Chapter IX: The Fairness Paradox

"Good evening," I greeted the students with a warm smile.

One of the students, a young woman with reddish-brown hair, replied, "Good evening, Professor... Starweaver, right?"

"Yes, that's correct. I couldn't help but overhear your discussion about the club," I said.

The young man next to her chimed in, "Yes, Professor Whitestone suddenly withdrew as our convener. We have only a week to find a new one, or the club will be disbanded. It's unfair, and we weren't even consulted."

A girl with short, blonde hair added, "We were really looking forward to this year's activities. Now it seems like everything is falling apart."

I nodded, understanding their concerns. "I see your predicament. It's essential to have a convener for the club to continue. How about this? I'm willing to step in as the convener temporarily until a suitable replacement can be found. Would that work for you?"

The students exchanged surprised and hopeful glances. The young woman with reddish-brown hair spoke up, "That would be fantastic, Professor Starweaver! Thank you so much."

I smiled and assured them, "It's my pleasure. Let's work together to keep the club running smoothly until we find a permanent convener. I'll inform the faculty about this arrangement. Don't worry; we'll get through this."

With my offer to become the temporary convener, Professor Whitestone's face contorted in anger and frustration. He raised his voice, expressing his displeasure with the students' complaints and my interference. "How dare you question my authority? This is not a matter for outsiders to meddle in. I am the convener of this club, and my decisions stand. You should all be grateful for the opportunity to be part of such a prestigious institution!"

He continued his tirade, making it clear that he did not appreciate any interference, especially from someone like me, a foreign noble. His words were filled with indignation, and it was evident that he felt threatened by my presence.

The students, realizing that their complaints had led to a confrontation with Professor Whitestone, began to stammer and apologize, attempting to explain themselves. Their voices trembled as they tried to justify their concerns, and the room filled with a cacophony of nervous explanations.

"I-I'm s-sorry, Professor Whitestone, we didn't mean to..."

"We just thought it wasn't fair, sir, that's all..."

"It's just that we wanted someone who would..."

Their sentences were disjointed, and their attempts at justification were faltering. The fear of retribution from the stern professor weighed heavily on them, and their apologies were a mixture of remorse and desperation.

I sternly raised my hand, signaling the students to fall silent. They obeyed without hesitation, and even Chris Whitestone halted his words, turning his attention to me, his expression a mix of surprise and annoyance. The instinctual recognition of my commanding presence silenced the room.

With a cold and firm tone, I began to berate Chris Whitestone. "Your unilateral withdrawal from the club was not only unfair but a display of prejudice against the students. The students have every right to seek a new club convener, and your refusal to acknowledge that is a testament to your unsuitability as a professor of the Arcanum Citadel."

Chris Whitestone, caught off guard by my assertiveness, attempted to justify his actions, stammering in response. "I... I had my reasons," he weakly protested. "I believe that the students should learn to fend for themselves, and this was a test of their resourcefulness."

Unmoved, I retorted, "While teaching resourcefulness is valuable, Professor Whitestone, it should not come at the expense of fairness and the students' well-being. They deserve a club that functions smoothly and fosters their growth."

The students observed the confrontation, with some nodding in agreement with my words, while others watched with hope and curiosity, eager to see how the situation would unfold.

I confronted Professor Whitestone, my stance unwavering despite his attempt to use his seniority to intimidate me. He raised his voice in protest, "I've been a professor here for years, and I won't tolerate interference!"

With calm confidence, I replied, "I'm advocating for a fair resolution, Professor Whitestone. Unilateral decisions aren't in the spirit of this institution."

Whitestone, frustrated and unable to convince me otherwise, resorted to the clichéd, villainous line. "You haven't seen the last of me, Starweaver!" With that, he hastily departed.

The students, now relieved and no longer under the weight of his oppressive actions, broke into smiles and cheers. Many of them approached me to express their gratitude, repeatedly thanking me for my intervention. Among them was Giselle, the reddish-brown-haired girl who had spoken to me earlier. She introduced herself by name and thanked me for my support.

I responded to her, "Giselle, please report to me tomorrow after my lecture. I'd like to hear more about the club's agenda and activities."

Leaving the students behind, I made my way back to my chambers, a sense of satisfaction lingering in the air.

My actions weren't fueled by selflessness; they were strategic moves to build the second facet of my persona: someone committed to absolute fairness.

I was well aware that the students who witnessed my intervention today would eagerly share their experiences, igniting a whisper network that would soon declare, "Professor Oliver, strict yet fair." These words would paint me as an educator who demanded discipline but upheld justice, strengthening my image and reinforcing my status.

While I aimed to maintain amicable relations with the faculty, apart from the headmistress, there was no one else in particular I sought to impress among the staff.

In this academic realm, the students represented not only the majority but also a substantial number of noble titles, rendering them a vital source of social standing within the Citadel. My presence among them would serve as a foundation for my influence.

As I reflected on the events of the day, I couldn't shake the feeling that the opening chapter of the plot was about to unfold. The academy, a sanctuary for learning and magic, was on the brink of facing a dire threat – a demonic assault. It was an ominous premonition that had haunted the story from the beginning.

When the demonic forces descended upon the academy, it would be a true test of our mettle. The Empress would dispatch her most valiant knights to counter the invasion. Having Amara by our side would mitigate the extent of the devastation, but the impending conflict was likely to exact a heavy toll.

I knew that when the dust settled, many students would bear the scars of battle – both physical and emotional. Tragically, a few might not survive the onslaught. The price of knowledge and power was often paid in blood, and the events to come would be no exception.

In the stillness of the night, I made a solemn resolve to rewrite the impending tragedy that was soon to befall the academy. It wasn't driven by any overwhelming sympathy for the characters who were, in essence, mere extras in the grand narrative. Rather, it was a calculated move to demonstrate my strength and capability – not just to the academy but to a global audience of students and scholars.

The impending demonic attack and its aftermath presented a unique opportunity to increase my own value, making me a coveted talent in the world of magic. I envisioned noble houses, monarchs, and even wealthy merchants vying for my services, a tantalizing prospect that stirred my ambitions.

Above all, I anticipated the reactions I would provoke in Amara, the brilliant headmistress. The moment I introduced the Grid Matrix and showcased its potential during the demon onslaught, her surprise would be a sight to behold. It would be a fascinating study in how far she would go to secure my loyalty, navigating a tumultuous sea of greedy nobles and powerful figures.

As these thoughts swirled through my mind, gradually lulling me into a peaceful slumber, I embraced the promise of a new chapter in the unfolding tale, one where my power and ingenuity would shine brilliantly against the backdrop of an uncertain future.