The Academy's Terminally Ill Side Character-Chapter 72: Introductory Monster Ecology [2]

Professor Ethan Caldwell was good at teaching. Too good, actually.

His lectures were sharp, engaging, and delivered with the kind of charisma that could make even the dullest topics feel like grand revelations.

Students liked him. So did most of the faculty at Velcrest Academy.

And, in return, he liked his students too.

Not in the typical, professional way. No, Ethan’s fondness for his students ran deeper—darker.

His affection was twisted.

There was something off about the way his eyes lingered when a cadet smiled too brightly, or how he praised passion and ambition with a little too much intensity in his voice.

To the others, he was a model professor—dedicated, charming, approachable.

But behind that glowing smile and polished exterior, he harbored desires that had nothing to do with education.

Ethan Caldwell idolized youth. Beauty. Passion.

And that obsession had begun to fester.

He indulged in his sick fantasies in secret, staging little scenarios to keep himself satisfied—harmless on the surface, but carefully crafted behind the scenes. A word of praise here. A private meeting there. Always subtle. Always under the guise of mentorship.

But fantasy wasn’t enough anymore.

Not for someone like him.

He was preparing. Slowly. Deliberately.

The next ’incident’ was only a matter of time.

And judging by the way his eyes swept the room—landing briefly on certain students with an almost reverent gaze—he was already narrowing down his options.

Still smiling. Still charming.

It made my skin crawl.

"Ah, it’s already time for class to end. Thank you for your hard work, everyone," he said, beaming like the perfect teacher he pretended to be.

"Yes~!" the students responded cheerfully.

I watched as our main victim giggled happily, eyes sparkling with admiration for her favorite professor.

Poor girl.

Who am I talking about?

Who else but our beloved Buttcheeks.

In the novel World’s Greatest Hero, she was the first victim of Ethan Caldwell.

A side character—loud, obnoxious, and easy to brush off. The kind of person who talks too much in class and never really seems to matter. You’d think she was just there for comic relief or to fill the background.

Her disappearance was the first major turning point in the story. Up until that moment, the novel had been lighthearted—a typical academy setting, full of training arcs, clashing egos, and flashy magic duels.

But when she vanished?

The tone shifted.

Hard.

It went from a battle-fantasy school story to something darker—heavier. Suspicion slithered its way into the dorms.

Teachers looked nervous. Students started sleeping with weapons under their pillows.

And Ethan?

He played it perfectly.

Smiles in class. Encouraging words. He even brought tea to the staff lounge.

He was never caught.

Not back then, at least.

Not until he got greedy.

Not until he set his sights on someone who wasn’t just a side character.

Yeah, I’m talking about Nora Hayes.

Ryen’s childhood friend.

When she disappeared, it wasn’t just a shift in tone. It was like the entire story cracked open and spilled chaos.

Ryen didn’t sleep. Didn’t eat. He ignored everyone, even the professors. Every second of his day went into searching for her. Chasing leads. Breaking rules.

Hell, he even fought a professor at one point.

And you know what?

He found her.

He found the culprit.

And he made sure the world would never forget what happened to Ethan Caldwell.

But right now, sitting here and watching Buttcheeks squeal over Professor Ethan’s fake smile, I couldn’t help but sigh.

If only she knew.

Well it doesn’t matter to me at the end of the day.

I still have to attend the next class.

Better get going before I’m late.

***

Integrated Combat Training.

It was a class that existed purely because the author wanted Leo and Ryen to appear in the same frame during this arc.

Ryen already took Beginner and Intermediate Swordsmanship, while Leo was knee-deep in Intermediate Spearmanship. By all logic, their paths shouldn’t have crossed here.

But this class—an unholy mash-up of every melee discipline—was conveniently built around sparring and "cross-weapon feedback," which meant anyone who touched a weapon could join. Sword, spear, axe, stick—it didn’t matter.

And, somehow, it also had the dumbest rule ever.

Whoever among the close-combat instructors happened to be free that day would run the class.

No structure. No fixed curriculum. No dedicated instructor. Why? Because the author didn’t want to bother creating a new side character.

Honestly, what more needed to be said?

Today’s "guest professor" was Ray Black, our Basic Physical Training instructor. That probably meant he lost a game of rock-paper-scissors behind the faculty building this morning.

Right now, two students stood at the center of the sparring grounds.

Leo.

And Ryen.

They weren’t using real weapons, just the standard practice gear. Blunt blades, weighted spears—things meant to bruise, not bleed.

But anyone who knew anything could tell the gear barely mattered when it came to these two.

The air felt charged. Tense.

If this arena wasn’t surrounded by reinforced barriers and fitted with the Academy’s latest mana-dampening systems, there was no question someone would leave with broken bones.

Or worse.

Still, no one looked away.

Why would they?

It was Leo and Ryen.

Hot-headed genius and cold, calculated monster.

Everyone in the class leaned forward slightly, silent, waiting for the clash.

And me?

I just sat back with my arms folded, watching.

The show was about to start.

And I had the best seat in the house.

The two stood a few meters apart, their weapons in hand.

Ryen held a standard training longsword, one hand resting loosely on the hilt, the other tucked behind his back as if he wasn’t taking it too seriously.

Leo, on the other hand, had already adopted a textbook-perfect spear stance—feet planted, back straight, expression unreadable. His cold, silver eyes were locked onto Ryen like he was sizing up a nuisance more than a threat.

"Try not to hold back, Leo," Ryen said, flashing a grin. "If you go easy on me, I might start thinking you’re afraid."

Leo didn’t respond at first. He simply exhaled slowly through his nose, adjusting his grip on the spear.

"...It’s not fear. I just don’t enjoy wasting energy."

The crowd around them murmured.

Classic Leo.

Ryen just chuckled. "Fair enough. But you know, you lost to me in the entrance exam. Can’t help but think maybe I’m little stronger then you want to admit."

That got Leo’s attention. His eyes narrowed slightly, a subtle twitch at the corner of his lip.

"Loss?" Leo repeated flatly. "It was a fluke. Just fluke, this time luck won’t be your side."

"Oh?"

"You were lucky."

Ryen scratched his cheek, still smiling. "Guess we’ll see if luck’s on my side again."

Ray Black raised one hand, then chopped it down with a shout.

"Begin!"

In an instant, Leo surged forward like a shadow given form, spear darting in a straight, deadly line.

But Ryen had already moved, his body twisting with effortless grace as the tip of the spear grazed his sleeve.

"Fast," Ryen said, parrying with a flick of his sword and sidestepping. "You’ve gotten sharper."

Leo didn’t respond. He just pivoted, the spear spinning with practiced precision as he followed up with a sweeping arc meant to trip or gut, depending on how lucky you were.

Ryen leapt back with a laugh. "You’re really trying to kill me, huh?"

"I don’t joke when I fight," Leo replied, his voice ice.

The tension began to rise.

Blades clashed. Steel met reinforced alloy. Every strike sparked against the mana-infused practice weapons, each swing of Leo’s spear precise, brutal, and focused.

And every dodge from Ryen was almost playful—relaxed, but calculated.

The audience held their breath. No one dared speak.

These weren’t just students.

These were the two top cadets of the first year.

One fighting to prove superiority.

The other... just enjoying the sparring match with someone who matches his strength.

And somewhere in the middle of that clash, it was impossible to tell who was actually winning.

***

The clash between Leo and Ryen ended just as quickly as it began—intense, sharp, and leaving everyone breathless.

It ended in a draw.

Ryen had tried to close the distance, weaving between the arcs of Leo’s spear with smooth, confident movements. But Leo’s precise footwork kept him just out of reach, maintaining his advantage with near-perfect spacing.

On the other hand, despite controlling the range, Leo couldn’t land a decisive blow. Ryen’s sharp counterattacks had forced him onto the defensive more than once, nearly catching him off guard.

Both had their strengths. Neither had the upper hand.

Ray Black stepped forward, arms crossed and a look of reluctant admiration on his face.

"Well," he began, his voice carrying across the training ground, "you two are so good that it’s difficult for me to give meaningful feedback."

A murmur of quiet laughter passed through the observing cadets. It wasn’t often an instructor admitted something like that.

"That was impressive. Seriously," Ray continued, nodding with what looked like genuine pride. "As an instructor, it’s great to have cadets like you. But this class is called Adaptive Combat Studies for a reason."

He turned toward the rest of the students, clapping his hands once to get their attention.

"And the core of this class is feedback, analysis, and growth. So... it’d be nice to have a match where the skill gap isn’t razor-thin."

A ripple of nervous laughter followed. A few students instinctively took half-steps back, clearly hoping not to be picked.

Ryen casually sheathed his practice sword and gave Leo a friendly glance. "Guess we’re too good for our own good, huh?"

Leo didn’t respond, wiping sweat from his brow with a handkerchief. But there was a tightness in his jaw and a flicker of frustration in his eyes.

He hated draws.

Especially against Ryen.

Ray raised an eyebrow as he scanned the group. "Alright, who’s next?"

As soon as he said those words, someone within crowd of stood up.

"Cadet Rin Evans and I will sparring the next." ƒrēewebnoѵёl.cσm

That someone was non other then Buttcheeks.

...And it’s seems that she nominated me without my consent.

She looked towards me and smrik.

....Damn that girl!