Internet Mage Professor

Nolan leaned back in his chair, arms crossed behind his head, staring at the ceiling as though the answer to an unsolved riddle was written in the grain of the wood above. His fingers tapped absently against his forearm, and every now and then, his brow would tighten, lips forming the beginnings of a question that never left his mouth. His eyes shifted toward Delo again, and he narrowed them.

There was something about that kid.

He couldn't place it.

"Delo… Delo… where have I…?"

He murmured to himself so quietly it barely touched the air, but his foot began tapping now, impatiently. The others didn't notice at first—they were too busy joking about the gangs in the west wing of the Academy, some nutcases who collected swords but never used them, and others who ran secret auctions in the laundry chambers.

Nolan blinked, then leaned forward.

"You—Delo, right?"

The entire gang turned toward him mid-laughter, like a bar fight suddenly paused.

Delo straightened in surprise. "Y-yes, Teacher Nolan?"

Nolan squinted, as though peering through a fog, and pointed. "You ever... no. Wait, never mind." He waved it off with a hand and leaned back again.

Ramos raised a brow, glanced at his buddies. "That was weird."

Nolan shifted again, eyes now following Delo's hand as it gestured in mid-story, recounting how he barely dodged Ramos's second strike earlier.

"Are you sure I don't know you?" Nolan muttered again, more to himself than anyone else. "That nose… that awkward shrug… something..."

Delo blinked. "Sir?"

"Hm? Nothing, nothing," Nolan said quickly, sitting up for a second before shaking his head and resettling into his chair with a disgruntled grunt. "Forget it."

The students went back to their conversation, trying to resume their discussion about the underground cafeteria market and how someone named Chainsaw Elsie apparently traded secret recipes for mana potions using lunch tickets.

But then—

"Delo!"

Everyone turned again.

Nolan's eyes were locked on him. Intense. Frowning now, like he was trying to remember a dream.

"Your footwork. That pivot… it's familiar."

Delo hesitated. "Sir, I… I learned it by myself, really…"

Nolan squinted again. "No, no, it wasn't you. I knew someone... years ago. Same step, same tempo. Same—no. Never mind."

Again, he leaned back. Again, the students exchanged glances.

Ramos turned to Delo. "Yo, what did you do to this man? He's been staring at you like you owe him child support."

The group burst into laughter.

But Nolan didn't even flinch. He just rubbed his temples.

"I swear I've seen that kind of duck… No one ducks like that except—no, he died. Long ago. Hm."

"Sir," Delo tried, looking genuinely worried now, "are you alright?"

"I'm fine, kid. Just—trying to remember something that doesn't want to be remembered."

Again the students went back to their gang talk.

"So the North Wing dudes, the ones with the frogs?" one of them was saying.

"Oh yeah, the Ribbit Brothers," another chimed in. "They're weird, man. They croak in unison. I think it's like a war cry or something."

"Don't they train by jumping down the stairs?"

"Yeah, and licking magic frogs to 'see visions' or whatever. Creepy bastards."

"I heard one of them caught a frog that could teleport and now charges people five mana crystals to teleport to the urinals during exams."

The table erupted into cackles.

But just as Ramos was about to add another insane rumor—

"Delo."

Once more.

Everyone groaned. "Seriously?"

"Sir, please," Ramos finally said, rubbing his forehead. "Do you want us to move him up front or something?"

"No, no," Nolan said dismissively. "I just… it's like... he reminds me of someone I trained with once. A long time ago."

"Wait—like, an old classmate?"

"No. Not exactly," Nolan said, rubbing his jaw. "He was older. Quiet. Smiled a lot. Had a weird laugh—he'd go 'heh' like he was choking on a feather."

"What the hell—?"

"Always dodged to the left. Always. Everyone said he was the worst fighter in the batch. No offense," Nolan looked at Delo, who looked halfway between confused and apologetic.

"None… taken?"

"But then one day," Nolan continued, "he beat an entire class. Everyone. One by one. Just by dodging."

That made the group go silent.

Nolan stared again at Delo.

"You even squint like him," he muttered.

Then, suddenly, he shook his head and waved a hand. "Forget it. I'm probably just tired. Or hungry. Probably both."

He sat back, folded his arms, closed his eyes.

Ramos waited a moment. Then a moment more.

And when Nolan didn't move again, he nodded.

"Right. Back to business," Ramos said. "Delo, your role as Dodger-Supreme is now officially recognized. But what's your real role? Every group has a title. I'm the Boss. Jano's the Muscle. Rin's the Informant. You?"

"Uh…"

"You," Ramos said dramatically, "are the Wildcard."

"Oooh," the gang reacted all at once.

"Unpredictable."

"Mysterious."

"Deadly in a corner!"

"Lethal with lunch money!"

"Distraction King!"

Delo smiled awkwardly. "That's… pretty cool."

"It is cool," Ramos nodded. "And if we ever need someone to buy us time—"

"—we throw him at the problem and run," Jano finished with a grin.

Everyone laughed.

Delo even joined this time.

"Alright," Ramos said, stretching. "We've sat enough. Let's head out. I hear the girls in the south hall are planning a bake sale raid. We either eat, or be eaten."

The boys stood up, chairs scraping, and just as they reached for the doorknob—

Nolan cracked one eye open again, just a sliver.

And then shut it just as fast.

"Let me know if any of you learn how to dodge swords," he muttered, almost in a whisper.

The group paused, stared at him in silence for a heartbeat.

Then Ramos grinned.

"We will, teach," he said.

And with that, the Brotherhood slipped out of the room, one by one, leaving their half-asleep instructor behind.

Nolan sat alone in the now silent room, one leg crossed over the other, his foot bouncing slowly as he stared at the spot Delo had been sitting.

The warmth of the recent laughter still hung faintly in the air, but the emptiness of the room swallowed it like fog retreating under sunlight.

Something buzzed in the back of his skull—a nagging itch in his memory, a thread pulling at the edge of his thoughts.

"Wait a minute…" he muttered.

He blinked hard.

"Delo... that kid. He was the one who got beat up every day. The one that was practically crawling in pain this morning. The one who cried because he couldn't fight back…"

He rubbed his temple, recalling the way Delo had shivered, voice trembling, and how he'd been too scared to even step outside the room. And now, he had just watched him walk away surrounded by the same bastards who'd tormented him for weeks.

Nolan's brow furrowed. He sat up straighter, eyes sharpening.

"Did they just... become friends?" he muttered again, voice low, disbelieving.

That thought gnawed at him. He wasn't the sentimental type, but something about it felt... off. Too sudden. Too clean.

"No, no, no. Bullies don't turn over a new leaf in one damn lunch break. Something's fishy."

He stood up slowly, cracked his neck, and stretched one arm lazily over his head.

"And more importantly…"

He felt a twinge of frustration crawl down his spine.

"That bullied punk owes me fifty mana crystals."

In a single motion, he grabbed his coat off the chair, tossed it over his shoulder, and stepped toward the door. The hallway outside stretched in both directions, dimly lit by the afternoon sunlight filtering through the stained-glass windows. Footsteps echoed faintly in the distance, but nothing clear.

Nolan squinted.

"Where the hell did they go?"

He peered left, then right, and picked a direction at random.

His boots thudded softly against the tiled floor as he moved, muttering curses under his breath.

"Kids just vanish like ghosts nowadays? What is this, stealth training?"

He peeked into the first room—empty.

Second room—basic magic class. The teacher, a bald man with an overgrown beard and a grudge against soap, looked up and gave Nolan a questioning glance.

Nolan raised a hand with a half-smile. "Wrong class."

Third room—still no sign. He cracked the door open gently, spotted a class mid-exam, and closed it again just as quietly.

"Damn it," he growled, spinning around and heading further down the corridor.

He checked near the alchemy lab, even pushed through the heavy wooden doors of the underground stairwell that led to the potion brewing rooms, only to be met with the bitter scent of herbs and one confused janitor sweeping up a shattered vial.

"Seen a bunch of loudmouths and one quiet kid pass through here?" Nolan asked.

The janitor blinked. "Sir, you just described everyone in this damn school."

Nolan scoffed and kept moving.

He cut through the central courtyard, scanning every bench, every shaded corner, even looked inside the fountains—he didn't know why, maybe out of frustration—but the Brotherhood of Misfits was nowhere in sight.

"Where the hell would they go?"

He stormed down the eastern wing, a long hallway lined with portraits of retired headmasters and glowing sigils on the walls that flickered with ancient mana. He opened another door—nothing. Another—just a bunch of junior students reading incantations like bored parrots.

One teacher glared at him, mid-lecture. "Professor Nolan, can I help you?"

"No," he said curtly, then paused. "Actually, yes. You seen a group of loud delinquents and one awkward, recently-traumatized student pass by here?"

The teacher frowned. "Define 'loud delinquents.'"

"You'd know if you saw them," Nolan said, waving dismissively and disappearing before she could press further.

He checked the cafeteria next. It was still half full, students chewing without passion, eyes tired from spell theory and mana manipulation drills. No Ramos. No Jano. No Rin. No Delo.

"Where the hell could they—" He stopped mid-sentence, eyes squinting toward a shadowy corridor near the back.

He walked over, cautiously peering into the dim stretch of hall that led toward the lesser-used club rooms. The walls were old here, paint chipping, and the sound of his footsteps echoed louder than usual.

The first door he tried wouldn't budge. The second opened to an old chess club filled with nothing but dust and one old goblin statue wearing a crooked wizard hat.

Nolan stared at it.

"…Why are you here?"

The statue didn't answer.

He shut the door and tried another.

Empty.

Another—locked.

By now, his patience was thinner than a mana thread stretched across a blade's edge.

He clenched his fists. "Where the hell are those little bastards hiding?!"

He turned and stomped back the way he came, retracing his steps. His mind was spinning, but not out of anger—well, not just anger. Something about this bothered him. Delo, that strange calmness in his eyes. That movement. That split-second duck—no hesitation, no fear. Like he'd done it a hundred times.

And yet...

"I only showed him once," Nolan muttered. "One dodge. I didn't even show footwork. He watched my movement and did that? What the hell kind of kid is he?"

He made his way back toward the upper floors, shoulders tight with both frustration and curiosity. He burst into one more room—only to interrupt a meditation session led by an elf mage who shot him a glare sharp enough to crack steel.

"I'm looking for students—"

"Your aura is polluting the stillness," she snapped.

"Yeah, well, my patience is evaporating," he snapped back, closing the door with a loud thud.

Finally, he ended up back at the main corridor, standing in front of the training gym's locked doors. He considered kicking them open, but sighed and leaned back against the wall.

His breath came out in a quiet exhale.

"They've got to be somewhere," he muttered. "And when I find them, that damn kid better have my mana crystals."

He looked out the window beside him, gaze following the sprawling maze of the academy's structure—rooftops, courtyards, towers, and spiraling stairways all tied together in one monstrous architectural puzzle.

"Next time," he muttered to himself. "I put a tracker on the quiet ones."

Then, with a long sigh and no small amount of annoyance, Nolan shoved his hands in his pockets and started back toward his office. Still muttering.

"…Fifty mana crystals… for one training session… damn right it's worth it…"