Magic Academy's Bastard Instructor-Chapter 135: Banquet [4]

Throughout the night, Vanitas had mingled with familiar faces. From noble professors from the Silver University Tower, esteemed scholars from the Theocracy, and even some of his own students.

But this moment, however, was something else entirely.

"What are you?!"

"…?"

Vanitas blinked, momentarily baffled by the sudden turn of events.

Irene stood by the railing, visibly shaken. Her once-poised demeanor had crumbled. An unsightly sight for a princess of her standing.

Around them, a few onlookers had begun to take notice.

"Princess, what do you—"

"No, stop." Irene raised a hand, cutting him off before he could take another step forward. Slowly, she straightened, forcing herself to regain composure. "Stay there. Don’t come any closer."

"...."

This reaction…. Had she used her Stigmata?

If so, what had she seen? What value had she perceived?

Curiosity sparked in his mind, but he quickly dismissed it, finding himself unable to ask.

If he did, she would find it suspicious—how would he even know about her Stigmata?

Something like that.

Vanitas exhaled, rubbing his temple. This wasn’t how this was supposed to go.

Truth be told, he had his own reasons for meeting Irene tonight. He had accepted her invitation not out of mere curiosity but because he needed something from her as well.

But now, with her staring at him as if he had come out of a horror movie, things had clearly taken an unexpected turn.

"Princess Irene—"

"Hieek—!" Irene flinched violently, stumbling back as she threw her arms up in front of her. "D-Don’t k-kill me…!"

"What?"

Seeing the strange looks she was getting, she exhaled and straightened her posture.

This… was getting ridiculous.

Right. If this man truly intended to kill, she wouldn’t even be the first target.

It would be the Saintess.

She inhaled, forcing herself to calm down. Just as she was about to approach the situation rationally, a voice rang out from behind them.

——I shall dance with him tonight.

"...."

Irene’s eyes widened.

Slowly, she shifted her gaze past Vanitas, toward the center of the ballroom. The Saintess, Selena was standing there, directly pointing at Vanitas.

"...."

She glanced toward Vanitas, only to find him just as startled as she was.

Whoosh—

A gust of cold winter air swept through the balcony, brushing against Irene’s exposed skin.

Vanitas, who seemed to have adapted to the situation quickly, removed his coat. Without a word, he stepped forward and draped it gently over her shoulders.

"What are you—"

"If you’re planning on staying out here, Princess, at least keep yourself warm."

"...."

Irene stiffened for a moment before gripping the fabric instinctively as Vanitas slicked his hair back before turning toward the ballroom.

"I’ll get back to you later, Princess," he said smoothly, before stepping away and leaving her behind.

"...."

Irene just stood there, her gaze casting downward, unsure what to make of what had just happened.

Whoosh—

* * *

Several questions raced through my mind, but I couldn’t let this opportunity slip by.

Tak. Tak—!

The sound of my boots clicked on the marbled floors as I walked through the grand hall. Several eyes followed me, but I paid them no mind.

My focus was only one person.

"...."

The Saintess, Selena.

The moment I reached her, I lowered myself onto one knee in a solemn gesture. It was the proper way to greet the Saintess.

"Your Eminence," I breathed.

Selena, ever poised, extended her hand in acknowledgment. I took it with care and pressed my lips against the back of her hand in a gesture of reverence.

The room, once lively with music and chatter, had turned silent.

The attention of the entire ballroom was now on us.

Selena studied me for a moment, then smiled gracefully.

"Rise," she said softly.

I did as instructed and met her beautiful emerald eyes. It was truly chilling how much she resembled Eun-ah.

Perhaps, if I had seen Eun-ah grow, I was certain she would look like her.

I pushed the thought aside and steadied myself.

"Would you grant me this dance, Your Eminence?" I asked.

"Before that, may I ask for your name, my Lord?"

"It’s Vanitas," I said. "Vanitas Astrea."

Selena’s lips curled slightly. "Vanitas Astrea… I’ve heard of you."

I inclined my head. "I am honored."

"Then I hope my skills are up to par with yours, Lord Vanitas," she said, extending her hand. "I’ve only learned to dance quite recently."

"Then allow me to lead." I gently took her hand. "I assure you, Your Eminence, you’re in capable hands."

A soft chuckle escaped her lips. "I certainly hope so."

The moment our hands met, the orchestra resumed, and we stepped into the waltz.

——♬♫♪♩

Selena’s movements were slightly clumsy at first. Yet, I adjusted my pace and guided her. Just so the judgmental eyes surrounding us wouldn’t notice a thing.

I led her smoothly across the dance floor. Even with her missteps, I made sure our rhythm remained steady, seamless movements to the point that no one would suspect her inexperience.

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Perhaps she had truly only learned to dance recently—this year, or maybe last year.

Yet, under my lead, she appeared as though she had danced her entire life.

——♬♫♪♩

"If I’m not overstepping, may I ask. Why choose me out of all the people in this room, Your Eminence?"

Selena followed my lead with fluid steps as she considered her response.

"I feel like I’ve seen you before," she said.

"...."

I swallowed, tension creeping into my posture.

She’s seen me before?

If that were true, then there was only one possibility. She must have seen the original Vanitas.

Then…

Could she be the reason the tutorial quest has been getting more and more difficult?

"Why that look, Lord Vanitas?" Selena chuckled, her emerald eyes glinting with amusement. "Your face simply seems familiar, that’s all."

"Is that so?" I replied evenly. "My apologies. I was merely concerned that Your Eminence might have witnessed an unsightly display of mine in the past."

Selena laughed softly. "Do not fret. From your accent, I can tell you are from Aetherion. I, however, was born and raised in the Theocracy."

She twirled under my lead, her movements light and graceful before she continued.

"Moreover, I spent my early years in an orphanage. If we had met before, it must have been there."

Indeed, despite the change in her appearance, her backstory remained the same.

A woman who had grown up in an orphanage, and later was taken in by a High Priest.

But one lingering question had been gnawing at the back of my mind for some time now.

Waiting for the right moment, I finally asked, "Has anyone ever told you that you, too, have a familiar face, Your Eminence?"

"Y-Yes? Ah?" Selena blinked, momentarily caught off guard.

Her steps faltered for just a fraction of a second before she quickly recovered, regaining her usual poise.

"...."

I watched her reaction carefully.

"Strange," I mused, leading her through another turn. "I could have sworn I’ve seen you before as well."

"...."

Selena hesitated just for a second. It was subtle, but I caught it.

"P-Perhaps," she said, shifting slightly, "I simply have one of those faces, Lord Vanitas."

A weak deflection.

I let the silence stretch between us, watching her carefully. That small stutter, the way she adjusted her posture…

It seemed like she knew something.

However, questioning further would be me overstepping. I didn’t want to make her uncomfortable.

* * *

The scene was nothing short of bizarre to everyone present. Astrid, Sophia, Irene, Franz, Charlotte, Silas, and even Vanitas’s fellow professors from the University Tower.

But to one nobleman in particular, the sight was far more unsettling.

Simon Ainsley.

A man who had, until recently, regarded Vanitas Astrea as nothing short of an enemy.

"I still don’t understand," his wife, Dianna, muttered beside him, her tone laced with rejection.

"It’s how things are these days, Dianna," Simon replied, watching the scene unfold. "The younger generation will always seek to rise and draw attention. Tonight just happens to be his night."

"Right." Dianna clung to his arm, her voice soft. "But don’t worry, my love. That man is nothing to you. I’ve already ensured he understands not to overstep. I’ve sent a warning so he knows better than to challenge true highborn nobility."

That was how it had always been.

The husband and wife duo of the Ainsley family was nothing short but a modernized Bonnie and Clyde in noble form.

The husband maintained a reputation of dignity and purity in public, while the wife ensured that nothing ever tainted it.

However, this was different.

"A warning?" Simon’s voice hardened as he turned fully to her. "What did you do, Dianna?"

Dianna blinked, caught off guard by the sudden aggression in his tone. "It seems like that man has rented a home. I only made sure his servants were… properly greeted, so they understand what kind of master they serve."

Simon’s jaw clenched. His hands curled into fists. "Are you mad, woman?"

Dianna flinched, startled by his words. "W-What? What’s the m-matter? I made sure nothing traces back to you. It was just a harmless greeting, I swear!"

"You’ve made a mistake."

Her eyes widened in fear. "W-What do you mean? H-How?"

Simon exhaled sharply, his expression darkening.

"Don’t let his eloquence and polished demeanor fool you," he said. "That bastard is not the kind of aristocrat you’re used to dealing with."

"...."

"Simon," she whispered, gripping his sleeve. "What are you talking about? He’s just a university professor, isn’t he?"

Simon exhaled, pinching the bridge of his nose. "No, Dianna."

His eyes flicked toward the ballroom, where Vanitas continued to dance with the Saintess in the room as if he belonged here.

As if he had always belonged among high nobility.

But Simon knew better.

He had done his research.

The Astrea family’s true power once belonged to Vanitas’s late father, Vanir Astrea. A mere Viscount in title, but a man who had cemented his place in noble society.

Though he never held the status of an Earl or a Marquess, his influence had stretched further than most would have expected.

Particularly, in the underworld.

And yet, that wasn’t the real reason for concern.

It was his son, who had elevated their status to Marquess, and had inherited his father’s legacy.

"Vanitas Astrea has connections to the mafia."

* * *

As the dance came to an end, Selena gracefully returned to her seat which was elevated at the top of the grand staircase. She let out a slow breath, steadying herself after the fourteen-minute waltz.

"Do you need a drink, Saintess?" Aston asked, concern evident in his voice.

"Yes." Selena nodded.

With that, Aston turned and left to fetch her a glass of water.

Left alone, Selena’s gaze drifted across the ballroom, watching her guests mingle. Yet, her thoughts drifted back to Vanitas Astrea.

"....’

He had told her she had a familiar face.

There was a state secret known only within the Church, but the primary reason Selena had been chosen as Saintess in the first place was because of her appearance.

According to the High Priest—now Cardinal—Selena bore an uncanny resemblance to the younger sister of Archmage Zen.

While there were no modern portraits of the late Archmage’s sister, historical records and preserved sketches depicted a striking resemblance. It had been one of the deciding factors in her selection.

And more than that—her power was undeniable. It further solidified the narrative, cementing her as the Saintess.

Perhaps Vanitas Astrea had only made the remark to spark conversation. Yet, the thought wouldn’t leave her mind.

Because, for some reason, she too felt a sense of familiarity when she looked at him.

"...."

And she couldn’t quite place why.

* * *

Vanitas stood with confidence, taking a slow sip of his champagne before setting the glass back onto the table.

Not bad.

But compared to Vanessa Clarice, it was nothing special.

These nobles, so enamored with their whiskeys, champagnes, and wines, had yet to realize what true luxury tasted like. Once Vanessa Clarice entered the Theocracy’s market, they would lose their minds.

——Everyone’s looking at you, Professor.

The voice came from his side.

Without so much as a sound, Silas had appeared beside him, completely unbothered by the attention fixed on them. He, too, took a sip of the champagne before casually setting his glass down.

"Bitter," Silas muttered.

Vanitas glanced at him, then frowned. "Don’t think I didn’t see you dancing with my sister."

Silas visibly stiffened. "I-It couldn’t be helped… Before I knew it, I was holding hands with her…."

Vanitas raised an eyebrow. "You could’ve stepped away from the ballroom."

Silas sighed. "Then Charlotte would’ve been embarrassed."

Vanitas scoffed, picking up his glass again. "Whatever."

Silas let out another sigh. "This is quite unreasonable… What if we get partnered for a class session? What then? Are we supposed to just fail?"

Vanitas swirled the champagne in his glass, then replied flatly, "Then how about this. Don’t speak to her unless she speaks to you first. Don’t approach her unless she approaches you first."

Silas stared at him, exasperated. "You’re really overprotective… aren’t you?"

"I have to be."

"Fair."

Silas had danced with several people and of course, one of them was Charlotte.

Charlotte had found it bothersome at the time, but refusing outright would have only disrupted the mood.

Silas had thought the same. And so, the two simply went along with it and danced until the next partner exchange.

While participation in the dance wasn’t mandatory, it was a well-known tradition among the aristocracy. It was a display of status to measure who among them truly belonged to nobility.

More than that, it was an opportunity to form new connections, especially with the influential aristocrats of the Theocracy.

"Ah, also, there’s something you should know, Professor."

Vanitas raised an eyebrow. "What is it?"

Silas hesitated for only a moment before speaking. "Among the servants you’ve brought… have you noticed any new faces?"

It was an odd question, but Vanitas nodded. "Yes. What about it?"

Silas sighed. "Apparently, my mother has planted a spy among them. Though I’m unsure which one. I just thought you should know."

"Is that so…?"

Vanitas took a slow sip of his champagne as his mind worked through the possibilities.

He had expected the Ainsley family to make a move against him. But he hadn’t considered the possibility of a spy among his own staff.

Was it one of the maids Heidi had brought?

Or Heidi herself?

Maybe even Evan?

His fingers tapped against the rim of his glass. It was an inconvenience, but not an unmanageable one.

"Also," Silas added, tilting his head slightly. "Your place might be thrashed as we speak."

Vanitas barely reacted. "I’ve got that covered."

Of course, he had anticipated at least that much.

He had prepared accordingly, utilizing his connections with the mafia as a contingency.

In other words, Vanitas had brought his own men into the Theocracy.

Not just to protect his home, but to ensure Charlotte’s safety when he wasn’t around.

"Is that all?"

Silas nodded. "I believe so."

"Alright." Vanitas set his glass down with a clink. "Keep me informed."

By openly provoking Simon Ainsley, Vanitas had drawn his attention onto himself.

A man so fixated on an enemy he couldn’t easily defeat would hardly notice his own son plotting against him.

"Your mother’s looking this way. Wouldn’t she find our exchange suspicious?" Vanitas asked.

"Not at all. It was Mother herself who asked me to observe you."

Vanitas raised an eyebrow. "Is that so?"

Silas gave a casual shrug. "Yes. I’ll handle the excuses. Don’t worry."

"You’re the one who should be worrying," Vanitas said. "If you get caught, kiss your plans goodbye."

Silas waved a hand dismissively. "Yes, yes. I know."

With that, their conversation ended. Silas turned and disappeared into the crowd.

* * *

Perhaps exhausted after endless pleasantries with nobles, receiving invitations, proposals, and even offers to host lectures, including one at the Theocracy’s prestigious Viridian University Tower, Vanitas finally found a moment alone.

He stood in the restroom, washing his hands after relieving himself as he let the cool water run over his fingers.

It was then.

——I wonder. Are you who you claim yourself to be?

A whisper came from behind him.

"....!"

Vanitas flinched. His eyes snapped up to the mirror.

The moment their eyes met, a chill ran down Vanitas’s spine.

"...."

Reflected in the mirror, standing just behind him, was Aston Nietzsche, the Sword Saint.

"Cardinal Nietzsche..." Vanitas muttered, forcing himself to maintain composure.

The bloodlust emanating from the man behind him was palpable.

"You’re just like me, aren’t you?"

Then, a shift. His tone changed, morphing into something with childlike innocence.

"Just like us! Don’t leave me out of this, Nietzsche!"

"...."

There it was.

His famed second personality.

But calling it a second personality was a stretch. It was a literal second soul, residing within the same body.

Cardinal Izza.

The First Sword Saint. According to records, he was an acquaintance of the Archmage, Zen.

"Just like you?" Vanitas raised a brow, reaching for the faucet and twisting it shut.

Behind him, Nietzsche—or more likely, Izza—chuckled.

"Yes. I can sniff you out. People like us. With that bullshit Stigmata Personality Disorder."

Vanitas exhaled slowly, locking eyes with Izza through the mirror.

"What are you talking about?"

He had thought about it before. His situation bore an uncanny resemblance to that of the Sword Saint, after all.

But there was one fundamental difference.

There was no other soul inside him.

It was only him.

Chae Eun-woo, and Chae Eun-woo alone.

"You’re not the only one inside that body," Izza said. "Maybe that’s why the Saintess took an interest in you, no?"

"I don’t know what you mean…."

"No need to pretend." Izza grinned, leaning in slightly. "Oy. Oy. Come out!"

"....?"

Vanitas tilted his head, genuinely baffled.

Come out?

What the hell was he talking about?

Izza stared at him for a long moment, then let out a thoughtful hum. "Huh. That’s strange. You’re usually asleep, aren’t you? Or maybe you’re pretending?"

"....You’re making less and less sense."

Then, another shift.

"Maybe you made a mistake, Izza?" This time, it was Nietzsche who asked.

Izza scoffed. "No, no. I’m certain…."

Nietzsche sighed. "Enough, Izza. He’s clearly uncomfortable."

At that, Izza clicked his tongue. "Tch. Fine, fine."

Vanitas had already lost all tension and had just the situation rather odd.

"Apologies for that, Vanitas Astrea… was it?" Aston said. "Izza’s just excited to meet someone like us. Usually, when we do, they end up being crazy."

Vanitas resisted the urge to scoff.

’You’re the only one crazy here…’

But he kept that thought to himself.

Aston smiled faintly, then straightened. "Ah, where are my manners?"

His tone shifted, returning to something more eloquent.

"You seem to already be familiar with me and Izza, but let’s make it official."

He extended a hand toward Vanitas’s back, though Vanitas didn’t bother turning around just yet.

"I am Aston Nietzsche. They call me the Sword Saint, but honestly…" A small chuckle escaped him. "I’m just the Saintess’s bodyguard."

Vanitas turned and took his hand. "Vanitas Astrea. A university professor. Please, the pleasure’s all mine."

However, the moment their hands met, Aston’s grip tightened.

"...."

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Vanitas felt the shift instantly.

"You know," Aston mused. "It’s quite odd. Most people greet me like some kind of deity."

He tilted his head slightly, his lapis lazuli eyes locked onto Vanitas’s.

"But you… you look at me as if we’ve had this exchange several times before. Have we met?"

Again, that question.

But it wasn’t unfounded.

Because they had met before.

Not here, however, but in the game.

Vanitas held his gaze, masking the glint of familiarity behind a neutral expression.

Finally, he spoke. "I don’t know what you mean."

Aston studied him for a moment longer before releasing his grip, stepping back with a small smirk. "Is that so?"

Vanitas exhaled, smoothing out his cuffs. "This has been a rather odd exchange, Cardinal. But perhaps I’m just too exhausted to start glamoring over you. Actually, I’m a bit of a fan."

Aston blinked. "Ah…."

And then, just like before—a shift.

Aston’s lips parted slightly, and his tone softened into something almost childlike.

"A fan… did you hear that, Izza? I have a fan."

His voice dipped into a whisper, laced with amusement. Now, Vanitas wasn’t sure which one of them was speaking anymore. Was it Izza or Nietzsche?

The Sword Saint was an easy man to tame.

Despite his reputation which made him seem untouchable, Nietzsche himself enjoyed admiration. Perhaps he was a little bit of a narcissist. But given his strength, it wasn’t unfounded at all.

"Izza…. I have a fan."

"No, he was definitely talking about me."

"No, me!"

"We’re practically the same person, Nietzsche!"

"Yes, but he’s definitely talking about me rather than you!"

"...."