A certified professor of the Academy! Not some trial-stage nobody like you!"

His voice shook the windows.

"You're not even a real professor! You're just another placeholder, some idiot trying to pass your assessment by using us as practice!"

The man on the ground tried to speak. "I-I was assigned to—"

"SHUT UP!" the boy shouted.

Flames exploded from his fist and scorched the nearby floor tiles.

Behind him, other students began to stir. More voices rose.

"Yeah, where are the actual teachers?"

"We didn't come to the best academy in the continent to get babysat by random nobodies!"

"We want real instructors! Not fake ones pretending to be knights!"

The classroom exploded in noise, a dozen voices shouting over each other, fueled by years of stress, expectations, and disappointment.

These were not average students—they were prodigies, delinquents, geniuses, and egomaniacs stuffed into one volatile classroom.

Each of them could conjure magic strong enough to torch a village.

And they were done playing nice.

The professor remained on the ground, trembling. He couldn't even stand anymore. His pride shattered, his dignity crushed.

This wasn't what he signed up for.

This wasn't teaching.

This was a nightmare.

These kids… they weren't even acting like Mana Knights. They were Conjurers. Yet here they were—at the Knight's Division of Silver Blade Academy. Why?

Why were Conjurers enrolling in the Knight department?

He tried to make sense of it. It made no logical—no magical—no philosophical sense at all.

One by one, they turned toward him, circling like wolves.

The lead student, the one with fire magic, bent forward and got right in the professor's face.

His voice dropped into a simmering growl.

"You see this? This fire?" he asked, holding up his flame-covered hand. "It's alive. It moves with my emotions. You know why I'm here? I wanted to learn Knight techniques. But all you people teach is swordplay. Parry this, counter that. Dull, predictable garbage."

He leaned closer.

"I'm a Conjurer. But I want to learn how to use swords. I need to learn stances. I need something powerful than being a conjurer. So I cannot waste time learning from beginner instructor like you… I want a real one, a certified one!"

The flame grew hotter.

The professor's lip trembled. "I… I was just following the manual—"

FWOOOSH!

A fireball suddenly shot past the professor's head, missing by less than an inch.

It scorched the air, crashed into the wall behind him, and left a blackened crater. Part of his hair caught on fire and sizzled with a nasty hiss.

The man screamed, slapping the top of his head to douse the flames.

"I CAN'T DO THIS!" the professor cried as he stumbled to his feet, hair half-burnt, robe torn, shoes mismatched. "THIS CLASS—THIS WHOLE DAMN ROOM—YOU'RE OUT OF CONTROL!"

His voice cracked, panicked and raw.

"I'M JUST A TEMPORARY PROFESSOR! I WAS ASSIGNED TO OBSERVE! NOT GET LIT ON FIRE! THIS IS INSANE!"

He rushed to the door, his bag flopping against his side, papers spilling behind him.

"I'M PUTTING IN A COMPLAINT TO THE HEADMASTER! AND A FORMAL WITHDRAWAL REQUEST! YOU ALL—YOU ALL NEED A DAMN EXORCISM!"

SLAM!

He disappeared.

The door shook in his wake.