Chapter 36: ༺Defintion of a Sweet Man [1]༻
༺[Instructor’s Lounge]༻
Mid-afternoon sunlight spilled through tall, stained-glass windows, painting the wooden floors with patches of muted color.
There was a faint aroma of roasted beans, courtesy of the small kitchenette tucked into the corner.
It was here, between classes, that the instructors retreated to shed their dignity, sip tea, and more often than not...gossip.
Today was no exception.
At one round table, three female instructors had gathered.
A plate of almond biscuits sat between them, half-finished, alongside cups of warm chamomile tea.
Professor Liora, leaned back with a sigh, brushing her loose curls over her shoulder.
"Honestly, I think the Placement Exams this year are going to be utter chaos.
Branev’s been telling me the questions will lean toward advanced applications again.
Half the first-years will cry."
Professor Helena, a stern woman in her mid-thirties who oversaw Magical Ethics, rolled her eyes.
"As if that’s new.
Every year, Branev pulls some stunt to ’separate the wheat from the chaff.’ If I have to comfort another student bawling outside my office, I’ll start billing him."
They laughed, sipping their tea.
Professor Alys, the youngest of the three, covered her mouth with a biscuit still in hand.
"Oh, don’t pretend you don’t enjoy being the students’ confidante, Helena. I swear, you thrive on their drama."
"Drama makes the days move faster..."
Helena retorted dryly.
"Otherwise, this job would bore me to death."
"Exams are coming up again. Can you believe it? Didn’t we just finish grading the last ones?"
"Don’t remind me. My hands still ache from marking. And the essays? Why do students think longer means better?"
"Right? If I see another ten-page answer for a single question, I swear I’ll..."
She mimed tearing paper, earning laughter.
The conversation slipped into another topic as naturally as the steam rising from their cups.
"Speaking of headaches, the department budget this year..." one sighed. "It’s tighter than ever. I had to fight just to get enough for supplies."
"You too? I asked for basic materials, and they told me to ’make do.’ What does that even mean?"
"It means they think we’re miracle workers."
"Honestly, sometimes I think we are."
They chuckled, shaking their heads.
But soon the laughter turned into another shared groan.
"And then, of course, there are the faculty meetings."
"Ugh. Don’t say it. Hours of talking, and nothing ever gets decided."
"Exactly! They spend an hour arguing over who gets which lecture hall, then postpone the actual decision to the next meeting."
"By the end, I forget why we even gathered."
The three of them clinked their cups together in mock solidarity, sighing as though they had all survived some great battlefield.
But soon enough, as was often the case in gatherings like this, the topic drifted toward something far more interesting.
Or rather—someone.
"Speaking of faculty meetings..."
Liora set down her cup, her tone carrying that dangerous lilt of curiosity.
"Did either of you notice Noel Saint Grenn the other day?"
Helena raised an eyebrow.
"The senior instructor?"
"Yes, that senior instructor."
Liora’s lips curved into a knowing smile.
Alys nearly choked on her biscuit.
"Oh, don’t get me started. Every time he walks into the room, the atmosphere just... changes.
It’s infuriating."
Helena gave a low hum, pretending indifference but failing to hide the faint color on her cheeks.
"Well... it’s not exactly surprising.
At twenty-eight, he’s already outpaced most of us.
To be the youngest senior instructor on staff, to have cleared so many things at that, and still maintain that... composure."
"That posture..."
Liora added with a giggle then bit her lip.
"The way he sits, hands folded, eyes always calm as if nothing can rattle him.
Even the headmaster treats him like a cornerstone.
Tell me that’s not attractive."
Alys leaned forward conspiratorially, her eyes glittering.
"Attractive? It’s unfair.
A man that capable, that young, and still... single. Where’s the justice?"
The three burst into soft laughter, careful not to be overheard by the other instructors scattered about the lounge.
Then Liora suddenly clapped her hands together.
"Oh! Speaking of him, did you hear about the new club he’s starting? The Delights Club, I think it’s called?"
Helena tilted her head.
"Delights... Club?"
"Yes. Supposedly it’s a cooking club.
Not full meals...just light snacks, pastries, that sort of thing.
Can you imagine?"
Liora’s grin widened.
"Noel Saint Grenn, the stiffest, most serious man on campus, hosting a club for pastries. It’s absurd."
Absurd but it made them laugh harder.
Alys fanned her face dramatically.
"Are you kidding? That makes him even hotter.
You know what they say...give a man flour and butter, and suddenly he’s ten times more appealing."
Helena smirked.
"Is that how it works?"
"It does when he’s the one baking," Alys countered.
"I actually tried one of the pastries he made.
Don’t ask me how...I bribed one of his assistants. But gods, it was divine.
The man CAN cook? He’s the definition of a sweet man."
"Sweet man!"
Liora repeated, and they all broke into another fit of chuckles.
Helena, once she caught her breath, shook her head.
"Honestly, how does someone like him stay single? Don’t tell me he’s sworn himself to celibacy."
"Shush."
Alys suddenly hushed them, her gaze flickering to a table across the lounge.
The other two followed her eyes.
At a corner table sat a woman with striking white hair. Her bangs fell forward, shadowing her eyes as she flipped through stacks of papers.
A steaming cup of tea rested beside her hand, untouched for some time.
Professor Melissa.
The room seemed to cool just by acknowledging her presence.
"...Ah," Helena murmured, lowering her voice.
"Her."
"Wait, what about her?"
Liora whispered eagerly.
Alys bit her lip. Then, unable to resist, she leaned in.
"Don’t you know? She was the last one to be... involved with him."
Liora’s eyes nearly popped out of her skull.
"What?! You mean...Noel Saint Grenn actually dated someone? And her?"
Alys nodded firmly.
"Not just dated.
They were engaged, at one point."
The gasp that tore out of Liora was loud enough that a few nearby instructors glanced their way.
She covered her mouth quickly, whispering furiously.
"Unbelievable. Who in their right mind would leave a man like that? She must have been out of her mind!"
Helena chuckled under her breath, the mockery slipping easily into her voice now that the dam had broken.
"Out of her mind indeed.
To throw away someone like him... Tsk. If it were me, I’d cling to him until death."
"Exactly! He’s young, brilliant, handsome, respected.
He even cooks! Saints above, what more could a woman want?"
"Apparently, Melissa thought otherwise."
Their voices lowered into cruel little laughs, the kind sharpened by jealousy disguised as amusement.
But at the corner table, Melissa’s hand froze on the paper she was holding.
The laughter continued.
And then—slam!
Her palms struck the wooden table with a force that rattled cups across the lounge. Silence rippled outward, swallowing every laugh, every whisper.
Melissa remained still for a heartbeat, her bangs hiding her expression. Then, with slow, deliberate precision, she gathered her papers into a neat stack.
Without looking at anyone, she rose, straightened her posture, and walked out of the lounge.
The door shut behind her, leaving only the echo of her departure.
The three instructors sat frozen, their tea gone cold, guilt tightening their throats.
But not one of them dared to say a word.
***
༺[Chancellor Lyssandra’s Office]༻
The afternoon sunlight spilled lazily through the tall windows of the Chancellor’s office, painting the room in soft gold.
Stacks of parchment lined her desk, neatly arranged, though a few had slipped sideways as if even order itself had grown weary of the endless work.
The boy sitting across from her kept his posture straight, hands folded on his knees.
His uniform was pressed sharp, his black tie slightly loosened as if he had come in a rush. His expression, however, was calm.
Chancellor Lyssandra tapped the end of her pen against the papers before her and finally lifted her gaze.
"Your academics," she said, her voice smooth, carrying both authority and warmth.
"Truly outstanding. Not just in theory, but practical evaluations as well.
The professors rarely agree on anything, but in your case? Every report sings the same tune.
Ahead of your peers."
She allowed a small smile.
"It is a pleasure to see such consistency."
The boy nodded once. He didn’t speak unless spoken to, his black hair falling lightly over his forehead.
Her smile thinned, and she flipped the next page.
"But..."
She continued.
"...no matter how bright a student shines, rules remain rules.
You know this, don’t you?"
A faint pause. He nodded again.
"You are well aware that every student at Velorian Imperial Academy must belong to a club.
It is not optional.
It is mandatory."
She looked down at his report again.
"You had joined the embroidery and tailoring club. A quaint choice.
But according to this record..."
She tapped the paper with her fingernail.
"...you withdrew just last week."
She set the paper down and folded her hands atop it.
"Would you care to explain why? The club’s patron is Miss Melissa. A very sweet young lady.
She has spoken well of you before. Yet you left without reason.
Why?"
Finally, his voice came, quiet but steady.
"I already know how to embroider," he said.
"I didn’t see the point in staying."
Lyssandra blinked, then let out a small sigh that turned into a chuckle.
"Of all answers, I admit, that was not one I expected. Most students leave because they find the work too detailed, or too dull, or too feminine for their liking.
But you..."
Her lips curved faintly upward.
"You leave because you know how."
He offered no excuse.
The Chancellor leaned back in her chair, fingers brushing the rim of her teacup.
She tilted her head, studying him.
"So...what shall we do, then?
If you remain without a club, you will receive demerit points.
You understand what that means.
Three demerits in a term, and not even perfect grades will keep you from penalties."
His yellow eyes flickered for the first time. A tiny sign that he did not like the thought.
"Mm."
Lyssandra glanced down at another sheet, plucking it from the pile. She scanned it briefly.
"If embroidery no longer suits you, then join another.
One that can actually help you grow in skills you lack."
He stayed quiet.
She tapped the paper, then lifted her gaze back to him.
"Here," she said, sliding it across the desk.
"There’s a newly formed club. The Cooking Club. Consider it."
’Cooking?’
His brows knit slightly as he looked at the word printed on the parchment.
’A cooking club? In this academy?’
He hadn’t heard of such a thing. He turned the thought over in his mind, rolling it like a stone in his palm.
’Newly formed... which was why it hadn’t appeared on any of the previous lists.’
’Cooking.’
His mother’s voice echoed faintly in the back of his head.
—"Listen, my boy. Learn to cook. Truly cook. A man who knows his way in the kitchen will never starve, never be helpless. And it makes you more attractive, too.
You’ll thank me when you’re older."
She used to tease him with that.
Even without a wife, she’d said, you’ll live well. Independence is strength. A man who depends on no one can stand tall.
He exhaled slowly through his nose.
Maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea.
He looked up, his eyes meeting Lyssandra’s.
She didn’t press him.
At length, he reached for the pen lying beside the registration form. The scratch of ink was the only sound in the room for a moment. His name marked, his choice sealed.
He set the pen back down.
"Very good," the Chancellor said softly, satisfaction touching her voice.
"So you will join. Excellent.
Clubs are not merely distractions, you know.
They cultivate discipline. Teamwork. Practical skills beyond textbooks. In truth, they prepare you for life itself."
She leaned forward, her light green eyes sharp with the authority of someone who had seen generations of students pass through these halls.
"Continue to grow in the fields you are already excelling in. But also learn where you are lacking. Balance makes a man complete."
He inclined his head slightly. Not quite a bow, but acknowledgment.
Lyssandra smiled, then turned her attention back to her stack of documents as though the matter was now resolved.
"Dismissed," she said gently.
The boy rose, chair legs scraping lightly against the polished floor. He tucked the paper neatly back into the folder she had given him, adjusted the hem of his blazer, and turned toward the door.
Then the door shut softly behind him.
The Chancellor, left alone, looked at the signed paper again and allowed herself a small grin.
"That boy..." she murmured.
"Always so serious...
Perhaps this will do him good."
***