The Villain Professor's Second Chance-Chapter 458: Elandris’s Curiosity

Draven’s office was a symphony of controlled chaos, every element of the space a testament to precision and intellect. Shelves lined the walls, filled with tomes both ancient and modern, their spines adorned with gold and silver glyphs that glimmered faintly in the low light. Floating above his desk, notes and diagrams twisted and turned, manipulated by invisible hands. Chalk etched formulas on a nearby board, while grading sheets aligned themselves into neat stacks, each marked by a hovering quill.

At the center of it all sat Draven, this is his professor clone, his sharp gaze flickering between the floating objects as his mind orchestrated the scene. His pens moved with a rhythm all their own, scratching notes and drawing intricate magical circles that faded and reappeared as he tested theories. The room hummed softly with the energy of his psychokinesis, a constant undercurrent of motion that seemed alive.

Draven’s fingers tapped against the armrest of his chair, his mind a whirlwind of calculations. He was immersed in his work—not only completing the university’s syllabus but also analyzing the growth trends of his students. Each movement was deliberate, efficient. A glyph shimmered briefly in the air, glowing with a soft green light before vanishing, replaced by a new pattern. His expression was calm, his sharp eyes unyielding as they darted between tasks. Despite the rumors swirling outside the walls of his sanctuary, his focus remained unbroken.

His mind wandered for only a moment, calculating contingencies for the ripple effects of recent events. His thoughts were precise, like a scalpel cutting through the clutter of possibilities. Though his face betrayed no emotion, his intellect burned behind his eyes, dissecting the situation with unrelenting clarity. The whispers of false accusations were distant, insignificant compared to the larger schemes at play.

The door to his office swung open abruptly, the sound cutting through the hum of magic like a blade. It wasn’t the cautious creak of someone unsure of their welcome but a deliberate push that demanded attention. The objects in the room stilled momentarily, as if caught off guard by the interruption. Draven didn’t flinch, his pens hovering mid-air as his gaze shifted to the doorway.

Elandris Sylrin strode into the room with the air of someone who owned every space she entered. Her presence was electrifying, a stark contrast to the austere image of her usual clone—the dignified, white-haired old man whose appearance had become a symbol of the Magic Tower University’s authority. Today, she was entirely herself, her youthful elven form radiating a captivating mix of vitality and irreverence.

Her long, silver hair shimmered under the soft glow of the room’s ambient light, cascading down her back like a flowing river of moonlight. Piercing, emerald-green eyes sparkled with a mischievous gleam, hinting at the boundless energy and curiosity that defined her true personality. Her robe, though finely embroidered with intricate arcane patterns, hung loosely off her shoulders, giving her an almost casual, carefree appearance that belied the immense power she commanded.

Each step she took was deliberate, the light tapping of her boots on the polished floor echoing faintly in the magically charged air. Her movements were smooth, almost predatory, as if she were simultaneously surveying the room and claiming it as her own. A smirk tugged at her lips as her gaze swept over the floating tools, magical artifacts, and neatly organized chaos of Draven’s office.

"Ah, as expected!" she exclaimed, her voice rich and melodious, carrying a teasing lilt that cut through the room’s otherwise serious atmosphere. "You’re here, buried in work as usual. Too fast, too focused—don’t you ever stop to breathe? And seriously," she added, tossing her head slightly, her hair catching the light in an almost theatrical manner, "don’t you even care about the rumors swirling around out there?"

Draven didn’t respond immediately, his gaze steady as he watched her stride into the room. She moved with a confidence that bordered on arrogance, her every step deliberate and poised, the kind that seemed to claim the space as her own. Her emerald-green eyes flickered with interest as they scanned the floating tools and intricate artifacts, lingering on each object as though mentally cataloging its purpose and value. Her presence disrupted the rhythm of the office, a ripple in the meticulously orchestrated chaos.

Without so much as a glance for permission, she sauntered over to the nearest chair and dropped into it with a fluid grace that somehow still managed to convey irreverence. Crossing her legs, she leaned back, her fingers drumming lightly on the armrest as she surveyed the room with a mixture of curiosity and amusement. "Nice setup," she remarked, her voice carrying a teasing lilt. "You know, this place screams ’Draven’—all work, no play. Though I must admit, the psychokinesis show is impressive."

"She tilted her head slightly, her emerald-green eyes gleaming with mischief and challenge. "So? Did you kill Sharon?" Her voice was sharp yet laced with a disarming curiosity, as though she were probing for a story more than an admission.

Draven’s pens froze mid-air, the ambient hum of his office’s magic growing faint. His gaze shifted toward her, cold and unyielding, slicing through her question like a blade. The energy in the room changed, a palpable shift in tension that seemed to echo from the very walls. Yet Elandris remained unfazed, leaning back casually in her chair, her smirk deepening. Her body language exuded ease, but the intensity in her eyes betrayed her eagerness for his response.

"I did not," Draven replied after a deliberate pause, his voice steady and devoid of emotion, like the pronouncement of an immutable fact.

Elandris raised a single silver eyebrow, her theatrical pout returning in full force. "Boring," she teased, her tone sing-song and irreverent. "I was expecting something dramatic! Like, ’She attacked first,’ or maybe, ’The shadows of my past compelled me.’ You know, something juicy."

She waved her hand dismissively and let her gaze wander over the magical tools and artifacts around the room. "You always have the most fascinating toys, don’t you? It’s almost unfair." The mischief in her tone didn’t hide her genuine curiosity as her eyes landed on a swirling orb encased in delicate golden bands. She reached out toward it, her fingers hovering just above its surface.

Before she could touch it, one of Draven’s pens darted across the room like an arrow, halting her hand mid-air. The silent warning lingered between them, and her grin widened.

The source of this c𝐨ntent is freёnovelkiss.com.

"Alright, alright," she relented, pulling her hand back with exaggerated innocence. "No need to get prickly. I promise I won’t steal it... at least, not while you’re looking." She winked, the gesture lighthearted yet provocative, as if daring him to respond.

Draven’s pens resumed their rhythmic orbits, but his cold stare remained fixed on her. "Do not test me," he said, his words carrying a weight that would have unnerved anyone else.

Elandris chuckled softly, reclining once more in her chair. "You’re so serious. You really should learn to relax, Draven. Life’s more entertaining when you let the chaos play out."

Draven’s gaze remained steady, the pen retreating to its orbit around him.

Elandris returned to her seat with a deliberate grace, the mischievous light in her eyes dimming as her demeanor shifted. She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees, her fingers interlacing in front of her face as if preparing for a strategic negotiation. Her gaze sharpened, her emerald-green eyes locking onto Draven’s with an intensity that seemed to strip away layers of pretense. "So? Who set you up, Draven?" she asked, her voice measured yet probing, the teasing edge replaced by a tone that demanded answers.

Her abrupt seriousness contrasted starkly with her earlier playfulness, creating a dissonance that hung heavily in the air. She watched him closely, studying his every move, as though trying to divine his thoughts before he could voice them. Her fingers tapped against the armrest of her chair in a steady rhythm, the sound punctuating the charged silence between them.

Draven didn’t respond immediately. He rose from his chair with his characteristic calm, his expression unreadable, and walked toward the brewing station in the corner of the room. Every step he took seemed deliberate, calculated, the faint clink of his polished boots against the floor adding a subtle cadence to the room’s otherwise muted hum. His hands moved with practiced precision, selecting the finest tea leaves and arranging the ornate brewing set with meticulous care.

The silence stretched as the aroma of steeping tea leaves began to fill the room, the faintly floral scent mingling with the subtle bitterness of freshly ground coffee. Draven’s movements were unhurried, each one imbued with a sense of purpose, as though the act of brewing was as much for his own focus as it was to provide Elandris with a response.

Elandris’s sharp gaze followed his every motion. Her lips pressed into a thin line, her earlier ease giving way to a tension that mirrored the gravity of her question. "You’re deflecting," she said finally, her tone a careful mix of accusation and curiosity. "It’s unlike you to stall. What’s your play, Draven?"

He didn’t look at her, his attention fixed on the delicate process of pouring hot water over the leaves. "Did you know about my history with the Iceverns?" he asked at last, his voice cool and detached, yet carrying a weight that made the question feel like the opening move in a larger game.

Elandris leaned back slightly, her fingers stilling as she considered his words. "Of course," she replied, her voice steady but edged with curiosity. "But what I don’t understand is why, despite your messy fallout with Sophie, Lancefroz—the Duke of Icevern—remains cordial toward you."

Draven’s hands moved with meticulous precision as he finished preparing the tea, the soft clink of porcelain breaking the tense silence. He carried the tray back to the center of the room, his footsteps deliberate, each step resonating with a quiet gravity that seemed to amplify the charged atmosphere. The faint aroma of the tea mingled with the subtle bitterness of his freshly brewed coffee, creating a momentary contrast to the heavy topic looming over them.

He placed the delicate cup in front of Elandris with an almost reverent care, but his face betrayed nothing—no anger, no hesitation, only the same cold, calculated detachment that defined him. Returning to his chair, Draven picked up his own cup of coffee, the dark liquid swirling faintly under his steady hand. He took a measured sip, his gaze not meeting hers immediately but instead fixating on an invisible point in the room, as if organizing his thoughts into perfect order.

Elandris’s keen eyes followed his every move, her playful demeanor slipping ever so slightly as the weight of unspoken words lingered between them. She leaned forward, her fingers lightly tapping the armrest, but she remained silent, waiting—perhaps even daring—for him to speak first.

Draven’s sharp eyes finally locked onto hers, the intensity in his gaze cutting through the quiet like a blade. The air around him seemed to grow heavier, the room’s ambient hum fading into a profound stillness. "One of the great families is part of the dark side," he said at last, his voice devoid of any inflection, as if he were reciting a line from an ancient, irrefutable truth.

Elandris stiffened, her body reacting instinctively to the gravity of his statement. Her fingers curled around the teacup, gripping it as though anchoring herself. "By the dark side, do you mean…?" she began, her voice trailing off as her mind raced to piece together the implications.

"Yes," Draven confirmed, his gaze steady. "They are aiming to revive the Dark Lord. And their plan involves using Amberine Polime as a catalyst."

His words settled over the room like a shroud, the weight of the revelation palpable. Elandris’s expression shifted, her youthful features hardening as she processed the information. Despite her playful exterior, her mind was razor-sharp, and the wheels of her thoughts turned visibly behind her emerald-green eyes. The centuries of wisdom she carried became evident in the way she considered his statement, dissecting its implications with the precision of a master strategist.

"Is that why you’ve been protecting and supporting her?" she asked finally, her voice quieter but no less pointed.

Draven didn’t reply immediately. Instead, he lifted his coffee to his lips, taking a measured sip. The silence stretched once more, heavy with unspoken truths. When he finally set the cup down, his movements were deliberate, his gaze unfaltering. The quiet confidence in his demeanor spoke volumes, even as he left her question unanswered. Experience more content on novelbuddy

Elandris let out a slow breath, her fingers relaxing around the teacup. "Fine," she said, her tone tinged with resignation. "Keep your secrets for now." She took another sip of her tea and her eyes widened. "What the hell? This tea can replenish mana? Just a tiny bit, but still! This brewing set must’ve cost a fortune!"

Draven’s lips curved into a faint smile, the expression fleeting. "It serves its purpose."

Elandris set her cup down slowly, her slender fingers lingering on the delicate porcelain rim. Her expression shifted as if caught between amusement and something more thoughtful. She leaned back slightly, her posture relaxed but her eyes never leaving Draven. They seemed to search for something, as though she could unravel his carefully guarded layers by sheer will alone. She opened her mouth to speak, then paused, her lips pressing into a faint line. The hesitation was rare for her, a fleeting crack in her usually unshakable confidence.

"You’re always full of surprises," she murmured at last, her voice quieter than before, almost contemplative. The glimmer of mischief that usually danced in her emerald eyes had dimmed, replaced by a deeper curiosity. For a moment, she appeared younger, less like the powerful Chancellor and more like a wanderer who had stumbled upon a secret she hadn’t been prepared to find.

Draven’s pens began to move again, sketching faint symbols in the air. He glanced at her. "Elandris. Do you want to start the research to create your perfect clone?"

Her eyes lit up with excitement, but the look was quickly tempered by caution. "You’re serious? What’s the catch?"

Draven leaned back slightly, his expression unreadable. "There’s only one payment I need from you."

"And that is..."