The Villain Professor's Second Chance

Sunlight streamed through the stained-glass windows of Queen Aurelia's private chamber, scattering vibrant hues of crimson, gold, and violet across the polished marble floor. The myriad colors shimmered softly with each subtle shift of daylight, painting the room in a living mosaic. In the midst of these dancing lights, an elegant obsidian Go board rested on a low table, rows of perfectly aligned black and white stones awaiting the drama of another match. Each stone gleamed with a faint luster, as though charged by the tension that perpetually hovered around Queen Aurelia and her esteemed—if aggravating—teacher.

Lounging on a plush chaise with the indolent grace of a pampered cat, Queen Aurelia draped one lithe arm over the side, her posture an insolent challenge to anyone who entered her domain. Her hair, a fierce red that could rival the brightest flame, flared with residual mana that flickered intermittently at the ends. The subtle arc of energy across the tips revealed that she had recently unleashed her temper on some hapless training dummy, or perhaps an unfortunate piece of furniture. With her, one could never be certain; destruction trailed her bored whims as surely as a shadow. Yet, for all her so-called laziness, there was power in her every languid movement.

She eyed the Go board with a half-smile curving at the corners of her lips, chin resting against her knuckles in a show of practiced nonchalance. Her gaze, half-lidded but glinting with amusement, flicked upward at the sound of footsteps echoing through the arched doorway.

It was Draven, entering with quiet composure as always, robes trailing behind him in crisp, controlled lines. Scrolls were neatly tucked beneath one arm, reflecting his precise nature, and his entire bearing exuded an air of unflappable calm. No anxiety, no excitement—only a sense of measured inevitability, as though the outcome of any encounter he faced had long been decided in his favor. His eyes, keen and calculating, took in the swirling lights on the floor, the expectant Go board, and the queen's effortless sprawl.

"Come to lose again, bastard?" Aurelia drawled, stretching her legs, the silky material of her gown catching the colorful glow. Even as she spoke, a trace of impatience threaded her voice, betrayed by the quickening spark in her eyes. She might pretend otherwise, but she'd been waiting for this, and waiting had never been her forte.

Draven paused near the table, dipping his head in the barest semblance of a bow. "Only in vocabulary, Your Majesty." His tone was devoid of apology or arrogance—simply a neutral statement, a matter of fact. It sent an electric jolt of annoyance through her, though she tried not to show it. He set the scrolls aside, then lowered himself onto the cushion opposite her, claiming his seat with an understated grace. The way he moved spoke of complete control—of both space and mind.

Aurelia felt the corners of her mouth twitch, torn between scowling and smiling. She settled on a dry scoff. Flicking her eyes at the black stones, she reached lazily for one and dropped it onto the board with a satisfying click. The sound cut through the hush like the start of a duel. "Let's see if your smugness can survive today."

"Optimism is a useful trait," Draven said calmly, selecting his first white stone, "if you're aiming to be disappointed."

She stiffened at his retort. The nerve of that man, she thought, as she placed another black stone with a snap of her wrist. Silence fell, but it was alive with anticipation. They both knew what would follow: a battle of intellect, cunning, and perhaps a sprinkle of petty vindictiveness. In many ways, it was no different from a true battlefield—every stone akin to a soldier, every formation an ambush or a trap. And just as in war, a single misstep meant ruin.

Their opening moves were swift, almost casual, yet bristling with subtlety. Draven's stones seemed to appear in patterns that wouldn't reveal themselves until much later, while Aurelia's—though forceful—showed glimpses of deep foresight. She hated to lose, but in Go, she'd never once beaten him. She'd come close exactly twice, but even those times, Draven had turned the tables on her in the final moments.

A certain intensity settled over them as the mid-game arrived. A web of black and white stones spread across the board in intricate territory lines. The color spilled across Aurelia's lap from the stained glass, a kaleidoscope dancing over her scarlet hair. She studied Draven's face, searching for a hint of weakness. Nothing. No smirk, no frown—just that impassive stare. It was infuriating.

"You baited that move, didn't you, smug bastard?" she demanded, setting a stone near a corner Draven seemed determined to invade.

Draven tapped the board lightly, a near-smile ghosting across his lips. "If I say yes, will you finally study before I arrive?"

Her hair almost sparked with indignation. "Tch. Like I'd fall for that trap."

"You already did."

She slammed down a stone in retaliation, the abrupt noise loud in the otherwise still air. "Bastard," she muttered. An amused glint flickered in her gaze despite her annoyance. She might be furious at his condescending attitude, but the thrill of being challenged was undeniable. Nobody else dared speak to her with such bold cheek.

In her next sequence of moves, Aurelia tried to break through his territory with an aggressive incursion, black stones forging deep into white's domain. But Draven, unflappable as ever, responded with precise cuts and elegant sacrifices that turned her own aggression against her.

Bit by bit, she felt the ground slip beneath her. She cursed inwardly. She always told herself this time might be different, that she might catch him unprepared. And each time, she found herself entangled in the cunning web he'd spun from the very start.

Within minutes, or perhaps an eternity of silent aggression and tension, Draven placed one last white stone, and she sensed the game's conclusion before she even fully processed it. It was like the final note in a symphony, echoing in the hush of the chamber. Her black stones were pinned, her territory carved up mercilessly. The final blow arrived with a calm inevitability that left her no room to protest.

She stared, chewing the inside of her cheek. The lines on the board told a story of methodical conquest. Slowly, Aurelia leaned back, exhaling her frustration in a single heavy breath. "Next time I'm flipping the board before you even sit down."

There was a faint dryness in his tone as he retrieved a cushion that had come hurtling across the table: "Then I'll teach you why order matters."

She hated that he said it so calmly, so sure of himself. It was as if no matter what chaos she introduced, Draven would calmly rectify it—like a cosmic force of neatness and logic. Her annoyance flared again, overshadowed only by a grudging respect.

The cushion had landed squarely against his chest, and he caught it with neither haste nor alarm. He simply set it aside in a neat corner. Typical, she thought, rolling her eyes. Everything in his world was always placed exactly where it needed to be.

For a moment, Aurelia told herself she should say something cutting, something that would wipe that cool, collected look off his face. But no words came. Instead, she felt the sharp desire for another round, another chance to break his invincible calm. She had lost count of how many times they'd played, how many times he'd beaten her by unraveling her best strategies before she even realized what strategies she was using. And yet the frustration always felt fresh, always left that twinge of wanting more.

Her gaze moved from the Go board to him. The interplay of colors on the floor had shifted; a slant of golden sunlight now fell across his shoulder, highlighting the sharp angles of his robe. Draven's attention flicked up from the board to meet her eyes—eyes that were hot with unspent energy. She wondered if he saw in her face the potent swirl of admiration and exasperation that she tried to hide behind barbs and curses.

He was cold, annoyingly so. Even as Aurelia recognized his intelligence, she loathed that he never betrayed the slightest crack in his facade. Still, there was a hint of something in that stillness—a confidence that didn't need words or bravado. She almost wanted to tear it apart, see if she could find the man beneath the composure. But that was a thought best left unspoken.

She straightened, flicking a stray lock of red hair out of her eyes. "One day," she said, her voice lower than usual, "I'll crush you in this game. And when I do, I'll make sure you never forget it."