The principal's office was nothing like the rest of the Academia's cold, sterile halls. Here, the air felt heavy, not from dust or disuse, but from the sheer weight of decisions made inside these walls.

Tall bookshelves loomed against the dark-paneled walls, stuffed with tomes whose cracked spines hinted at decades—maybe centuries—of accumulated knowledge and rules.

Sunlight filtered through the high windows in sharp beams, casting long shadows across the ornate carpet, and the smell of old parchment mixed with faint traces of bitter coffee.

Vonjo slouched into the plush leather chair in front of the principal's desk, his body language oozing boredom despite the obvious importance of where he was.

His eyes roamed lazily over the framed certificates, faded photographs of past graduation classes, and the glinting ceremonial dagger mounted above the desk—a relic from a time when Academia heads still fought on the frontlines.

The principal, a tall, sharp-featured man with a measured presence, didn't sit right away. Instead, he moved to the massive desk, pulled out a thick, cream-colored folder, and laid it down between them with deliberate care. "Now sir Vonjo, this thing," he said in a voice that carried the same weight as the room itself, "is the responsibility you have now taken upon yourself."

Vonjo leaned forward just enough to peek at the folder without actually touching it, his head tilting slightly, the corner of his mouth twitching in mild amusement. "Looks heavy. Does it come with a gift bag or just headaches?"

The principal didn't bite at the provocation. His eyes narrowed only a fraction as he slid the first page from the folder, turning it toward Vonjo. "I didn't know how to answer that sir, but please, sign here. This confirms your authority as a provisional instructor and combat mentor. You will be responsible for overseeing curse capacity assessments, safety drills, and…" He paused, glancing at Vonjo's still-relaxed posture. "…and the welfare of students under your watch."

Vonjo reached for the pen without haste, twirling it lazily between his fingers before scrawling his name with an almost comical flourish. "Sure. Whatever makes us feel better."

After that, Vonjo asked. "Done?"

The principal set the next page down, a thinner parchment lined with precise inked columns. "Here's the next one. Inventory authorization. You'll have access to the southern armory and storage vaults, including controlled artifacts, though you'll be held accountable for every item removed."

Vonjo signed again, not even bothering to read beyond the title, his half-lidded eyes drifting to the faint tick of the grandfather clock in the corner. "Got it. Don't lose shiny stuff. Easy. Is there anything else?"

Another sheet. This one had a red wax seal, freshly pressed, the scent of melted resin still lingering. "Emergency response protocol. In the event of a breach or internal curse outbreak, you will coordinate evacuation and containment until a higher-ranked sorcerer arrives."

Vonjo's pen scratched across the line in seconds. "Contain, evacuate, wait for backup. It's almost like you don't trust me to handle it myself."

The principal's jaw tightened, but he kept his tone level. "I trust you to do your part. Nothing more, nothing less."

One by one, the documents came—permissions, obligations, risk acknowledgments, and intricate oaths written in binding script.

Vonjo signed each without complaint, his movements unhurried yet oddly compliant, as though he were indulging a mildly annoying chore. His eyes occasionally wandered to the side table where an untouched tray of tea and biscuits sat, but he made no move toward them.

Finally, the principal slid forward a heavier bundle—dozens of pages bound in dark leather, the spine embossed with the Academia's insignia. "This," he said, his voice gaining an edge of gravity, "is the Instructor's Codex. Every rule, every procedure, every expectation you are bound by from this moment forward. You will read it. You will follow it."

Vonjo glanced at the thick manual, then back at the principal with a faint smirk. "Sure. I'll read it cover to cover. Someday. Maybe."

"Tonight," the principal replied firmly.

Vonjo chuckled under his breath but took the book, setting it on his lap without even opening it. "Noted."

There was a long pause then, the kind of silence that stretched just enough to test the patience of whoever held it. The principal leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers. His voice softened, but it didn't lose its weight. "Vonjo, this Academia… it's more than a place of learning. Right now, it's one of the last bastions against what's coming. We are losing ground. Every day, the walls—both physical and spiritual—are being tested. The cracks grow wider. Creatures born of human sin are finding their way in. And we—" he gestured to himself, to the very office they sat in "—are running out of people who can hold the line."

Vonjo didn't answer right away. His gaze flicked toward the window, where beyond the glass the faint shimmer of the protective barrier could be seen if one looked closely enough. "You're saying I'm supposed to be one of those people."

"I'm saying," the principal replied, "that you don't have the luxury of treating this lightly."

For the first time, Vonjo's smirk faded just slightly, though it was hard to tell if it was from the principal's words or from his own thoughts. "Fine. I'll play teacher. But don't expect me to be all smiles and encouragement."

The principal nodded once, as if that was the best concession he was going to get. "No one's asking for smiles, Vonjo. We're asking for results."

He pushed one final paper forward—shorter, almost ceremonial compared to the others. "Sign this, and your position is official."

Vonjo took the pen again, tapping it against the paper in slow, deliberate beats before scrawling his name one last time. "There. Happy?"

The principal gathered the papers into a neat stack, sliding them back into the folder with the same meticulous care he'd shown when laying them out. "Satisfied," he said simply.

Vonjo leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms above his head before letting them drop to his sides. "So… is that it? I've got the job, the rules, the keys to your armory. What now?"

The principal stood, adjusting his coat. "Now… you start tomorrow. And I suggest you use the rest of today to familiarize yourself with your responsibilities. The students you'll meet aren't toys. They're future defenders—if they live long enough."

Vonjo rose slowly, tucking the heavy Instructor's Codex under his arm. "Yeah, yeah. Future defenders. Got it." Follow current novels on novel-fire.ɴet

But as he turned toward the door, the principal's final words followed him like a shadow. "We're trusting you, Vonjo. Don't make us regret it."

Vonjo didn't look back. "That's all?" He let out a faint snort. "I'll replace him."