The Villain Professor's Second Chance

The cloaked man took a step closer, his head cocked to one side as though he were studying her. Amberine felt the intensity of his gaze, the shadows under the hood concealing his face, and for a brief moment, she saw nothing but a glint of eyes—piercing, amused, and terrifyingly knowing.

"You…" His voice was a soft drawl, each word slow and deliberate, almost savoring what was about to come. "You're Polime's daughter, aren't you?"

Amberine froze, the rest of the world narrowing down to just her and the words he'd just spoken. It was like all the air had been sucked out of the room. "What…?" she whispered, her voice nearly cracking. The mention of her father—Polime—struck a deep, raw chord within her. She felt her pulse quicken, her throat tightening.

The cloaked man's smile widened, and it seemed almost serpentine, something dark and coiled beneath that twisted grin. "How… how do you know about my father?" Amberine stammered, trying to steady herself, her voice shaking with shock and confusion.

The cloaked man's gaze never left her. The way his eyes seemed to bore into her—as if he could see right through her skin and bones—made Amberine shiver. Her mind was flooded with memories of her father, memories she had tried for so long to bury: the late nights spent watching him work, the gentle smile that was always there when he spoke to her, and finally, the look of despair that had come to haunt his face, each day worse than the last.

The destruction of his career had not been some unfortunate happenstance. It had been carefully orchestrated. And Amberine knew whose hands were stained with that misdeed—Draven, the cunning professor, the calculating manipulator who had orchestrated every part of her father's downfall. Her father's name was ruined, his research stolen, and the blame placed solely upon him until his despair consumed him entirely.

The cloaked man's smile grew. His eyes glittered, and there was something darkly gleeful about the way his lips twisted. "Oh, I knew him quite well. Polime was an interesting fool—so ambitious, so brilliant… and ultimately, so easy to break."

Amberine's heart pounded, and she could almost feel the flames surging in her veins. A part of her wanted to lash out, to let the fire that Ifrit provided burn everything in its path. But the rest of her was paralyzed by shock, by the memory of her father's broken face in those final days, by the powerlessness that she had felt as she watched him fade away—day by day.

"You bastard," Amberine whispered, her voice barely more than a hiss. She didn't know who this man was, but hearing him speak about her father—with such callous, mocking disdain—made her stomach twist with anger. Her hands were trembling, and she clenched her fists, trying to steady herself, trying not to lose control.

"He really was brilliant, though," the cloaked man continued, his tone almost conversational now, as if he were speaking of an old friend. "A shame, really, how it ended. But he made it so easy." He shrugged, his eyes narrowing as he watched Amberine.

She could feel her blood boiling, her magic reacting to her emotions, the heat building up beneath her skin. Ifrit's presence, always warm against her ribs, felt like it was igniting, the flames licking at her insides, feeding off her fury. She took a step forward, her body trembling, her eyes locked onto the cloaked figure before her.

The man's smile widened further, as though he was delighted by her reaction. "What's wrong?" he taunted, his voice dripping with false sympathy. "Did I hit a nerve?"

Amberine swallowed hard, her heart pounding in her ears. Her father's face swam before her eyes, his hollow expression after losing everything. He had been destroyed, reduced to nothing—all because of Draven, all because of the politics, the jealousy, and the manipulations that had been at play. She hadn't been able to do anything then. She had been a powerless, helpless child.

But now, she wasn't helpless. She had power, and she wouldn't let them—whoever they were—get away with mocking her father's memory.

The cloaked man's laughter echoed throughout the chamber, filling the cold, dark space with a sound that was devoid of humor, only malice. The other cloaked figures standing in the room seemed to join in, their chuckles low and sinister, a chorus of mockery that seemed to close in on Amberine from all sides.

"Glad to see the daughter of that dimwit," the cloaked man said, his voice dripping with contempt. Amberine's eyes flared with anger. Her hands trembled, her fingernails digging into her palms as she tried to control herself. The flames flickered at her fingertips, reflecting her rage, each spark a warning, a promise of the fury she was ready to unleash.
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"He was interesting indeed, but you know, don't you?" The cloaked man continued, his smile widening into something grotesque. "It was Draven who killed him, who drove him into despair until he took his own life. Isn't that right?"

The words felt like a dagger being plunged straight into her heart. Amberine's vision blurred, her heart twisting with agony. The anger and hatred boiled up within her, hotter and fiercer than ever before, almost blinding her. She could feel her resolve faltering, the darkness creeping in once more—the urge to lash out, to burn everything, to let her flames consume her and everything in her path.

"He… Draven…" she whispered, her voice cracking. She knew it was true. It had always been true. Draven was the one who had pushed her father to that point, who had ruined everything, who had taken everything from her.

The exact professor that has given her the most knowledge in university as well.

The cloaked man's smile widened, his eyes glinting with triumph as he watched her struggle. He could see it—the way her flames flickered, the way her eyes darkened. He knew he had struck a nerve, that he was breaking her. "Yes," he said softly, his voice almost a whisper. "Give in to it. Let it consume you… just like your father."

Before she could fall further into that darkness, Amberine felt Maris's hand tighten around hers. The sudden warmth of Maris's touch broke through the haze of anger, pulling her back to reality. Amberine turned her head, her eyes meeting Maris's steady gaze.

"Amberine, don't listen to him," Maris whispered, her voice filled with a quiet, unwavering strength. There was fear in her eyes, yes, but there was also something else—a determination, a belief in her that Amberine hadn't realized she needed.

Maris's voice was steady, even as the fear lingered there. "He's trying to get into your head. Don't let him."

Amberine stared at Maris, her heart pounding, her mind still reeling. She took a deep, shaky breath, her fingers tightening around Maris's hand. The flames at her fingertips began to fade, the heat beneath her skin subsiding. Maris was right. The cloaked man was trying to break her, to make her lose control, to make her like her father—a man who had been brilliant but broken.

"No," she said, her voice trembling but resolute. She turned her head back towards the cloaked man, lifting her chin, her eyes narrowing as she met his gaze. "I won't let you."

The cloaked man's smile faltered, just for a moment. He watched her, his eyes narrowing slightly. Amberine could see the calculation in his gaze, the way he was reassessing her. And then, his smile returned, colder than before.

"You're just as foolish and arrogant as your father was," he said, his voice filled with disdain. The words stung, and Amberine could feel her anger building once more, her magic reacting to her emotions. The flames flickered back to life at her fingertips, brighter and hotter this time.

Suddenly, she heard a whisper, soft and warm, like a comforting presence in her mind. It was Ifrit, the fire spirit who had always been there, hidden beneath her robe, always ready to lend her strength. "Use me, Amberine," Ifrit whispered, his voice like a gentle flame in the darkness of her mind. "I've gathered enough heat. Let me show them our power."

Amberine closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. She could feel Ifrit's warmth spreading through her, the fire spirit's power burning within her, ready to be unleashed. She could feel the heat building, the magic coursing through her veins, filling her with strength, with determination. Slowly, she let go of Maris's hand, stepping forward.

"Amberine…" Maris whispered, her voice filled with concern, but Amberine didn't turn back. She knew what she had to do. The cloaked man had insulted her father, mocked his memory. She wouldn't stand for it.

Amberine clenched her fists, feeling the heat growing.

"Come, Ifrit,"