Villainess X Villain: They are obsessed with each other!-Chapter 23 -: 22 A talentless star.

"Cyprian Thorne?"

Lucian Duskwood straightened his back like a whip had cracked behind him.

His earlier smirk was gone; now his brown eyes were sharp, fixed on the Dean.

"Isn’t he the youngest son of the Thorne clan’s patriarch?"

Professor Derick called from the far corner, voice low but curious.

A ripple of murmurs followed.

"I’ve heard the stories," another professor added.

"They say he was the most disappointing child the Thorne clan ever produced. No mana affinity. No talent. Practically disowned."

"But why him?" Jaya Balan spoke up, her tone careful but firm.

She had been listening quietly, arms crossed.

"Sir, there are other students, far more talented, far more hardworking, who already deserve our attention."

She leaned forward slightly.

"In my second-year class alone, there’s Alia Ruth. Commoner background, no fancy bloodline, but her comprehension is one of the best."

"And in first year, Cillian Reeve, he’s quiet, but his progress in elemental fusion is remarkable. Shouldn’t we focus our efforts on students like them?"

"Yes, Professor Jaya is right," someone agreed quickly.

"Alia could place in the top three if she pushes harder."

"Cillian’s already outpacing most of his peers."

More voices joined in, nodding.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

The Dean’s cane struck the table four sharp times. The room snapped silent.

*Ahem.*

Orin Belebright cleared his throat once, slowly.

"You’re all correct," he said evenly.

"Alia Ruth. Cillian Reeve. They are excellent. Dedicated. Worth every bit of our guidance. We should, and we will, continue supporting them."

He paused, letting the agreement settle.

"However..."

His voice dropped, quiet but cutting through the air like a blade.

"Have any of you ever witnessed a spell-caster at the Mana Core stage of Bodily Ascension, and only late-stage Flow of Mental Ascension, defeat an opponent at Arcane Core with late-stage Compression?"

The question hung there.

No one answered.

A few professors blinked. Others frowned, trying to picture it.

Lucian’s eyes narrowed.

"That’s... impossible," he muttered, almost to himself.

Jaya’s stern expression faltered for the first time.

"Mana Core against Arcane Core? With only late mental flow? The gap in raw power alone—"

"Exactly," the Dean finished softly. "The gap is supposed to be uncrossable."

He leaned back in his ragged chair, cane resting across his lap, and looked around the table again.

"And yet Cyprian Thorne did it. Last week. In a sparring match against one of his siblings. I watched the entire thing myself."

Silence thicker than before.

Even the chandelier light seemed to dim a little.

Lucian opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.

"...You’re serious."

Orin gave the smallest nod.

"That boy has no talent. No gifts. No shortcuts. What he has is something most of us have forgotten how to value."

He tapped the table once more, gentler this time.

"Obsession."

The word landed heavy.

So, before we finalize the class placements,"

Dean Orin Belebright continued, his voice steady and sure,

"I was thinking we could carve out a spot for Cyprian Thorne among the first-years."

He raised a hand to stop the immediate protests bubbling up.

"I know it’s sudden. The academic year has already started. Schedules are set, dorms assigned, everything locked in."

"But if you can make room, just one spot, I give you my word: that boy will shine brighter than anyone this academy has ever seen."

The confidence in his tone wasn’t boastful. It was quiet. Absolute.

For a long moment, no one spoke.

Then, from the fifth seat on the right side, a calm voice cut through the silence.

Professor Viana Karl leaned forward slightly.

Her silver hair was pulled into a tight bun, her expression composed, almost gentle.

"It is an absurd statement, Dean," she said evenly. No anger, just fact.

"With all due respect, and I apologize in advance for what I’m about to say, you do realize who else is in this academy, don’t you?"

She let the question hang just long enough.

"Rosalina Valentina and Julius Augustus Hayes. The two prodigies everyone already calls legends in the making."

Viana’s gaze swept the table slowly.

"The gap between them and Cyprian Thorne isn’t just wide."

"It’s heaven and earth. They were born for greatness. Forged for it. And don’t forget the most important part."

Her voice dropped, almost reverent.

"They are the bearers of the All-Seeing Eyes and the Rose Petal Eyes, divine gifts that haven’t appeared in a thousand years."

"And never, in all recorded history, have the bearers of both appeared at the same time."

A few professors nodded unconsciously.

The weight of those words settled over the room like heavy silk.

Rosalina’s Rose Petal Eyes, soft pink irises that bloomed like living flowers when she willed, could unravel any illusion, predict trajectories down to the heartbeat, and turn battlefield chaos into perfect order.

Julius’s All-Seeing Eyes, those golden eyes, that could see anything..was far more terrifying than anything this world has ever seen.

Two once-in-a-millennium bloodlines.

Awakened in the same generation.

Viana folded her hands on the table.

"Cyprian Thorne may be hardworking—impressively so."

"But hard work alone cannot bridge a chasm like that. Not against eyes that rewrite what ’talent’ even means."

She looked directly at the Dean.

"So I must ask, sir: are you truly asking us to rearrange everything... for someone who will, at best, become a footnote next to those two?"

The room held its breath.

Lucian Duskwood watched the Dean with narrowed eyes, waiting for the explosion or the deflection.

Jaya Balan stared at her hands, conflicted.

Dean Orin Belebright didn’t flinch.

He simply smiled—small, tired, but completely unshaken.

"Professor Karl," he said quietly, "you’re right about almost everything."

He tapped his cane once against the floor.

"Almost."

Then he leaned forward, voice low but carrying to every corner.

"Those eyes are miracles. Once-in-an-era miracles. But miracles don’t need our help to shine. They will blaze whether we watch or not."

He met Viana’s gaze without blinking.

"Cyprian Thorne has nothing like that. No divine gift. No ancient bloodline. Just a stubborn refusal to stay broken."

Orin’s eyes gleamed with something fierce and quiet.

"So yes. I’m asking you to make room. Not because he’ll outshine Rosalina or Julius today. Not tomorrow. Maybe not for years."

He paused.

"But because the day he does, when sheer, bloody-minded will finally catches up to heaven-born talent, we will all remember who gave him the chance to stand on the same stage."

The silence that followed felt different.

Not empty.

Charged.

Like the air right before lightning.

Lucian let out a slow breath.

Jaya looked up sharply.

Viana Karl said nothing, but her calm mask cracked, just a fraction, into something closer to doubt.

Dean Orin sat back in his ragged robes, cane across his knees, and spoke one last time.

"So I ask that you give him a chance," he said, voice low but carrying every ounce of his earlier conviction.

"Even if he never grows to match Rosalina or Julius, even if those divine eyes keep them forever out of reach, Cyprian will still achieve things most of us can only dream of."

He looked around the table, meeting every gaze without flinching.

"And you all know the peace we scraped together with the Zlycons won’t last forever."

"The cracks are already showing. When the next storm comes, we won’t need more miracles born from bloodlines."

"We’ll need people who refuse to break when everything else does."

He let the words settle.

Then silence fell again..deeper this time. Heavy with thought.

Professor Jaya Balan exhaled a soft, tired sigh.

"Fine," she said quietly. "We’ll give him the chance. But right now... it’s not the right time."

Lucian Duskwood nodded slowly, arms crossed.

"Hmm. You’re right. The student council president election is only a few months away."

"Adding a wildcard like him now would stir up too much chaos. The council spots are already a battlefield."

Professor Derick cleared his throat from the far corner.

"How about this, then?" he offered.

"We reserve a seat for him in the Special Class. After the election ends, once the dust settles and the new council is in place we admit him."

"No disruptions. No favoritism accusations. Just a quiet spot waiting when the timing’s right."

A murmur of agreement rippled around the table.

"Hmm. That sounds fair."

"Yes, that would be the ideal outcome."

"I can live with that."

One by one, the professors nodded. Even Viana Karl gave a small, measured tilt of her head.

Dean Orin watched it all unfold, the lines around his eyes softening.

For the first time since he’d walked in, ragged, bearded, and reeking faintly of last night’s mistakes, a genuine, small smile curved his lips.

He waited until the last voice fell quiet.

"Then it’s decided," he said simply.

"Cyprian Thorne will be assigned to the Special Class... after the student council president election concludes."