Magic Academy's Bastard Instructor

The young Vanitas had shown him every corner of the estate. From the servants' quarters where he once hid from his enraged father, to the library where he feigned dedication to study, just for the sake of appeasing his father.

The tour felt so thorough, it was as though an entire week had passed.

Until they arrived at a single, unvisited door.

"Your room?"

"Yes," the boy answered, nodding. "This is—"

"Where he made you write those diaries."

"Yes."

"...."

They stepped inside. Unlike the grandiose of the rest of the estate, this room looked entirely different. It was nothing like the real version Vanitas remembered. As if he were seeing the room through the original Vanitas's eyes.

Clang…!

A prison.

Chains seemed to bind every corner, evoking a suffocating atmosphere, perhaps a glimpse of the torment the boy once felt. And yet, despite all the grandeur beyond these walls, the space also evoked a peculiar sense of solitude.

It was as though this was the only place where the boy could find even a fleeting moment of peace.

"...."

….In a room full of chains.

——You're going to visit the Queen again today, right?

——Yes, Father.

——Good. Now, be sure to write every detail truthfully, just like before. You'll always do that for me, won't you, Vanitas?

——Yes, Father.

"...."

Vanitas had an idea that the boy had been forced to fabricate the details of his daily life, omitting the torments he faced at home.

All so the Queen, Julia Barielle, would remain ignorant of the truth behind Vanitas and the Astrea household.

"Why?" Vanitas asked without looking at the smaller figure beside him. Instead, his gaze lingered on Vanir Astrea's back, looming over the young Vanitas as he wrote in his diary.

"I've always been writing," replied the boy standing next to Vanitas. "Mother said that memories never truly die if they're written down. Aunt Julia liked my stories. She wasn't very close to her own son or daughter, saying her son was being trained to be his father's heir, and her daughter was sent abroad. So Aunt Julia treated me as if I were her own child, like she was trying to fill that motherly void she felt."

Vanitas stared at the image of the young boy hunched over the desk, pen moving across blank pages.

"Aunt Julia…" he murmured.

"Yes," the younger Vanitas continued. "She would read every word I wrote, then smile and pat my head, telling me I'd done well. That my late mother would've been proud of me."

His lips twitched into a faint, bitter smile.

"And Father liked that. As long as Aunt Julia believed everything was wonderful here, it kept his position secure."

"I see."

"It wasn't always like this," the boy continued. "I used to write nothing but the truth before Mother died. She always praised me, said I had the talent to become a novelist. That was my dream, once… to be a novelist."

"Not an artist?" Vanitas prompted.

"Well, maybe that too," the boy admitted. "You saw the sketches I drew in the diaries you burned, right?"

"They were good."

"And they were honest, at least, before my mother married into the Astrea Family. Everything after that…"

Was a living hell.

"You live in fiction," Vanitas observed.

"It's the only way I can stay sane," the boy said. "To live in a world of my own imagination. To envision a future where I was someone like you."

"Did it never occur to you," Vanitas asked, "how ignorant your mother was?"

"...."

The boy's expression hardened, as though Vanitas's question had struck a raw nerve.

He looked away, clenching his fingers at his sides.

"I wondered that all the time," he confessed. "But I believed she was… sort of aware. Or maybe she was afraid. She married into the Astrea Family, and everything changed so abruptly."

"She was close to the Queen," Vanitas pointed out. "Julia Barielle could've intervened. Your mother could have gone to her for help."

"What are you implying?" the boy asked.

"I'm saying," Vanitas said, his tone blunt, "that the love you remember might not be as bright and pure as you think. If she truly loved you, there were ways to avoid this nightmare."

Clang…!

The sound chains tethered to the walls rattled at that moment.

Clarice Astrea must have known the fate her son endured. And yet, despite her close connection to the Queen, she hadn't acted.

The boy swallowed hard, voice trembling. "I don't want to believe my mother could have… looked away."

"You mentioned that… although she was a commoner, your mother spent much of her life among nobles," Vanitas said.

"Yes. As a researcher, she worked in several noble-owned facilities before I was born," the boy explained. "After I was born, I was friends with some noble kids back then… when I was known as Zen."

Vanitas fell silent, contemplating. Clarice was a widowed commoner, and was surrounded in a sphere of nobles. Perhaps she faced relentless expectations from other mothers who boasted about their perfectly respectable families.

Then, as a single mother, she'd come under even greater scrutiny.

But despite being a widow, when she was offered the rare chance to marry a Viscount, the mounting pressure and the promise of security must have felt like the only escape.

It was all starting to make sense.

"Tell me about your real father," Vanitas asked.

"No one special," the boy replied. "He was an alcoholic. An abusive man. He'd once been infatuated with the Queen, but it was unrequited. Mother told me that much. As young as I was, I was well aware of the problem in our family."

"And so you killed him."

The boy shook his head. "No, mister. You killed him. For me. For Mother."

"I still don't understand—"

Whoosh—

A single sheet of paper fluttered through the air, descending before Vanitas. It was a sketch of a man with black hair and amethyst eyes, wearing glasses.

"It was you," the boy whispered. "You gave me courage. You, the version of me I always wanted to be."

"...."

Vanitas stared at the sketch, heart thudding in his chest. He had seen this a few hours ago, maybe a day ago? Time was quite warped, if he had to be honest.

In any case, now that he took a closer look, the likeness was uncanny. Yet the style was drawn with the honesty only youth could convey.

"I was just a child, and mother was desperate. On my birthday, he tried to hurt her again. That night... I snapped. But… I couldn't face what I did. So I pretended you did it instead. The version of me who was strong enough…"

It might have been a coping mechanism, a psychological defense allowing a young child to endure. Modern psychology might label it a form of dissociation, but the boy seemed wholly aware and in control.

"I don't regret it," he whispered. "But it changed everything. Mother never spoke of him again. Soon after, we ended up at the Astrea Viscount Estate. I buried those memories, told myself it was all just a nightmare."

Vanitas studied him with a grave expression. "And so, the mother you risked your life for… she abandoned you to preserve the stability she'd gained. Clarice Astrea… A new life as a Viscountess, a new daughter cherished by both parents. And you? You became the child forgotten by the mother you loved."

"Don't say that," the boy pleaded. "Mother… didn't abandon me. She… She brought me to her workplace whenever possible, so I could play with the other kids… so I could see Aunt Julia."

"That was her only way of compensating for what she couldn't fix," Vanitas replied. "Because that place was the only refuge from your new father's torment."

Silence pressed between them until, at last, the boy spoke again. "Then… what did you want me to do?"

Vanitas regarded the child standing beside him. A child burdened with guilt and sorrow that seemed far beyond his years.

In many ways, their experiences appeared parallel. Both had been forced into solitude. Both had been forced to endure harsh circumstances, stripped of the chance to live a true childhood.

Both had been forced to mature far too quickly.

"This world of diaries and stories might have protected you once," Vanitas began. "But it won't let you truly live. You've never truly lived."

——So, was it a pitiful life?

"....!"

Vanitas stiffened at the sound of a new voice, and quickly turned. This time, it didn't belong to the young boy. He glanced beside him and quickly realized the child was gone.

A new figure whose face mirrored his own emerged, slowly walking toward him.

——Should I have just died, then?

"....Vanitas Astrea," he murmured.

The same one he remembered from the game.

"Have you… always been here?" he asked.

"I have always been watching," the other Vanitas replied. "From the very beginning until now, I've seen your every move."

Vanitas swallowed hard, a chill running through him.

If the original Vanitas had truly been there all along, then he could seize control at any moment. And if that happened… where would Chae Eun-woo go?

Would he be flung into the afterlife, to Hell, or back to his original life?

Or perhaps, would he remain trapped in this vessel, forced to watch as Vanitas destroyed everything he had tried to build?

"You're fine," the other Vanitas suddenly said, cutting off his spiraling thoughts. "What you're afraid of isn't possible."

"...."

Vanitas stood speechless, struggling to form a response.

"Things can't simply replace what was already there," the other Vanitas continued.

"Then how was I—?"

"You tell me," the other Vanitas interrupted. "How did you manage to overwhelm me in the first place?"

Again, silence fell. Vanitas had no answer.

The other Vanitas smirked, tapping the side of his head. "I'll leave the thinking to you. That's what you're good at, right? Thinking?"

"...."

Vanitas said nothing in return. Instead, he turned his gaze to the father and son in the room.

"I've always wanted to speak to you," he said quietly.

"Then speak away," the other man replied. "This is all we can manage."

Vanitas's voice was calm, but his eyes burned with anger. "I've always wanted to beat you senseless."

"For what?"

"For everything you've done."

"Can you blame me?"

"Other than what you did to Charlotte," Vanitas said, narrowing his eyes, "not really."

"What if I told you that what happened to Charlotte was never my intention?"

Vanitas shrugged. "I suspected as much."

The man gave a soft, humorless laugh. "Anyone ever told you you're bipolar?"

Vanitas's lips twitched. "I'm guessing people have said the same about you?"

"Haha~ Indeed," the other Vanitas replied. "It's crazy."

Silence fell as the soft scratching of a pen echoed. Vanitas's suspicions about Charlotte had more or less been confirmed, but he still couldn't fully piece the puzzle together.

"Let me show you something," said the other Vanitas, motioning for Vanitas to follow.

They walked down a corridor that seemed to materialize out of nowhere and soon arrived at a dining room.

Sitting at the table were two figures. One was Vanitas, and at the far end, Charlotte. Both were quietly eating until Charlotte accidentally dropped her utensil.

In that instant, Vanitas, sitting across, looked up, frowned and began to berate her. He stood from his seat and moved closer, just as Charlotte reached for the knife and glared at him.

"So," asked the other Vanitas, standing beside the observing Vanitas with his arms crossed, "what do you notice?"

"You being a bastard," Vanitas answered flatly.

"Yes, yes," the other Vanitas said. "But is that all?"

"His vein is bulging," Vanitas observed.

"Yes. We call that dark magic. But at this point in time, I hadn't begun practicing it yet."

"How is that possible?"

"Tell me," the other Vanitas countered, "where does dark magic actually stem from? Where does it originate?"

"The Black Dragon."

"Yes, yes. And after the Black Dragon was sealed, what resulted from it?"

"....Demons."

"Precisely. And I—"

"—had been hosting a demon inside your body," Vanitas finished for him.

He swallowed hard at the revelation.

A hush followed as Vanitas tried to process the scene unfolding before him. His past, aggressive self, glimpses of dark magic flaring just beneath the skin.

Meanwhile, the fearful and defiant Charlotte, held a knife, only to drop it in silence and apologize as Vanitas threatened whether she had the courage to kill him with it.

"Did you see it?" the other Vanitas asked.

"I did."

Throughout the confrontation, the Vanitas before them exhibited subtle but telling signs. His fingers continuously twitched. The occasionally clenching of his fist, to the point it drew blood, though imperceptible to Charlotte at the time.

"You've been… suppressing it," Vanitas observed. "This entire time."

"Yes," his counterpart confirmed. "And I wasn't the one lashing out at her."

"It was the demon influencing you."

"Yes. So can you blame me?" the other Vanitas asked, frustration edging his voice. "I was dying, and was only barely managing to repress the demon's influence."

"But that doesn't make sense… If that were true, the university would've figured it out."

"Didn't you know? I distanced myself from Charlotte by the time she turned ten. What does that tell you?"

"You… tamed the demon's spirit?"

"Tamed? No," the other Vanitas corrected with a humorless laugh. "I made a deal with it."

"What kind of deal?"

"In exchange for authority, so we wouldn't clash with one another, we chose to work in tandem. My end of the bargain was doing everything possible to learn dark magic on my own."

Vanitas mulled over the implications. That arrangement meant the demon's spirit had fused with his counterpart's very being. Once a grief-stricken boy, he had transformed into a man who harbored darkness in every corner of his life.

"Then… where did the demon come from?" Vanitas asked.

"Who else?" the other replied. "Vanir Astrea."

"Vanir—"

Before Vanitas could finish, the scene around them shifted once more, revealing a bedroom. An elderly man lay in the bed, clearly at death's door, and standing by his side was Vanitas Astrea yet again.

——Kill… me.

——That would be too easy for you, old man. You don't get to pass away so peacefully now, do you?

——There's no… point.

——Oh, there is. I want to watch you suffer. The child you dragged into hell will be the last thing you see before you close your eyes.

——....I've raised you well.

——It's all I've ever known.

The dying father's raspy breaths cut through the silence, while Vanitas stood over him with a mixture of hatred and satisfaction etched into his features.

——Did you know, Father? I have cancer. The same one mother had.

——....

——Isn't it amusing? The son you invested so much in will die before whatever plans you had for me ever reach fruition.

But his father merely scoffed, causing the other Vanitas to frown.

——Don't laugh at me.

——Why…. shouldn't I? You're everything… I wanted you to be. You're not… a man who would accept death so… easily.

——Wanted me to be…? You still dare mock me until the end?! It was you who brought me to this nightmare. You, who—

——Haa…. You're too loud, you brat.

——Tsk.

Vanitas and his counterpart listened closely as the scene played out before them. Moments later, Vanitas spoke, not bothering to look at the other Vanitas beside him.

"I still don't understand," he said. "Where did the demon come from? Why did—"

"Just wait."

"Wait for w—"

Suddenly, the voices in the memory continued.

——Find a way to save yourself, like how I saved… you.

——Saved me?! You—

——Cancer, right? You would've died way back then if I hadn't done what I did.

——Fuck you!

——Because of me, you have the mana to surpass even the Archmage herself… Now, go find a way… to rid of that shit.

——....I never asked for this.

——I never asked you to ask.

Vanitas turned to his counterpart, and said, "Wait, so you're telling me…"

"My second stigmata," the other Vanitas replied, "is the demon's authority."

Boundless Reservoir.

"The Demon of Zen."

"....!"

At those final words, a shock tore through Vanitas like a jolt of electricity. He gasped, and his eyes snapped open, sweat beading on his forehead as he abruptly found himself staring at a familiar ceiling.

"H-haaa... Haaa...."

He was in his bedroom.