Clatter Clatter

"Ahhh~ Am I dreaming?"

"I can't believe it—the gates have opened again after almost two entire months of endless protests and lockdowns!"

"Haha! We did it! We united, we endured, and now our voices have finally been heard!"

"I never thought I'd see the day when Substitute Teacher Morgana returns!!"

"But seriously, what do you think of her new look? I kinda miss the old one."

"Miss it? Are you blind? This one's a hundred times better—she looks divine!"

"Shhh—watch your tongue! Even if the substitute teacher were to wear nothing but dust and mud, she'd still be the most beautiful woman in the entire academy!"

The building trembled with excitement. The massive academic complex was bursting with life, filled to the brim with students crowding every corridor and hall, buzzing like a grand stadium moments before a world championship.

No fewer than six thousand students had heard the news—the gates had reopened, and Substitute Teacher Morgana herself had returned. She had even issued a sudden announcement for a new lecture to begin in just two hours… and within that short time, students came rushing from every corner of the planet, no, from the starfield!

Those who were on field missions, distant adventures, or expeditions in the outer provinces dropped everything and hurried back as fast as they could, panting and drenched in sweat, afraid of missing the first glimpse of her return.

Was it truly for the sake of knowledge? For the wisdom she imparted about soul creatures and the intricate runes of enchantment? Perhaps that's what they told themselves.

But when they arrived—when their eyes finally met the sight of her—every purpose melted away. They forgot about education, about lectures and exams. All that remained was awe. The woman seated at the professor's desk radiated an aura of calm that made time itself seem slower. She waited silently, smiling faintly, counting down the minutes until the lecture began.

Substitute Teacher Morgana.

At that moment, she wore a long, flowing black gown that seemed woven from the night sky itself. It shimmered faintly under the dim light, decorated from top to bottom with delicate, raised patterns that caught every glimmer. The fabric widened gracefully at the bottom, yet clung to her upper body in a refined fit, reaching halfway up her neck—giving her a sense of noble restraint mixed with dark allure.

Above that dress was her familiar, unforgettable face. Her lips, now ink-black, curved with calm confidence, and around her wide, expressive eyes stretched deep lines of kohl so dark and natural it seemed drawn by the essence of night itself.

"..." Morgana felt a wave of tension run through her as thousands of eyes locked onto her. Was her natural face really that strange?

Long ago, His Majesty had gifted her a crimson cosmetic box forged from the Master Creation Law—a divine relic intended to deceive the Gatekeepers and let her pass. But as she later discovered, those cosmetics did far more than disguise her looks—they cloaked her entire presence.

They suppressed her eerie, half-dead aura... the one that constantly leaked with the weight of bad karma.

She had used them religiously, day after day, for years. She feared that if anyone ever saw her true self, they would sense something dark, something inhuman lurking beneath her calm smile.

But that fear no longer held power over her. His Majesty had healed her completely—purged her of that suffocating aura that once clung to her like a curse. The gloom that had haunted her steps was gone. The danger that once surrounded her soul had dispersed into nothingness.

Now, even with her blackened lips and shadowed eyes, she no longer carried that dreadful weight. She was finally free to be seen.

So, she made her choice: she would abandon the enchanted cosmetics, step out from behind her illusion, and reveal her true self to the world.

She still looked like a graceful woman in her thirties—mature, poised, but alive in a way she hadn't been for centuries. Wrapped in the dark elegance she had once hidden behind, she now stood as herself: not the illusion, but the truth.

She had thought it would be natural—after all, every other teacher changed her wardrobe and style frequently. But the way they were staring… the awe, the fascination, the hunger in their eyes—it was as if they wanted to devour her with their gazes.

"..." Morgana lifted her hand slowly, turning it over, inspecting the dark lace and polished patterns along her sleeve. Was it really that bad?

"Heh~" she exhaled softly, sweeping her gaze across the noisy hall. "There are still ten minutes left, but no one's entered for a while... shall we begin?"

"Yes, Teacher!"

"Everyone's already here, Teacher! No one else is coming!"

"Alright then~" Morgana straightened up, her black lips curving into a breathtaking smile that made thousands of hearts pound like drums. The air itself felt electric.

"It's been more than five long years since our last lesson," she said softly, her voice flowing like velvet through the hall. "We last stopped at the soul creature enhancement borrowings… do you remember anything of that topic?"

"We never forget anything you teach us, Teacher!"

"We're ready for an exam!"

"Good~" Morgana's smile widened ever so slightly, her tone both playful and commanding as she began to stroll along the length of her raised marble platform. Her heels clicked with deliberate rhythm, echoing faintly across the vast lecture hall. "As all of you know, I am a Royal-class Soul Mistress—one who specializes in the art of supporting and empowering soul creatures. And in my view…" she turned, glancing over her shoulder with a knowing look, "this is the only true path worthy of a Soul Master's style of combat."

Of course, that was only half the truth. In reality, the techniques she had developed throughout her long years were not meant for soul creatures at all—they were designed to enhance and command specters. But such a confession could never leave her lips; the world wasn't ready to hear that.

"Hand-to-hand combat," Morgana said, stopping at the edge of the platform. Her voice lowered into a faint tone of disdain, "for a Soul Master, is the peak of misery and wasted potential. It's like someone who owns a cannon… and chooses to use it as a walking stick." She gave a small shake of her head, sighing dramatically.

"How could someone," she continued, "with power vast enough to stand gracefully at the backlines, directing their soul creature to fight as an extension of themselves—head held high, perhaps snacking while watching their enemies crumble—simply throw all that elegance away just to jump into the mud and swing their fists like a barbarian?"

"Hehe~" The classroom burst into laughter. Some students covered their mouths, others exchanged daring glances. Everyone could tell—the substitute teacher was clearly taking a jab at Professor Barok's notoriously old-fashioned fighting style.

"Now, yes…" Morgana said with a teasing smile, waving her hand slightly, "using your fists as a Soul Master does help conserve your precious soul units—those delicate, difficult-to-obtain fragments of spiritual essence we all struggle to gather. But…" she paused, raising a finger, her voice soft but sharp, "that is far from the only method of avoiding waste."

She stopped pacing and turned toward the audience, the dim glow of the hall lights dancing over her dark gown. "For example," she said with an almost conspiratorial whisper, "there's the method of giving borrowings to yourself."

"Woooaaah…" The students collectively leaned forward, their eyes widening, their mouths slightly open in anticipation. Even the laziest among them sat upright, realizing something major was about to be revealed.

"A true Soul Master," Morgana began again, her tone taking on the calm rhythm of a teacher who knew she held her students' full attention, "spends most of their time innovating, crafting, and providing support from afar. Rarely should one need to taint their own hands with direct battle. But—" she raised her hand slightly, her shadow stretching long behind her, "if you ever find yourself in a situation where you must fight personally, then why not make use of your own soul borrowings?"

Her gaze swept across the class—thousands of young souls looking up at her with awe. The faint smirk on her lips carried a confidence that made her seem untouchable.

"I've already taught you how to create borrowings that empower your soul creatures," she said, each word measured and smooth. "Now, I'll teach you how to turn those borrowings inward—how to summon and wield them yourself, without any prior ritual or preparation. To use them as if they were extensions of your very soul domain."

Her voice deepened slightly, echoing with authority. "With this technique, you can prepare your battles not merely hours or days ahead—but months, even years in advance. You will step into combat already armed with preordained advantage, and that, my dear students, ensures nothing less than inevitable victory. So tell me…" she tilted her head, her black lips curving into a dangerous smile, "who among you is ready for that?"

"YEEEESSSSS!!" The hall erupted into deafening cheers. Hundreds—no, thousands—of students jumped to their feet, clapping and shouting until their voices cracked. The air itself seemed to shimmer with excitement.

This was what they loved about Morgana more than anything else—she never held back. She didn't waste time on shallow lessons filled with vague ideas, only to later demand tens of thousands of Pearls for some "advanced paid session" like the other professors. Morgana gave everything freely—every secret, every technique, every insight. Her passion for teaching was genuine, her brilliance unmatched, and her generosity legendary.

Knock Knock

The echo of two firm knocks rang through the grand hall, slicing through the roaring applause. Silence swept over the room. Every student turned toward the massive double doors at the far end.

A moment later, the doors creaked open, and seven shadows stepped inside—each tall, composed, and radiating quiet authority. At their lead stood a young woman wearing a wide blue hat that shimmered faintly under the light.

"Excuse us…" she said, her tone calm yet piercing, carrying effortlessly across the entire hall. "Could someone explain what exactly is happening here? Isn't this supposed to be the academic building of Professor Robin Burton?"

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