The Villain Professor's Second Chance

The cold night air brushed against their skin as Amberine and Maris stood frozen on the rooftop, staring at the old man before them. He seemed entirely out of place amidst the chaos that had just unfolded—a striking figure of composure and elegance. His gray hair, neatly combed back, caught the faint moonlight, and his posture was impeccable, as though he were attending a grand banquet rather than standing on a rooftop in the slums.

The cut of his tailored suit hinted at strength beneath the refined exterior, the fabric hugging broad shoulders and tapering perfectly to his slim waist. His gloved hands rested lightly behind his back, a stance of both confidence and restraint. There was something about him that demanded attention, an air of quiet authority that made it impossible to look away.

Amberine's eyes widened as realization dawned. "It's Alfred! Sir Alfred!" Her voice broke the silence, her tone a mix of disbelief and amazement.

Maris, still catching her breath, stared at the man. "Sir Alfred? As in Professor Draven's butler?" Her brow furrowed, her voice filled with equal parts skepticism and relief. "What is he doing here? In the slums of all places?"

Sir Alfred turned toward them, the faintest trace of amusement softening his sharp features. "Indeed, it is I," he said, his voice smooth and unhurried. "I would offer my formal introduction, but I believe the circumstances necessitate haste over pleasantries."

Amberine leaned heavily against Maris, her exhaustion evident, but the sight of Alfred seemed to reinvigorate her. "I can't believe this," she muttered, her voice tinged with a mix of awe and lingering suspicion. "Draven's butler, just casually standing here like he's on a picnic."

Maris glanced at her, shaking her head slightly. "Focus, Amberine. If he's here, it means something serious is going on."

Before Alfred could respond, a faint shimmer in the air drew their attention. The portal materialized slowly, its edges rippling like liquid silver. The two fog creatures, their shadowy forms shifting and writhing, began to stabilize the gateway. Amberine and Maris instinctively tensed, the oppressive weight of dark mana pressing down on them like a suffocating blanket. Even Ifrit, usually a steady warmth beneath Amberine's robe, seemed muted, his presence barely a flicker.

From the portal stepped a cloaked figure, his movements deliberate and predatory. The air around him thickened with malice, the dark mana radiating from his form as tangible as the ground beneath their feet. His voice cut through the tension, cold and commanding. "Who are you, old man? Why do you interfere?"

Alfred didn't flinch. His hands remained clasped behind his back, his posture unshaken. "A butler," he said, his tone as polite as it was dismissive, "has no obligation to answer the questions of rude guests."

Amberine's breath caught, and she couldn't help but glance at Maris, who looked equally stunned. The sheer audacity of Alfred's words hung in the air, a sharp contrast to the menace radiating from the cloaked figure. The man's head tilted slightly, as if assessing the statement, before his hand rose, dark tendrils of mana twisting and curling from his fingertips.

Without a moment's hesitation, the dark magic lashed out, serpentine and lethal, aiming straight for Alfred. The girls barely had time to brace themselves before Alfred moved. In a single fluid motion, he stepped forward, his hand flashing to his side to retrieve two knives hidden in his suit. With a flick of his wrist, he deflected the tendrils, the blades slicing through the mana as though it were nothing more than mist.

Amberine's jaw dropped. "He—he just… Maris, did you see that?"

Maris nodded, her eyes wide. "He's not just a butler."

The cloaked figure narrowed his eyes, his mana gathering once more. He gestured sharply, summoning a barrage of black energy, each projectile aimed with deadly precision. Alfred moved with unerring grace, his knives spinning in his hands as he deflected each attack. He wasn't just fighting; he was performing, his movements a seamless blend of skill and elegance.

Amberine's grip on Maris's arm tightened. "Is he dancing or fighting?" she muttered, her voice tinged with incredulity.

Maris didn't answer. She was too focused on the battle, her heart pounding as she watched Alfred weave through the attacks, his precision almost hypnotic. The cloaked figure grew visibly frustrated, his movements growing more erratic as Alfred countered every spell with effortless efficiency.

The figure's frustration culminated in a massive wave of dark energy that engulfed the rooftop, its sheer force threatening to swallow everything in its path. Amberine and Maris instinctively ducked, shielding themselves as the mana surged toward Alfred. He didn't falter. With a calculated flick of his wrist, he threw one of his knives directly into the wave.

The girls watched in awe as the knife absorbed the mana, glowing brighter with each passing moment until it transformed into a short sword, its blade shimmering with a radiant light. The weapon spun through the air, cutting through the dark wave with ease and hurtling toward the cloaked figure with terrifying speed.

The man's eyes widened in alarm. With no time to dodge, he sacrificed the two fog creatures, their forms dissolving into dark energy to create a barrier. The sword collided with the shield, the impact sending a shockwave across the rooftop. Debris scattered, the force of the blast nearly knocking Amberine and Maris off their feet.

When the dust settled, Alfred stood tall, his posture as composed as ever. The girls exchanged stunned glances. Amberine whispered, "How is he this good?"
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Before Maris could respond, Alfred moved again. This time, he leaped onto the spinning sword, using it as a platform mid-air. The cloaked figure's head snapped upward, his movements frantic as he conjured a defensive barrier. But Alfred was faster. He dashed forward, his second knife flashing as he descended, his movements a blur of precision and strength.

The barrier shattered under the force of Alfred's attack, the knife slicing through the mana like paper. The cloaked figure staggered back, a sharp wound visible across his shoulder. Blood seeped through his cloak, the dark mana around him flickering weakly.

"You…" he hissed, his voice filled with fury and disbelief. "You'll regret this."

Alfred didn't respond. He simply adjusted his gloves, his expression calm and unreadable. The cloaked figure snarled, retreating into the portal. "This isn't over," he spat, his voice echoing as the gateway closed behind him. "You'll all pay for your defiance."

The oppressive atmosphere lifted, the dark mana dissipating like a receding storm. The rooftop fell silent, save for the ragged breathing of Amberine and Maris. Alfred landed softly, his movements precise and deliberate. He brushed off his suit, tidying his appearance as though the battle had been nothing more than a minor inconvenience.

The girls stared at him, their expressions a mix of awe and disbelief. Alfred turned to them, offering a polite smile. "Now, ladies, are you fine?" he asked, his tone as calm as if he were inquiring about their tea preferences.

Amberine blinked, her exhaustion momentarily forgotten. "Fine? Are we fine? You just—what was that? Who are you?"

Maris, still catching her breath, managed a shaky laugh. "He's… he's Draven's butler, right?"

Alfred inclined his head, his smile faint. "Indeed. And as a butler, it is my duty to protect my master's students. Now, shall we find a safer location? I believe there is much to discuss."

Amberine glanced at Maris, who nodded in agreement. The adrenaline rush was fading, leaving behind a bone-deep weariness. They followed Alfred, his figure leading them down a narrow fire escape with ease and dignity, even after such an intense confrontation. The contrast between his composed demeanor and the chaos they had just experienced made him seem almost otherworldly.

Once they reached the ground, Alfred led them through a series of narrow alleyways, moving with a confidence that suggested he had been here many times before. They found themselves at the back entrance of an old, abandoned building. Alfred gestured for them to enter, holding the door open with a courteous nod.

"This should suffice for now," he said, his voice low, almost a whisper. "It may not be much, but it will provide cover until we can properly assess the situation."

Inside, the air was stale, and the walls bore signs of neglect—peeling paint, broken furniture scattered across the floor, and a few missing windows that let in the chill of the night. Despite the dilapidated surroundings, Alfred's presence somehow made the place feel safer.

Amberine sank onto an old, dusty couch, finally allowing her exhaustion to take hold. Maris sat beside her, her eyes still on Alfred, who was inspecting the room, seemingly unconcerned by the rundown environment.

"How did you know we were in trouble?" Maris finally asked, her curiosity getting the better of her.

Alfred turned to face them, his eyes betraying a flicker of something—concern, perhaps, or a deeper understanding of the gravity of their situation. "I was informed by Master Draven," he replied. "He had an inkling that events in this district might take a dangerous turn, and he instructed me to keep watch. It appears he was correct in his assessment."

Amberine frowned. "Professor Draven knew something was going to happen? Why didn't he warn us?"

"It is often difficult to predict the exact course of events," Alfred said, his voice gentle yet firm. "Master Draven has his reasons. He believed it better to observe and intervene when necessary rather than raise alarm prematurely."

Maris exchanged a glance with Amberine. It was true that Professor Draven was known for his calculated decisions, often choosing to keep his cards close to his chest. But the danger they had just faced felt too real, too immediate for comfort.

"That cloaked man," Amberine said, her voice low. "He was after something. Or someone. Do you know who he was?"

Alfred paused, his eyes narrowing slightly as if considering how much to reveal. "His identity is not yet confirmed. However, his use of dark mana suggests ties to certain... unsavory organizations that Master Draven has been monitoring for some time."

"Unsavory organizations?" Maris echoed, her curiosity piqued.

Alfred nodded, his expression grim. "There are those who would use dark mana to achieve their own ends, regardless of the harm it causes others. The fog creatures you encountered are evidence of their influence—shadows given form through forbidden magic."

A shiver ran down Amberine's spine. She remembered the oppressive weight of the dark mana, the suffocating sensation as if it were trying to crush her spirit. "So they're not done with us?" she asked.

"I fear not," Alfred admitted. "Their retreat was not a defeat but rather a temporary withdrawal. They will regroup, and when they do, they will be prepared."

"Hm." Alfred suddenly stopped. "I guess my lord has called upon me, please follow me, ladies,"