By the time I arrived at the advanced combat magic classroom, it was already noon.


    The combat class was in a spacious training hall, surrounded by enchanted barriers to contain stray spells. A group of third-years was already assembled, each looking more confident than the last.


    “Good afternoon, class,” I said, striding to the center of the room. “I’m told you’re here to learn advanced combat magic. Is that right?”


    “Yes, Professor,” they chorused, though one or two smirked as if to say, what can you teach us that we don’t already know?


    “Good,” I said, smiling thinly. “Let’s begin with a demonstration. Who’d like to go first?”


    There was a brief moment of silence before a tall, broad-shouldered boy stepped forward. His posture screamed confidence, almost to the point of arrogance.


    “I’ll volunteer,” he said, a cocky grin spreading across his face.


    “Excellent,” I replied, motioning for him to take his place. “What’s your name?”


    “Jarek,” he said, cracking his knuckles as he took a wide stance. “Top of the class.”


    I suppressed a smirk. Top of the class, huh? "Wonderful," I said, maintaining a calm tone. "Let’s see if you can teach me a thing or two, then. Attack when ready."


    Jarek didn’t hesitate. He launched a barrage of fireballs in my direction. I stood still, hands clasped behind my back, letting the flames hurtle toward me.


    At the last possible moment, I summoned a shield of ice. The fireballs sizzled against it, dissipating into steam.


    “Not bad,” I said, letting the shield dissolve. “But you’re too predictable. Try again.”


    Jarek’s smirk faltered, but he nodded. He shot a bolt of lightning toward me. I sidestepped it with ease, countering with a gust of wind that made him fall on his ass.


    The other students either gasped or smirked in schadenfreude.


    “Lesson one,” I said, my voice sharp. “Power means nothing without control. Lesson two: always anticipate your opponent’s next move.”


    Jarek scrambled to his feet, his face red with embarrassment. “Y-yes, Professor.”


    “Good effort,” I said, turning to the rest of the class. “Who’s next?”


    The students hesitated. Then, from the back of the room, a soft voice spoke. “I’ll try.”


    The speaker was a small timid looking girl with long brown hair. She stepped forward hesitantly.


    “And your name?” I asked gently.This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    “Lily,” she said, her voice barely audible.


    “Alright, Lily,” I said, giving her a reassuring nod. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”


    Lily took a deep breath and sphere of electricity formed in front of her. It wasn’t small, either—bigger than I’d seen from most students her age.


    The other students murmured in surprise.


    Lily sent the sphere flying toward me. It moved fast, arcs of lightning lashing out unpredictably. I conjured a barrier of earth to absorb the impact, but I could feel the raw force behind her spell.


    “Impressive,” I said, dispelling the barrier. “But your control needs work. That spell could have hit any number of unintended targets. Let’s try again, this time with focus.”


    Lily nodded, her cheeks flushed. This time, the sphere formed more smoothly. She launched it again, and though it wavered slightly, it flew directly toward me, hitting my shield cleanly.


    The room was silent for a moment. Then, deafening applause broke out. Even the cockier students either nodded or whistled in approval.


    “Lesson three,” I said, addressing the class. “Don’t mistake shyness for weakness. And don’t let fear hold you back.” I turned to Lily. “That was excellent. With a little more practice, you’ll be a force to be reckoned with.”


    Lily’s face lit up with a shy smile, and she stepped back into the group, her shoulders a little straighter now.


    The class continued, each student stepping forward to showcase their abilities. Most of them charged at me headfirst, throwing spells with a lot of fire power but no strategy. A few, took a more cautious approach, trying to counter my spells. But I could see they didn''t have much combat experience. Well at least none of them froze without being able to do anything.


    The day flew by in a blur of lectures, demonstrations, and slightly misguided attempts at spellcasting from overeager students. By the end of the day, I collapsed in the faculty lounge, ready to swear off teaching forever—again.


    Sherry found me there, sipping tea and looking far too smug. “So,” she said, leaning against the doorframe. “How was your first day back?”


    I groaned. “Ask me again in two months.”


    She laughed, walking over to pat me on the shoulder. “You did great, Dad. I heard some of the students talking about your lecture and how ''the old man'' still had it.” She smirked, clearly enjoying herself far too much. “Seems you’ve already made an impression.”


    I took a long sip of my tea, savoring the warmth as it spread through me. “Impressions are easy. Keeping their respect is the hard part.”


    “Pfft,” Sherry scoffed. “You don’t need to worry about that. Half of them are already in awe of you, and the other half are too busy trying to figure out how you made those mana dragons.”


    I chuckled despite myself. “Well, at least they’re curious. That’s a start.”


    Sherry’s expression softened as she studied me. “You know, it’s good to have you back. The Academy’s been missing something... and I think you know what.”


    I arched a brow. “A retired relic who complains about his joints and scares students with overly dramatic speeches?”


    She rolled her eyes. “No. A teacher who remembers what this place is really about, not just to teach magic, but to shape people—to make them better than they thought they could be.”


    I felt a pang of something I couldn’t quite name. Nostalgia? Regret? Maybe both, but I quickly masked it with a chuckle. “Flattery will get you nowhere, Sherry.”


    She laughed. “Oh, please. I don’t need flattery. I’ve got the ‘Headmistress’ title for that.”


    We shared a companionable silence, the weight of the day settling into something more comfortable.


    “Well,” I said gruffly, setting my cup down with a clink. “Don’t get too sentimental on me, Headmistress. I still have a long two months ahead, and I expect my share of peace and quiet when I’m not herding these kids through basic spellcasting.”


    Sherry smirked. “We’ll see about that. Don’t forget—there’s a faculty meeting tomorrow. Bright and early.”


    I groaned, leaning back in my chair. “Why did I agree to this again?”


    “Because you’re a softie,” she teased, standing up and giving me a wink. “And because deep down, you missed it.”


    As she left, her laughter echoing down the hallway, I stared into my empty teacup.


    Maybe she was right. Maybe a part of me had missed this. Or maybe I was just getting sentimental in my old age.