As I pushed open the door to my office, the familiar calm of the space settled over me.

I shrugged off my long coat, hanging it on the rack, and found myself left in just my half-coat.

I adjusted my black gloves, feeling the leather against my skin as I looked around the room.

I realized yet again, probably for the hundredth time today with a small sigh, that I didn't have anything scheduled for the day.

No lectures, no meetings, just empty hours stretching ahead.

Instead of lingering on the emptiness, I leaned against the desk and started looking around, searching for something to occupy my time.

"Let's start the day by cleaning my research room..."

I knew I couldn't afford to hire anyone to clean the place, and honestly, I preferred doing it myself.

There was something about cleaning my own space that made it feel more personal, more meaningful.

Plus, as I tidied up, I could stumble upon old notes and memories that might help jog my mind, maybe even bring back some lost pieces of the past.

Just as I was about to start cleaning my research room, the door swung open, and Clara burst in.

Her expression a mix of urgency and professionalism.

"Professor..."

She said.

"...the Chancellor, Lyssandra, wants to speak with you about a certain matter."

I couldn't help but curse inwardly.

Of course, just when I decided to get busy and tidy up, something had to come up.

I nodded, trying to hide my frustration, and followed her out of the office.

Here's the full scene written in Noel's first-person POV, in a Korean webnovel tone — calm, reflective, and politically sharp beneath a composed exterior. The dialogue stays faithful to their personalities:

Chancellor Lyssandra — graceful, perceptive, and strategic.

Noel — cold, formal, and detached but subtly grateful.

---

The smell of bergamot tea lingered faintly in the Chancellor's office.

Afternoon light spilled through the tall windows, brushing across the gilded frames and the polished wooden floor.

Everything about Lyssandra's office was immaculate.

It's interior design and everything was well done and I got jealous for a bit.

I stood before her desk, hands clasped behind my back.

She finally spoke.

"Senior professor Noel..."

She began softly.

"...your little cooking club seems to be the new headline of the week."

I didn't say anything as she continued.

"The Delights Club."

Her lips curved faintly, not in mockery but intrigue.

"Hmm...a harmless name...

Yet somehow, you've gathered the heirs and heiresses of half the Empire's powerhouses under one roof."

Her eyes flicked to a stack of reports on her desk.

I could make out the seals of several noble houses.

'Are those complaints... warnings?'

I thought in my head.

They wete likely both.

She set her pen down and interlaced her fingers.

"Tell me, Professor… how did you do it?"

I met her gaze but said nothing for a moment.

The truth was...even I didn't know.

I didn't choose them.

Claire had handled most of the selections.

But saying that now would sound careless.

So I kept my silence.

And Lyssandra, perceptive as always, took it as my answer.

She gave a quiet sigh.

"Of course.

Even you don't know."

Her voice softened, but the weight in her words did not.

"Still, I must caution you.

What you've formed here whether intentionally or not... is not just a club.

It's a symbol...and symbols carry meanings the world will force upon them."

She leaned back slightly, studying me as though she were arranging thoughts like chess pieces.

"There are many different ways this… alliance of yours will be seen...but I will state to you five..."

Her eyes narrowed faintly, and she began to list them, one finger at a time.

"First...to the noble families, it will appear as a political gesture.

A quiet attempt by the Saint Grenn heir to unify the younger generation under your influence.

Whether you intended it or not, people will see leadership...or manipulation."

She paused before continuing.

"Second...to the rival houses, it will look like provocation.

Some of those students' families have opposed each other for years and years.

Yet here they are, cooking side by side.

For proud houses, that's a public insult. They'll want to know your motive."

Her gaze sharpened.

"Third...to the Imperial Court, this will read as strategy and a disguised coalition.

You've drawn in heirs from Saint Houses during the Divine Candidacy.

That timing cannot be ignored."

'It was as Adele had said...and how I'd thought about it myself.'

I felt her words settle like stones in the room.

The Divine Candidacy which was the Holy House succession trials was already dividing the empire's aristocracy into factions.

And here I was, gathering their children over pastries and tea.

She continued, her tone steady.

"Fourth...to the Church, it could be interpreted as alignment.

A signal that the House of Grenn seeks favor with the Holy Grail's successors.

With a child from the number one Saint household in your club, that interpretation will only strengthen."

Her eyes softened briefly, but only slightly.

"Fifth…"

She rested her chin on her hands.

"To the press and the public, this will look like a rebellion against tradition.

A noble professor ignoring bloodlines and status to mix the Empire's children freely.

Admirable, perhaps...but dangerous."

Silence filled the office after that.

Only the faint ticking of a clock broke through it.

I exhaled slowly through my nose, then spoke for the first time.

"…If that is the case, Chancellor..."

I said, my tone level and formal.

"...should I dissolve the club?"

Her gaze lifted to mine.

For a moment, I saw genuine surprise flicker in her expression as though she hadn't expected me to suggest it.

Then, softly, she shook her head.

"No." she said.

"...you won't have to.

Not yet at least."

She turned slightly, pouring herself another cup of tea.

Her voice carried a quiet confidence that contrasted the heaviness of her warning.

"For now, I will handle the inquiries.

The noble houses, the reporters, the gossip. Leave that to me."

Her eyes met mine again.

"After all, this isn't the first time you've dealt with the upper class, is it, Professor?

You were once a civil servant of the Empire under the Imperial Security Department, if I recall correctly."

I inclined my head.

"That is correct."

"Then I assume you already understand how to navigate powerful names and their tempers."

I gave a small nod, though inwardly, I wasn't so certain anymore.

The Chancellor smiled faintly.

"Good.

Then let's do as we always do in this academy, Professor Noel...

Let the chaos settle before it stains the carpet."

I almost smiled.

Her wit was razor-sharp even when she didn't intend it to be.

She gestured toward the door.

"You may go. And, Professor..."

Her tone softened as I reached for the handle.

"Try not to start any more revolutions.

Not before the weekend, at least."

"…Understood."

---

Outside her office, the hallway felt quieter than usual.

For a moment, I simply stood there, letting her words replay in my head.

To think that a simple club for cooking an escape from the academy's politics would stir the empire's watchful eyes.

But I couldn't deny the truth in what she said.

A club with the heirs of the Saint Houses, the nobles, and even the Third Holy Princess…

To others, it was either brilliance or audacity.

Perhaps both.

I let out a quiet breath.

"...You really can't escape politics, can you?"

I muttered under my breath.

Still, I was grateful.

Chancellor Lyssandra had offered me protection or at least, time.

I adjusted my gloves, straightened my coat, and began walking down the marble corridor.

For now, she would handle the noble houses.

---

As I returned to my cluttered research room, I couldn't help but sigh.

I was determined to finally clean up.

Dust rose like pale smoke as I dragged the rag across the counter.

Test tubes stood like soldiers who had forgotten their war, and the sunlight cut through the half-opened blinds, splitting the air into lines of gold and black.

It had been hours since I started cleaning, but the more I wiped, the more the mess revealed itself.

Drawers that refused to close properly...

CAbinets stacked with unmarked vials...

...and piles of parchment that looked like they hadn't been touched in years.

I found the first stack of papers under a broken frame.

Yellowed, wrinkled, and clipped together with rusted pins.

A headline caught my eye.

____________________________

"Prodigy Surgeon Saves Duke's Heir After Magical Core Rupture."

_____________________________

I froze.

The name Noel Saint Grenn was printed right beneath the title.

A photo accompanied it.

His eyes were cold even then.

I looked nothing like him, yet the mirror said otherwise.

I sat down slowly, brushing off the dust.

The article described the event like a legend.

A seventeen-year-old noble, saving the Duke's only son by repairing a shattered mana core with experimental magic.

Words like "miracle," "pioneer," and "genius" appeared more times than I could count.

I couldn't help but mutter.

"...So, you were that kind of person."

The second article rested beneath it.

_________________________

"Royal Medical Scholar Appointed from House Saint Grenn."

_________________________

A formal announcement, praising the empire's youngest scholar.

His achievements were listed in order...

doctorate in mana physiology, lectures in two academies, and proposals for medical magic advancement.

It didn't sound like a man.

It sounded like a myth someone made up to keep themselves inspired.

The third one had an entirely different tone.

______________________________

"Grenn's Reverse Healing Experiment Sparks Debate."

______________________________

The text detailed an incident where Noel had absorbed corrupted mana from a patient's bloodstream...nearly killing himself in the process.

The method worked, but the Medical Council deemed it too dangerous.

The reporter described him as "possessed by his own brilliance."

I could almost hear my own heartbeat echo in the empty room.

I set the papers aside and kept cleaning.

Each drawer seemed determined to give me more of him

A stack of journals fell when I opened the next cabinet.

Between them were more articles about twenty in all, organized by date.

One by one, I placed them on the table, dusting each gently as if handling relics.

The fourth headline read

_____________________________

"Mana Nerve Reconstruction — Noel's Paper Accepted by the Imperial Academy."

_____________________________

There were diagrams of nerves drawn in ink, annotated with precise handwriting that belonged to him.

It was meticulous and almost obsessive.

The writing looked like it could cut.

Another one followed

__________________________

"Local Orphan Saved by Noble Doctor's Hands."

__________________________

The photograph was blurred, but I could make out a child's smile.

A girl with pale hair holding onto Noel's gloved hand.

He didn't smile back, but he looked… tired.

Even in the image, there was something hollow about his gaze.

I stopped cleaning entirely.

The quiet in the room thickened.

Outside the window, students' laughter faintly echoed from the training yard, yet none of it reached me.

The next headline drew my attention.

________________________

"The Empire's Youngest Scholar."

_________________________

The article described Noel's early career, filled with honors and awards.

It even mentioned a speech he gave at the capital.

My fingers brushed the next page.

___________________________

"Noel's Laboratory Receives Imperial Grant for Mana Immunotherapy."

______________________________

A detailed breakdown of his research.

Ten million earls in funding.

I couldn't even imagine that much money.

He must have been someone powerful ,admired and possibly even feared.

_______________________________

"Patient Recovers After Noel's Last Treatment — Doctor Unreachable."

_______________________________

_____________________________

"Genius Noel's Condition worsens — 'Mana Erosion Syndrome'"

_______________________________

___________________________

"House Grenn Refuses Comment."

______________________________

___________________________

"Imperial Scholar Missing After Last Public Appearance."

_______________________________

Each article grew shorter, colder.

The warmth that used to surround his name had turned to whispers, then silence.

By the twelfth, they'd already moved on to newer prodigies.

He had become a forgotten name, buried under the next headline.

I closed my eyes, trying to recall anything...any image, sound, or memory that might belong to him.

Nothing came.

Just an emptiness, like looking into a mirror that refused to reflect.

"If he was into being a doctor back then..how did he get into magic engineering?"

I asked myself as I thought.

The last article stopped me cold.

________________________

"Noel Saint Grenn Returns—Now Assigned as Professor at Velorian Imperial Academy...in the Magic Engineering (M.E) Tower?"

________________________________

A reappearance after years of silence.

It was written in a neutral tone, but there was an undertone of disbelief.

People didn't know what happened to him, only that he came back suddenly and started teaching again...under a different field entirely.

The sunlight had shifted, now slanting through the window and painting the table in orange.

I leaned back in the chair, feeling the weight of multiple lives pressing down on me.

I looked down at my hands.

The broom lay forgotten against the wall.

The air smelled faintly of paper and regret.

"This body used to save people..."

I said quietly, the words almost foreign on my tongue.

"And now it can barely breathe..."

Was this fate's way of mocking me?

I picked up one of the research notes lying under the pile.

It wasn't an article, just Noel's handwritingsharp.

"Mana conducts emotion... To heal is to absorb suffering."

Under it, a single line scribbled in a hurry:

"And suffering accumulates."

For a long time, I didn't move.

The wind outside shifted the curtains slightly, letting the scent of spring drift in.

It felt strange reading about someone's downfall and realizing it was supposed to be mine.

I stacked the papers neatly, one atop another, aligning the corners with precision.

Old habits die hard.

Even in a new world, order gave me comfort.

By the time I finished, the sun had nearly set.

Golden light touched the floor like spilled honey, and the dust sparkled in it.

I stood, glancing once more at the articles.

Each headline was a chapter of a life I didn't live but was forced to continue.

"It's evening now...

The meeting will be happening anytime soon..."

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