Villainous Instructor at the Academy

Back at the Dorne estate, the so-called "vacation" had officially mutated into something far worse: a mandatory planning session for the academy’s Students’ Festival. I had gathered my lovely, disaster-prone Class C in the estate’s largest sitting room. The place, with its old furniture and faint smell of river mold, wasn’t exactly a symbol of luxury. Fitting, honestly.

I lounged in one of the battered armchairs, spinning a quill between my fingers while my students sat on couches, cushions, and the floor, all staring at me like lost ducklings.

"Alright," I began, tapping the quill against the side of my head, "the academy wants us to come up with an event that’s ’meaningful’ and ’entertaining.’ You know what that means?"

Garrick raised a hand. "Uh, no?"

"It means," I said, grinning, "they expect us to fail. Spectacularly. Public humiliation is basically the goal. So let’s not disappoint them."

Leo immediately groaned. "Why can’t we just pretend to be a normal class and open a food stall or something?"

I pointed the quill at him. "Because, Runaway Brat, a food stall run by us would either poison people or explode. And not in the fun way."

Mira, smirking from her seat atop the couch armrest, added, "I vote we make a ’curse-your-enemy’ booth. Pay a silver coin and we’ll slap a misfortune curse on someone you hate."

Julien burst out laughing. "Can you imagine the academy nobles lining up for that?"

"Tragically," I said, "the administration might notice when their sons and daughters start slipping on puddles of grease for three weeks straight."

Felix, still a bit withdrawn since the letter from his family, tried to cut in. "Shouldn’t we do something... safer? Like a play?"

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