The Villain Professor's Second Chance-Chapter 463: The Twin Sisters’ Surprise

The grand mansion of Aurelion rose before them like a fortress of elegance and mystique. Its Gothic spires stretched toward the sky, each adorned with intricate carvings that seemed to shift and shimmer in the dim light, while the faint glow of embedded enchantments pulsed gently along the stone walls. The twins, Clara and Tiara, stood at the threshold, their gazes climbing the mansion’s towering heights before falling to the gilded doors that now swung open. Their breaths caught, a mix of awe and hesitation betraying their unease.

A servant in a crisply pressed uniform greeted them with a practiced bow, his movements precise and his demeanor both formal and inviting. "Welcome to the Drakhan mansion. By Earl Drakhan’s orders, you are to be treated as members of the household and afforded every comfort during your stay. If there is anything you require, do not hesitate to inform the staff."

The twins exchanged glances, their confusion palpable as they stepped hesitantly across the threshold. The servant’s voice was calm and measured, carrying an air of professionalism that seemed almost rehearsed, yet his tone suggested genuine sincerity. Clara leaned closer to her sister as the words sank in, her expression caught between disbelief and curiosity.

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"Did he really say that?" Clara whispered, her voice low and incredulous. "Draven? Our Draven?"

Tiara’s lips pressed into a thin line, her brows knitting together. "He’s never cared before. It doesn’t make sense." Her voice carried an edge of guarded hope, as though the possibility of a softer Draven might shatter under scrutiny. "Why now? What’s changed?"

The servant, catching the faint murmur of their conversation, allowed the briefest of smiles to touch his otherwise composed expression. "The Earl has emphasized that your comfort is of utmost importance," he added, his voice calm yet filled with an undercurrent of genuine intent. Gesturing with a white-gloved hand, he motioned toward the sweeping staircase that loomed ahead, its banisters gleaming with polished wood and faint magical inscriptions that seemed to hum softly, almost like a heartbeat of the mansion itself. "This way, if you please," he said, his tone polite but carrying an unspoken authority that made it impossible to refuse.

Clara and Tiara exchanged a glance, their expressions a tangled mix of disbelief and confusion. Clara leaned closer to her sister, her voice barely a whisper. "Is this... the same Draven we grew up with?"

Tiara’s lips pressed into a thin line. "I don’t know. He’s never cared before. Why now? What’s changed?" Her tone carried a faint tremor, a hint of hope wrapped in wariness.

As they stepped inside, their shoes echoed against the polished marble floors. The grand foyer opened before them, a space that seemed to breathe opulence. High vaulted ceilings stretched overhead, adorned with glittering chandeliers that cast warm, golden light across the room. The walls were lined with tapestries depicting ancient battles and victories, their details so vivid they appeared alive. A sweeping staircase spiraled upward, its banisters carved with patterns that seemed to hum faintly with dormant magic.

Clara couldn’t stop herself from marveling. "He’s... changed so much. This place, it doesn’t even feel like it belongs to the same person we knew."

Tiara’s gaze lingered on a series of portraits lining one wall, each depicting Draven in various stages of his life. In every image, his expression remained cold, detached, as if the painter could capture his essence but not his humanity. "No," she said softly. "It doesn’t. It changed so much from the last time we came where we kicked his ass for skipping his lectures..."

A maid appeared at their side, her movements fluid and graceful. "Your rooms have been prepared," she said with a gentle smile. "If you’d like, I can show you the way."

Clara hesitated before nodding. "Thank you."

As they followed the maid through the winding corridors, memories of their past flooded back unbidden. Draven, cold and distant, his sharp eyes always assessing, his words curt and cutting. He had been an unrelenting presence in their childhood, a figure of authority they could neither understand nor escape.

"Do you remember how he used to ignore us?" Clara’s voice was low, edged with the bitterness of old wounds.

Tiara nodded. "He always seemed so... unreachable. Like we weren’t worth his time."

Clara frowned, her fingers brushing the edge of an ornate railing as they climbed the stairs. "And now? He’s ordered them to treat us like we’re important. Why?"

The maid’s voice interrupted their musings. "Here we are. Please let us know if there’s anything you need."

The door opened to reveal a room that took their breath away, though the faint echoes of its past neglect lingered in its corners. It was spacious yet intimate, the kind of place that whispered luxury without screaming it, though certain details hinted at recent refinements. A grand four-poster bed dominated the room, draped in silken fabrics of deep burgundy and gold, the wood polished to an almost mirror-like sheen. The enchanted fireplace flickered in the corner, its flames dancing in unnatural hues, casting a warmth that seemed to embrace the room. Fine tapestries adorned the walls, their vivid patterns recently restored to vibrant life. However, Clara’s sharp eyes caught the faint signs of reupholstering on the chairs and a corner table that bore the unmistakable gleam of fresh varnish. Even the bookshelves, lined with tomes whose spines gleamed with arcane glyphs, had sections where the wood appeared newer, subtly differing from the rest.

Tiara stepped inside, her gaze scanning the space with a mix of awe and curiosity. "This room—it feels like someone’s gone to great lengths to make it perfect," she murmured, running her hand along the smooth edge of the desk. "Do you think Draven ordered this?"

Clara hesitated, her fingers brushing the edge of the bed’s silken canopy. "Maybe," she said, her voice tinged with doubt. "But look at these small signs—this room wasn’t always this well-kept. It’s like... it was barely used before. Why would he suddenly care to fix it up now?"

Clara stepped inside hesitantly, her eyes darting to every corner. "This... doesn’t feel real."

Tiara’s attention was drawn to the bookshelf. She reached out, her fingers brushing the spine of a book titled Advanced Theories on Shadow Magic. "Look at this," she said, awe in her voice. "He’s got books here I’ve only ever heard of."

Clara’s gaze shifted to the enchanted fireplace. "For someone so cold, his home feels... warm."

A knock at the door drew their attention. Another maid entered, carrying a tray laden with refreshments. She set it down on a small table and offered a polite smile. "The Earl has been particular about ensuring his estate serves not only the people but also his family. He’s made it clear that you are to be treated with the utmost care."

Tiara’s brow furrowed. "He said that?"

The maid’s smile softened. "Yes. The Earl values his family deeply. Perhaps more than he lets on."

After the maid left, the twins sat in silence for a moment. Clara broke it with a question that had been gnawing at her. "Why would he value us now, after everything?"

Tiara shook her head, her expression conflicted. "I don’t know. But... maybe he’s trying to change."

The next day, the twins ventured into Aurelion. The city had transformed since their last visit. What had once been a somber and functional capital was now alive with energy and progress. Streets bustled with merchants peddling colorful wares, children darting between stalls, and street performers drawing crowds with their magical tricks. The air carried the scents of fresh bread, spices, and the faint tang of ozone from enchanted streetlights that lined the avenues.

Clara’s eyes widened as she took it all in. "This is... incredible. It’s so different."

Tiara pointed to a nearby workshop where a group of young mages was gathered. A sign above the door read: Free Magical Training for All Apprentices. "Look at that. Public workshops? Since when?"

A passerby, overhearing their conversation, smiled and stopped to explain. "The Earl established those not long ago. Says every child should have the chance to learn magic, no matter their station."

Clara’s surprise deepened. "He did that?"

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The man nodded. "He’s a mysterious one, but no one can deny the good he’s done for this city. The reforms, the infrastructure, the policies... We’ve never seen anything like it."

Later, they stopped at a bakery, drawn by the aroma of fresh pastries. The baker, a cheerful woman with flour-dusted hands, handed them each a warm loaf of bread. "On the house," she said with a wink. "Consider it a thank-you for the Earl. He’s made sure no one goes hungry in this city."

Clara turned to Tiara as they walked away. "Is this really our brother? The man who used to terrify everyone in our family?"

Tiara’s response was a quiet, "I don’t know. But it seems like he’s trying to be someone different."

When they returned to the mansion, their thoughts were heavy with questions. They found themselves in the grand sitting room, where a servant was preparing tea. The room’s elegant decor felt almost too refined, too deliberate in its perfection.

Clara hesitated before speaking. "Why does he treat us like this now?"

The servant, a middle-aged man with a kind face, smiled as he poured the tea. "Perhaps the Earl understands the value of family better than most. He’s a man of many layers. What you see on the surface is rarely the whole story."

As the twins sipped their tea, the sound of the mansion’s main doors opening echoed through the space. They turned toward the source, their hearts suddenly racing with a mix of anticipation and apprehension.

Footsteps approached, steady and deliberate. And then, he appeared.

Draven entered the room with the same commanding presence that had always defined him. His sharp eyes scanned the room, taking in every detail with a single, precise glance. He was dressed impeccably, his dark coat tailored perfectly to his form. His expression was as cold and unreadable as ever, but there was a flicker of something else in his gaze—something restrained, calculated.

"It seems you’ve arrived,"