Villainous Instructor at the Academy

I wasn't ready.

But I had never been ready, not really. Not when I died. Not when I woke up in this cursed world. Not when I stood in front of a mirror and saw a face that wasn't mine—but now was.

The moment the mirror shattered, the cathedral behind me crumbled into dust. The world shifted beneath my feet, turning the misty village into a hollow void.

And in that void, the ground rebuilt itself—stone by stone, until I stood atop a wide, circular platform suspended in a sea of red fog.

Runes spiraled outward beneath my boots.

And the figure at the edge of the arena finally moved.

It was tall.

Humanoid in shape, but wrapped in strips of parchment—each strip inked with phrases I couldn't read. Its face was wrapped too, save for a slit of burning light where its eyes should've been.

In one hand, it held a broken sword.

In the other—a mirror shard.

I didn't need a narrator to explain what this was.

This was my Trial.

The first Eclipse.

The Trial of Pattern.

A voice cut through the air—not from the figure, but from the runes.

___

"Identity: Fractured."

"Purpose: Questioned."

"Outcome: Undefined."

___

I felt a tug at my chest.

My thoughts blurred. My memories staggered.

Was I Lucian Drelmont?

Was I the failure who had died alone in his room, drowning in resentment and regret?

Was I the man who now taught students how to defy fate?

Or was I neither?

The parchment figure raised its sword.

And charged.

I barely blocked in time—raising an illusionary blade, conjured by instinct more than skill. Metal clashed, sparks flew. The figure moved like it knew every technique I did.

Because it did.

It was using my style—Severance Form.

Crude at first. Sloppy.

But as the fight went on, it adapted.

Got sharper.

Faster.

Like it was remembering how to be me.

"This isn't fair," I snarled, backstepping from a downward slash.

It answered by copying the same move I used to shut down Julien's charge last week.

The bastard even had the smirk right.

"Then again," I whispered, lowering my stance, "I've never cared about fair."

I feinted left, let the figure swing, then pivoted in—close enough to grab its arm.

The parchment hissed against my skin. It burned.

But I grinned.

And whispered into its blank face:

"You're just an echo."

Then drove my blade into its chest.

Right where my heart used to ache the most.

The figure didn't scream.

It simply froze.

The mirror shard it held crumbled to ash.

And the runes beneath me began to glow.

The platform cracked.

The mist thinned.

____

"Trial Complete."

"Phobia Awakened."

"Designation: Patternflame."

___

Suddenly I couldn't breathe.

My chest seared—like something was branding itself into me.

Red chains erupted from my spine, spiraling around my arm like a serpent. My shadow twisted. My body collapsed forward.

And then—

A whisper.

From the mist.

___

"You have seen the pattern."

"Now, become the flame."

___

I gasped.

And woke up—

In my dormitory bed.

Breathless.

Sweaty.

Alive.

My fingers trembled as I looked at them. Red lines shimmered faintly beneath my skin, coiling from palm to elbow like veins of ember.

I clenched my fist.

A single rune flickered above it—my own crest, fractured at the edge.

And for the first time since I came to this world…

…I smiled.

Because I wasn't just surviving anymore.

I was becoming.

I didn't sleep after that.

Even with my body screaming for rest, even with my muscles twitching from residual mana stress, I stayed sitting on the edge of my bed—staring at the faint ember-like lines glowing beneath my skin.

I wasn't hallucinating. I wasn't dreaming.

The Trial had happened.

The Eclipse had branded me.

And now, I was something more than human—something less than stable.

A Lunatic.

I exhaled slowly, rotating my wrist. The red lines along my arm shifted slightly, rearranging like threads weaving into sigils. Not consciously. Reflexively.

I wasn't doing it.

The Patternflame was.

A Phobia born from my fear of losing identity, of being overwritten, replaced, forgotten. It made sense. The Trial had shown me that much.

But what didn't make sense was this:

Why now?

Why me?

No one had reported a blood mist breach near the Academy. No Eclipse warnings. No signs.

So either the system was broken—

—or someone forced it on me.

I stood and moved to the mirror. My reflection didn't mock me this time. It didn't blur.

It stared back.

Cyan eyes. Platinum blonde hair. The face of Lucian Drelmont, but sharper now. Worn.

The red pattern flickering just under my skin didn't glow in the mirror.

Only I could see it.

Figures.

This world never gave you clean answers.

Only better lies.

By dawn, I was dressed and outside.

The academy hadn't changed—students laughing, instructors barking orders, mana beams exploding in distant fields.

But my senses had.

I could feel rhythms around me—people's movement patterns, spell cadences, heartbeat fluctuations.

Not consciously.

Not perfectly.

Just...fragments.

And more than once, I nearly vomited from the overload.

"Professor Drelmont!"

I turned at the voice—reflexively shifting my footwork into Severance Form stance three.

Julien jogged over, hair still damp, probably fresh from the showers.

"You alright?" he asked, frowning. "You look like someone hit you with a Lightning Rune while whispering about taxes."

"…Charming," I muttered.

"You missed morning rounds."

"I had...a vision quest."

Julien blinked. "Wait, seriously?"

"No."

"…Wait, no to the quest or no to the serious?"

I didn't answer.

He frowned harder. "Okay, now I'm worried. That's your 'I just saw someone die' voice."

I didn't have the energy to lie.

So I just said, "If I start bleeding mana out of my eyes, knock me unconscious."

He grinned. "Sure thing, Professor. Just make sure it's not my mana you're bleeding."

Class C met me at the dueling yard.

Felix was chewing his lip. Mira was smirking. Wallace had something humming in his bag that I pretended not to notice. Cassandra stood too still. Leo was grumbling. Garrick looked like he'd punched a brick wall for breakfast.

Everything was normal.

So I broke it.

"Today's lecture," I began, "will be about fear."

Half of them straightened.

"Real fear. Not failure. Not embarrassment. Not getting a love letter from House Vance's third heir."

Felix turned red instantly.

"I mean the kind of fear that breaks you open and asks what's inside."

They were silent now.

Good.

I raised my right arm.

Let the glow under my skin flicker—brief, subtle.

Cassandra flinched.

Only she noticed.

Of course she did.

"I survived an Eclipse," I said.

Dead silence.

Even Wallace stopped humming.

I stepped forward.

"I survived it. I awakened a Phobia. I have no idea why it happened, or how I came back. But I'm telling you because I will not lie to the people who I drag into danger with me."

Felix opened his mouth. Closed it.

Julien exhaled, muttering, "Holy shit…"

I turned my back to them and walked toward the training posts.

"Lesson one," I said. "A Phobia is not a blessing. It is not a gift. It is a scar. It does not make you a hero."

I reached into the pouch at my hip. Pulled out a blindfold.

"It makes you dangerous."

"You're blindfolding yourself?" Garrick asked, brows furrowed.

"Yes," I replied.

"Is this some Drelmont tradition?" Wallace whispered.

"No," I said. "It's worse."

I turned back to them, tying the cloth over my eyes. The world blinked into darkness. Yet behind the black veil, I could still feel.

Heat signatures.

Footfalls.

The flickering dance of movements like smoke in my head.

The Patternflame was active—quiet, but restless. It didn't whisper, didn't scream. It hummed. It remembered.

"Attack me," I said.

Nobody moved.

"I said attack me."

Still, silence.

Then came the sound of boots scuffing earth. Julien. Of course.

"You sure about this?" he asked.

"No," I said. "But when have I ever been?"

Julien laughed—a dry, nervous sound—and charged.

I felt him pivot on his heel, aiming a low sweep, same as always. I shifted my stance left.

Too slow.

I got clipped.

Pain flared in my thigh, and I cursed.

But the Patternflame burned.

And this time, I learned.

Next strike came from above. I dodged before he moved. Julien yelped, momentum carrying him off balance.

My hand caught his wrist mid-air and twisted—not enough to break it, just enough to say: I see you now.

The students gasped.

Julien hit the dirt, coughing.

"You dodged that blind."

"No," I said. "The Phobia did. I just listened."

I removed the blindfold. Sweat stung my eyes. The feedback from the Patternflame was intense, like trying to drink fire with your lungs.

"This is what power costs," I said. "It rewrites you. It does not come for free."

Mira raised a hand.

I nodded at her.

"What's the lesson here, Professor?" she asked.

I looked at them. Each one. Scared. Curious. Trying to understand.

"The lesson," I said, "is that your greatest fear will always be the part of you that fights hardest to live."

Afterward, I dismissed them early.

They didn't cheer. They didn't joke.

They processed.

I stayed behind.

Sat on a stone bench under the shade of a red-leafed tree.

The flame beneath my skin pulsed slowly, like it, too, was thinking.

I didn't hear Roderick approach until his flask thunked beside me.

"You look like a priest who found god in a sewer."

"I might've."

He sat next to me. "You alright, Lucian?"

"No," I said.

He nodded. "Good. Only liars say yes to that."

He didn't ask more. Just handed me the flask.

It burned, but not as much as the silence we shared.

He knew something had changed.

But he didn't push.

And maybe that's why I didn't break down right then and there.