Magic Academy's Bastard Instructor

"Follow me, mister. I have so much more to show you," the boy said, walking ahead of Vanitas.

But Vanitas didn't move. He stood still with his eyes cast down toward the stone floor of the manor. This place… This entire projection… was starting to wear on him.

The cognitive pressure was mounting, and he could feel the seams of the illusion begin to stretch. His mind was likely signaling it was time to wake up.

But he didn't want to, not yet.

This was a rare opportunity. A chance to understand Vanitas Astrea completely. The boy ahead of him, who hadn't once smiled during this entire sequence, turned slightly, glancing back with that same empty expression.

"There's one place I want to see," Vanitas said at last. "Take me to the basement."

The boy stopped. His shoulders stiffened.

"The basement?" he repeated, voice lower than before. "But that's… the end of this tour."

"I know," Vanitas said calmly, stepping forward. "That's why I need to see it."

For a moment, the boy didn't respond. Then he gave a small nod, and turned without another word, walking toward a hallway that hadn't been there before.

As they walked, voices continued to reverberate from the walls, clearly layering over one another.

——Mother… please… let's go back…

——Heidi… why does brother… hate father so much… Why does he… hate me so much.

——Why are you afraid, Vani? Did your father… do something.

Among them, only one conversation stood out clearly to Vanitas. A boy's voice. His voice, speaking to his mother.

——No, father… is a great man.

——Isn't he? Aren't you glad your father fell in love with me?

——....Yes.

The deeper they went, the colder the air became.

The lights above slowly faded. The paintings on the walls grew less frequent, then vanished entirely. At the end of the hall was a single iron door.

The boy stopped in front of it. "This is where I stopped drawing."

Vanitas stared at the door. "Because this is where he kept you, isn't it?"

"No," the boy said, slowly placing a hand on the door. "This is where I kept you."

The door creaked open.

Whoosh—

A gust of cold wind blasted through the opening, and Vanitas instinctively stepped back. His heart pounded. A chilling dread crawled up his spin. One that had no clear source, yet felt impossibly familiar.

When the wind dissipated, the room came into view.

A circular chamber, blanketed with blooming midnight roses. The beautiful petals seemed to be the only colors in this monochromatic room, swaying ever so slightly.

And at the center of it all, a lone boy lay on the ground, as though life had long since abandoned him.

"...."

Vanitas took a step forward. His gaze drifted up.

There, emerging from the far shadows, a figure approached. Jet-black hair framed his face in curtain bangs, and his eyes mirrored that of Charlotte's in hue, gleaming under a gaze both cold and indifferent.

"You're here, I see," the figure said.

Vanitas's hands curled into fists at his sides, his brows raising slightly.

"….Vanir Astrea."

It was Vanir Astrea, the former head of the Astrea Viscount Family, and Vanitas Astrea's stepfather.

And yet, something was off. Vanir's expression didn't quite meet his. His gaze was fixed on Vanitas, but not truly focused.

"I've been waiting the entire time for you to visit me," Vanir said as his eyes held steady with Vanitas's amethyst gaze.

But even then, it felt detached. As if he was speaking to a shadow, not a person.

Vanitas turned slightly to the boy beside him. "This is still a memory, isn't it?"

The boy nodded once. "Yes. Everything here is part of our cognition. Nothing you see is an accident. Though… shaped by my perspective. There are no lies here. Only exaggerations."

"Exaggerations," Vanitas repeated "So everything has been your perception."

"Our perceptions," the boy corrected.

Vanitas nodded once in return, then turned his gaze to Vanir, and asked, "Can you see me?"

"I assume you're asking if I can see you," Vanir replied calmly. "But unfortunately, I cannot. So forgive me if my interpretations are a little off. Still, even if my abilities are fading, I'm still an origin."

"F-Father…." the boy in the center rasped.

Vanir didn't so much as glance his way. "Be quiet now, Vanitas. It's rude to interrupt when the adults are speaking."

"...."

The boy froze. His wide eyes flicked toward the doorway where Vanitas stood, but he didn't meet his gaze. As though he couldn't even see him.

"Who are you—" the boy began, but his words cut short.

Vanir smiled.

It was a subtle, gentle smile. But the kind of smile that seemed to steal the breath from the young Vanitas's lungs. His pupils dilated as he fell into complete, trembling silence.

With all the implications, it was hard not to digest the situation, especially with someone as perceptive as Vanitas.

Vanir Astrea… had anticipated this meeting since the very beginning.

But what caught Vanitas off guard was that one single word.

"Origin?" Vanitas asked. "Just like… the Saintess?"

Vanir gave a slow nod. "Yes. I'm an origin that perceives denominations. Though in my dying age, I can feel the power waning. If I'm correct, it's already begun transferring… to a young orphan girl in the Theocracy."

Vanitas fell silent.

The Saintess. Of course.

"If you could perceive glimpses of the future," Vanitas began. "Then why remain a Viscount? You could've used that ability to rise through the hierarchy and escape the life of the nobility's hunting dog. So why take the boy's mother? Why destroy his childhood?"

"Ambitions," Vanir replied, tone flat. "Why settle for a Marquess or a Dukedom… when the Astrea name could rise even higher?"

"A coup d'état, then?"

"No," Vanir said calmly. "Still too small."

Vanitas's brows furrowed. "Then… the world?"

Vanir nodded once.

"You're insane," Vanitas muttered.

And yet… for a man with ambitions that grand, Vanir Astrea had died on a simple deathbed. That alone would've been laughable, if not for the gnawing thought that maybe, just maybe, even that had been taken into account

"I've raised you well," Vanir said suddenly. "And yes. Whatever you're thinking right now, you're correct."

He smiled again. That same cold, sinister smile.

"I've foreseen my end. At your hands, no less. But even knowing that… I hold no regrets."

"...."

Vanitas didn't respond right away. He stepped forward and dropped to one knee beside the boy, reaching out to touch his cheek, but his hand merely phased right through, like mist.

Vanir's gaze never shifted. Still fixed toward the entrance. Still not truly seeing him.

As Vanitas lowered his hand, his thoughts turned grim.

'As I thought.'

He looked up at Vanir. "This boy… does he suffer from what I suspect? Stigmata personality disorder?"

Vanir nodded. "Yes. Quite fascinating, isn't it? As if fate itself brought me and his mother together. A divine gift, perhaps. For atonement. If that's what God intended, then he has a cruel sense of irony."

"Then… am I the result of your abuse?"

"It's laughable, really," Vanir said, his voice void of remorse. "All the delusions that tried to protect him. The personas he created just to survive. None of them lasted. No matter what mask he wore, they were all devoured by one constant."

Vanitas met his gaze. "And that constant is… me?"

Vanir smiled. "Yes. You."

A pause.

"But as for who you really are, I do not know," Vanir said. "You're the amalgamation of everything this boy endured."

A glint gleamed in his eyes.

"Did you know?" Vanir continued. "His biological father was obsessed with the Imperial Queen. Borderline madness, to the point he pursued the boy's mother not for love, but for her connection to the Queen."

He laughed quietly, a twisted satisfaction in his voice.

Vanitas held his silence, then asked, "So… the boy endured all of this under your hand just to… draw me out?"

Vanir shook his head. "No. You misunderstand. It was so I could survive."

"Survive?"

"Yes. So I wouldn't kill him, and vice-versa."

"...."

"I'm not entirely heartless," he said, as if explaining a chore. "Even cruelty needs a reason. I don't act without justification. And the boy… he was born cursed. I don't know why. But he was always broken. If anything…" he looked toward the boy on the ground, "I saved him. Call it a father's duty, blood-related or not."

"...."

Vanitas stared for a long moment.

"This is your version of salvation?"

"To shelter something cursed, yes," Vanir said. "It's not a noble thing. But… a necessity."

Vanitas's voice turned sharper. "Did you ever consider the consequences of your so-called sheltering? That the cycle of abuse repeats itself? That this boy, your 'project', began lashing out at the only other person he loved? At Charlotte?"

Vanir's smile faltered, ever so slightly.

"That… is where my failure lies," he admitted. "I don't know the full extent of it. But I've always sensed the curse was deeper than I could grasp. If I'm correct, the stigmata lodged within him lashes out when his emotions reach a certain threshold."

Vanitas narrowed his eyes.

"So it wasn't just you he's been protecting Charlotte from," Vanitas said slowly. "It was his own inner demons.

Vanir's lips curled again, as if pleased by his conclusion. "Perfect."

A brief silence settled between them. Around them, the midnight roses had begun to wither. The colors were slowly draining petal by petal, until only pale husks remained.

"Then let me ask," Vanitas continued, "did you ever foresee… Vanitas Astrea failing? The world turning its back on him?"

Vanir hummed, rubbing his chin in amusement. "Interesting. So you're aware as well. But you see… I've seen different endings, or beginnings, depending on how you look at it. Blue eyes. Golden eyes. Lavender eyes. They all appear in his final moments. I never could decipher what they meant."

"...."

Vanitas narrowed his eyes. If his theories were right, those colors could signify the branching routes the game once took, routes perhaps shaped by the people around him.

His so-called downfall—his exile… may not have been the conclusion after all, but the beginning of something even the world could never comprehend.

"At the end of it all… did you see it, Vanir?" Vanitas asked. "Did this boy ever find salvation?"

Vanir smiled slightly. "That's the question, isn't it? Did my efforts bear fruit? Did he reach the library spoken only in fairy tales? And perhaps your presence here, your existence… is it the answer to that?"

Vanitas blinked. "What do you mean?"

Vanir turned fully toward him now.

"That you might be the fruit born from his salvation," he said.

Vanitas's jaw tensed. His eyes widened, as the puzzle pieces began to piece themselves together.

At the end, when Vanitas Astrea disappeared from the narrative entirely…

Had he truly reached it?

"...."

Had he actually found the Archives of Haven?

"No matter what happens, this world will be swallowed whole," Vanir said calmly. "I may not live to see it, but I have my sentimentalities. I don't want to see it all burn."

Vanitas narrowed his eyes. "What does that have to do with everything you've done?"

"In time, you'll understand," Vanir replied. "I don't yet have the means to see the full picture myself, but I believe all of this, everything I've done, will make sense as part of the greater outcome."

"You're delusional," Vanitas said coldly. "The boy is sick, just like his mother. Naturally, I am, too. And I'll die in a bed somewhere, forgotten by everyone."

"...."

There was a pause.

Vanir's expression didn't change.

"And that, too, is a means to an end."

* * *

Elsa Hesse had cleared the wave on her own. The majority of the students had been safely evacuated to the 57th floor, and the chimeras had significantly dwindled. The immediate threat was no longer overwhelming.

But the cost had been high.

Elsa stood near the edge of the ruined corridor, blood running down her arm with her coat being torn.

Around her, several Crusade instructors were slumped against walls, wounded but alive while magic professors were tending to one another.

She exhaled, steadying herself on the remains of a broken railing.

"Status report," she ordered.

A nearby staff member jogged up.

"183 students injured, twelve professors critical, three…" He paused. "Three confirmed casualties. One being Professor Ruby, of the spirit department."

Elsa closed her eyes for a brief moment, grief passing over her features but only for a second.

"Then—"

Rumble—

The university tower shook again. Elsa had hoped it was over, but the tremors coming from the upper floors told her otherwise.

"Tsk." She clicked her tongue in frustration and quickly ascended. Reaching the 43rd floor, a sudden surge of magic erupted from the left corridor.

———!

"Barriers!" she shouted.

The mages flanking her responded immediately, casting just in time to intercept the first blast.

It was then.

——In the name of the Father, and of the Son… the Araxys has brought its divine judgment.

Elsa's eyes widened.

Boom———!

An explosion tore through the hallway, engulfing the center of the formation.

Mages screamed as their barriers shattered like glass. Bodies flew. The shockwave sent Elsa hurtling back, crashing into the wall with bone-cracking force. Smoke and dust swallowed the corridor.

"Cough! Cough…!"

Blood dripped from her lips as she struggled to move, her body pinned beneath the rubble.

Through the haze of dust and smoke, a silhouette emerged.

A robed figure stepped forward, clutching a bible inscribed with glowing Araxys symbols. Gold embroidery lined their sleeves.

A fanatic.

She pushed herself into position, ignoring the searing pain in her side. Her fingers gripped her staff and she began to chant.

But before the spell could take form—Snap—!

Violet chains burst from the floor beneath her, coiling around her limbs and torso in an instant. The spell collapsed in her throat as the chains cinched tight, forcing her back to the ground.

"Oh, Great Power," the robed figure cooed mockingly. "How gracious of you to bless the faithful with such magic. You truly live up to your title. But now look at you… exhausted. Were the beasts truly so fearsome?"

"...."

Elsa said nothing, her expression locked in a cold glare as she quietly began murmuring a chant under her breath.

It was true. Some of the chimeras had resisted her spells entirely. Their forms had been distorted beyond magical detection, and her standard attacks had simply dispersed through them. Only the intervention of skilled knights had put those monsters down.

She'd realized too late that anything below Master-class magic barely affected them at all. The effort had forced her to unleash Grandmaster-tier spells again and again. It was no wonder her body ached from head to toe.

Her mana channels were scorched. Her vision was blurring at the edges, and her strength had drained nearly to nothing after twelve punishing hours—fighting, shielding, coordinating, saving lives alongside knights and professors alike.

Still, her lips moved.

The fanatic grinned at her resistance. "Still holding on?"

———!

Suddenly, a final chain burst from beneath the stone floor—and drove straight through Elsa's chest.

"Kugh…!"

Her eyes widened for a fleeting moment before the light faded from them completely. Her lips fell still, the chant silenced. Her staff rolled from her grasp with a soft clatter.

The robed figure approached, kneeling beside her lifeless form calmly.

"Do not despair," he whispered. "Generations will remember your name, Elsa Hesse. The Calamity Witch who once brought ruin to her own homeland… but died a hero, saving lives from chaos she could not contain."

He stood, lifting his arms in prayer.

"The Araxys will welcome your soul in the paradise we shall build."

Behind him, smoke curled into the air as the 43rd floor burned in silence.

And in that silence…

Boom——!

Elsa Hesse's body detonated in a burst of self-destruction magic, consuming the fanatic in the explosion. His body slammed against the far wall, blood trailing down from where he struck.

As the smoke cleared, a single silhouette remained standing, glaring down at him with cold, furious eyes.

"You…" the fanatic choked, barely able to speak, only to be silenced in an instant.

———!

Magic circles flared beneath as a spike of jagged shadows burst from beneath him, piercing through his body and carving up through five floors above like a spear.

Amidst the settling smoke and shattered rubble, the figure remained standing. Blood trickled from the corners of her eyes, yet her expression gleamed with flames that refused to die out.

"I didn't earn my title by accident," she said coldly. "If I could be taken down so easily… I'd have no right to guide the next generation."

Elsa Hesse, the Calamity Witch.

Feared for her devastating magical output.

And unmatched in the mastery of the most formidable essence of all.

Umbra.

"Haa…!"

Her body leaned heavily against the wall, her chest rising and falling as she fought to steady her breath.

The Sovereign-class spell—Shadow's Hierarchy—had taken a brutal toll. In that critical instant, she had switched places with a shadow she had embedded in the floor earlier. The chains had struck her, yes, but not fast enough to pierce her heart.

Tak. Tak. Tak.

Footsteps echoed down the corridor. A young mage appeared, panting.

"Headmaster!" they cried, wide eyed. "We have a problem!"

Elsa straightened slightly, ignoring the ache that tore through her limbs.

"Report."

"The Imperial Professor candidates… they're missing."