Professor Shameless

Suddenly, Nolan narrowed his eyes, with an unhurried lazy tone of voice, he began his scheme.

"Why are you all going to the City of Murlacks, anyway? A third-grade academy—don't you think that's too high for your first step? Why not start with a second-grade academy in a lower city, build a foundation, and then move up?"

The students blinked.

A few looked at each other as if confused by the question, until a boy with gelled silver hair and a haughty gaze stood up from the back row, crossing his arms.

"We're not nobodies, Professor. We don't need to climb steps when we're born to leap."

His voice carried arrogance like it was stitched into his bones. "We are talented," he said with the smugness of someone who'd been told that a thousand times.

"Oh?" Nolan tilted his head slightly. "Talented? How so?"

Without another word, the silver-haired student stepped forward and released a surge of power.

The room instantly shifted—heavy, wind-charged pressure exploded outward from his core.

Invisible gales swept through the hall, the windows rattling, and the torches flickering violently.

Several students instinctively flinched back, covering their eyes.

A soft rumble echoed across the wooden floor as the pressure reached its peak.

However, it didn't move Nolan, even a slightest.

There was no flinch. No grimace. Not even a raised brow.

The students hadn't expected a reaction.

Usually, other professors would be shell-shocked whenever they displayed their magic aura.

Soon enough, the smug smirk on the silver-haired boy's face began to twitch.

A few others exchanged puzzled glances.

Why wasn't this new professor reacting?

The other professors always tried to de-escalate, compliment, or at least show some form of alarm.

The moment stretched, tense and awkward.

Finally, the silver-haired student relented, withdrawing the pressure.

The room eased. But there was some tension that remained.

Nolan, face utterly blank, asked, "Is that all?"

The silence that followed was pin-drop.

The boy's eyes narrowed. "Can't you see? I'm a sixth-stage Wind Conjurer!"

He looked around the room, searching for validation, and pointed at his peers. "Kera's a seventh-stage Fire Conjurer! Ruvin's eighth-stage Earth! We're the top-tier elite of this Academy, and we don't need someone like you downplaying our strengths!"

His voice cracked slightly near the end, clearly angered by Nolan's indifference.

Nolan blinked lazily, then feigned a small startled expression. "Oh… You're angry?"

He scanned the classroom, eyes moving from face to face. "I didn't realize being called talented would offend you."

A few students squirmed in their seats.

The silver-haired boy clenched his jaw.

Then Nolan's expression darkened.

"But let me tell you something—" he said, voice firm, tone clipped.

"You all say you're going to the City of Murlacks… but do you even know what kind of students end up in the Murlacks Academy?"

He paused, letting the silence build.

"They're not just Conjurers. Most of them have dual cultivation paths—Knights and Conjurers both. Some of them are what the world calls Magic Knights."

He stepped closer to the center of the room.

"You're proud of your eighth-stage conjuring? That's fine. But let me tell you something bitter. The Murlacks Academy doesn't gasp in awe at eighth-stage Conjurers.

"Because even among their first-years, you'll find students who can shatter boulders with mana-infused fists and incinerate a beast in the next breath."

He raised his voice, like thunder cracking through their confidence.

"They are just students. Like you."

The words echoed.

Nolan didn't stop.

"And unlike you, most of them have already completed Knight fundamentals. Some even fought in border skirmishes for training. You think they'll bat an eye at your wind pressure in a classroom?"

He looked around again. "I'm not saying you'll be rejected outright. I'm saying you'll likely fail. Not because you're weak, but because you're unprepared. And unprepared students die… or get sent back in disgrace."

The class was quiet now—no more laughing, no more side-chatter, no more arrogance.

Even the silver-haired student had lowered his gaze slightly.

After a long, still silence, someone finally asked, "How do you know?"

Nolan tapped his temple, resisting the urge to smirk.

The truth was too absurd to share—he'd inherited this body from a failed Mana Knight of a fourth-grade city, a city that directly oversaw the Murlacks region. But instead of saying that, he simply shrugged. "I just know."

The students exchanged looks again, but this time with unease, not mockery.

Then Kera, the seventh-stage Fire Conjurer, crossed her arms and tilted her head. "You're lying. You just want us to join the assessment so you can teach us."

Nolan's brow twitched.

He pointed at his own face. "Look at me."

She blinked.

"Can you see any flicker of excitement on this face?" His tone was dry. "Do I look like someone who wants to teach a group of entitled brats with inflated egos?"

A suffocating silence gripped the room.

Nobody spoke.

Even the arrogant boy sat frozen in his seat.

Finally, Nolan exhaled and waved a hand as if dismissing the air itself.

"You don't believe me? Fine. Leave."

He turned toward the door, took a step, and then added without looking back, "But if you want to stay…" He glanced over his shoulder.

"Then pay."

Suddenly, the eyes of the students widened.

They hadn't expected Nolan to be so blunt, so indifferent, so… real. He wasn't groveling for respect, and he wasn't putting on a performance to win their admiration.

He wasn't like the other professors—who always tiptoed around their egos, praised their talents, and buttered them up with compliments that they'd long grown used to hearing.

No, this man… this Professor Nolan, was speaking without flattery or fear.

It made them pause, like they were seeing something they didn't understand.

Then, to their surprise, Nolan clapped his hands once and said casually, "Alright then. Let's not waste time. If you want to stay, give me at least thirty magic crystals each."

There was a beat of silence.

Soon a wind would come to the silent classroom.

Then—boom—chaos.

"Thirty?!" a student shouted, face twisted in disbelief.

"Are you out of your mind?!"

"Even official professors don't ask for that much!"

"You're still under assessment! You're not even a full-fledged professor!"

Their voices overlapped like crashing waves. Even the more composed students had lost their calm.

"Do you think magic crystals grow on trees?!"

"Thirty is robbery! We could hire private masters for less!"

A dark-haired girl raised her hand, her face red with frustration. "Do you think we're idiots? Is this how you want to scam your way into wealth—by robbing students who just wanted to be taught?"

"You just want our crystals! You probably can't even teach! What do you know about the City of Murlacks anyway? Just a scare tactic!"

"Thirty crystals from each of us—that's nearly four hundred in total! You could start your own sect with that!"

"You're not even wearing the academy badge correctly!"

"Are you broke? Is that what this is about? Should we buy you shoes next?"

A tall boy with a wild red mane barked, "This is extortion, not education!"

"You said you didn't even want to teach us! Now you're demanding crystals? Shameless!"

"Just admit it—you're a con artist!"

Their voices rose louder and louder, a tide of outrage swelling into a full-on storm.

The classroom walls seemed to tremble with their volume.

They were rich, yes.

Some were noble-born.

Some had private tutors. But none of them had ever been asked—no, demanded—to pay upfront by a teacher they hadn't even accepted yet.

It felt like they were being toyed with, like their pride was being smacked in the face with an open palm.

And through it all, Nolan stood in front of them—leaning against the desk, completely unfazed.

He raised his pinky finger to his ear, twisted it slightly, then yawned as he flicked imaginary dust off it.

He blew the dust away with exaggerated slowness.

The students saw it.

And they raged harder.

"Are you listening to us?!"

"Stop acting so smug!"

"You're making a mockery of the entire Academy!"

Nolan finally straightened his posture, slowly turning to face them again. He didn't look angry. He didn't even look amused. He just looked… bored.

"I'm unlike any professor you've ever met," he said flatly. "I'm unique."