The Villain Professor's Second Chance-Chapter 644: The Color of Unfinished Thoughts (3)

The faint scent of parchment and chalk dust hung thickly in the air, blending into something warm and herbal wafting from the communal cooking fires just outside the orphanage. Amberine inhaled softly, taking comfort in the familiar aroma. The orphanage's classroom was never pretentious, nor did it pretend to be. It felt real, honest. Rough benches, hastily repaired with mismatched wood, sat in uneven rows. On the walls, faded glyphs drawn in chalk intertwined with colorful mana circles painted clumsily by tiny, enthusiastic fingers. Elegant? Hardly. Functional? Absolutely.

Amberine's gaze shifted toward the doorway just as Draven's footsteps faded beyond its threshold. He paused briefly, though he didn't look back. His voice was as calm and cold as usual.

"I'm leaving the rest to you," he said evenly, his words resonating quietly into the humble space.

"Yes, Professor," Amberine and Elara answered automatically in unison, their voices mingling together, respectfully measured.

The door shut with the same precise sound as his voice. It was oddly fitting—a neat punctuation mark on his exit. Amberine watched it for another heartbeat before rolling her eyes dramatically the moment she was certain Draven couldn't see her.

"Couldn't even pretend to give us an encouraging word," she muttered, more loudly than intended. A couple of nearby kids giggled quietly, nudging each other knowingly.

Elara didn't respond immediately, her expression as neutral as always. But Amberine knew her friend too well; the subtle twitch at the corners of Elara's lips was unmistakable. That was Elara's equivalent of a full-blown grin.

Amberine sighed and moved forward, stepping up to take her place at the front of the classroom. As much as Draven's attitude irritated her—his aloofness, his mysterious detachment—it was impossible to deny the impact of these moments spent in his shadow. This wasn't simply another internship or a convenient way to fill their coin purses. Draven did pay better than most internships at the academy, making them look embarrassingly like charity work. Yet beyond the generous stipend, Amberine had gradually realized something far more valuable nestled here among the rough benches and innocent faces.

These children taught them things—little details that could never be found in textbooks. Observing their trials, their earnest struggles, their quiet bravery—it breathed inspiration and insight into her own magical understanding. Their innocence held a clarity, something pure that resonated deeply within her, shaping the edges of her thesis research in subtle but profound ways. Amberine had come to respect this classroom deeply, not for what it looked like, but for what it represented: growth and genuine discovery in its simplest, most authentic form.

Amberine carefully placed the Orb of Emotion onto the table. Its surface glowed softly, emanating a gentle light that dimly illuminated the curious faces scattered across the room. Children aged seven to thirteen sat restlessly, their chatter subsiding gradually into intrigued whispers as the orb pulsed gently. Wide eyes sparkled, fixed intently on the magical sphere, reflecting its shifting colors.

She placed both hands on her hips, tilting her head and adopting a mock-serious expression that barely hid her amusement. "Alright, you grubby fireflies," she called out affectionately. "Let's see how many of you remember what 'Emotion Pulse' is."

Immediately, a wave of tiny hands shot upwards. A few of the more energetic ones waved both arms frantically as though calling down lightning from the heavens. Amberine chuckled quietly, shaking her head with exaggerated resignation.

Elara began gliding through the benches, footsteps as silent and graceful as moonlight on water. Her golden-lined robes moved gently with her, flowing elegantly despite the dust-heavy air. She tapped gently on a child's hunched shoulders, prompting him to sit up straighter, or adjusted the awkwardly folded hands of another student to a better mana-focusing position. Her quiet presence alone seemed to bring a calming order to the restless energy of the room.

Amberine lifted the orb carefully again, its surface rippling beautifully in response to her touch. "Now, everyone pay attention. This," she raised it high, catching the room's faint sunlight, "is a mood-reading focus. No, it's not a toy, and yes," she paused dramatically, eyes narrowing teasingly, "if you try to steal it, it'll singe your grubby little fingers."

Laughter erupted across the benches, bright and sincere. Amberine found herself smiling openly now, warmed by their delight.

"We're practicing how to show emotions through our mana," she explained more gently, cradling the orb as if it were something fragile and precious. "This spell is called 'Emotion Pulse.' Easy enough, even for all you little mana-goblins to grasp."

A boy near the back eagerly thrust his hand upwards without waiting to be called upon, his voice bursting out enthusiastically, "Teacher Amberine! What color means angry?"

"Orange," Amberine replied instantly, nodding approvingly at his eagerness.

"And hungry?" another child shouted eagerly.

Amberine raised an eyebrow dramatically. "That color means your mana is asking for a snack. And probably your stomach too. So, let's all focus now, hmm?"

The room erupted into fresh giggles as Elara handed Draven's simplified spellbooks carefully to the front row. The children took them reverently, small fingers tracing gently over the glowing, picture-like glyphs, enchanted by their soft illumination.

For the first time since Draven left, Elara's soft voice joined Amberine's. "Your pulse matches your flow," she explained simply, walking gracefully between rows. "If your mana is shaky, your magic will follow suit. Sit straight, hands resting gently on your laps. Feel your heartbeat."

She paused beside a particularly quiet girl, perhaps eight years old, whose shaggy black hair fell into her eyes, hiding a shy expression beneath the unruly strands. Elara kneeled down slowly, gently placing two slender fingers onto the child's wrist.

"Hear that?" she whispered gently, her calm voice carrying softly, clearly audible in the stillness that had settled over the classroom. "That rhythm—steady, even. It's yours. Unique and powerful."

Amberine watched closely, captivated as always by Elara's patient approach. The girl's wide eyes focused carefully on Elara, admiration and nervousness mingling on her small face. Amberine remembered feeling that very mix herself long ago, when magic had been something exciting yet intimidating, mysterious yet tantalizingly close.

The shy girl nodded timidly, almost holding her breath as if afraid to disturb the connection Elara was carefully building. Elara's voice softened further, becoming almost hypnotic. "Good. Now breathe with it. Let your mana match that beat."

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Amberine held her breath instinctively, silently urging the girl onward. She saw the child's tiny chest rise and fall, carefully following Elara's calm instructions. Slowly, carefully, the little girl's breath synchronized with her heartbeat, bringing a moment of perfect stillness to her small frame.

And then it happened—a faint, delicate glow flickered briefly between the girl's trembling palms. It was fleeting, hardly noticeable, but the child's eyes widened instantly, shining with pure, astonished delight. A shy, proud smile bloomed across her previously nervous face, lighting up the small, unassuming space with genuine happiness.

Amberine felt warmth rise within her chest—a quiet, powerful affirmation that they were doing something truly meaningful here. It might be simple, subtle even, but it was real. Her throat tightened with unexpected emotion, and she found herself smiling fondly at the young mage who had taken her first, brave step forward.

"See?" Amberine finally said, her voice rich with quiet pride, eyes glancing warmly across the room. "We really can teach things. We're not just scary upper-years wearing expensive robes."

The tension in the classroom relaxed visibly. The air seemed lighter, filled now with gentle, pulsing light, soft laughter, and the innocent enthusiasm of young mages discovering their potential for the very first time.

Elara remained at the girl's side, still kneeling patiently. Her calm expression softened into a faint, encouraging smile. Her fingers stayed gently on the girl's wrist, still guiding her carefully.

"Hear that? That rhythm?"

Elara's voice was softer than usual, a gentle breeze whispering through the quiet classroom. Her fingers rested lightly against the young girl's thin wrist, tracing the faint pulse beneath the skin. The little girl nodded, shyly at first, eyes wide and curious beneath her curtain of unruly hair. Her lips parted slightly, as if she were trying to taste the words in the air, to internalize the quiet power Elara promised.

Amberine watched from across the room, momentarily lost in the scene before her. She knew she could never match Elara's patience, that seemingly effortless calm her friend exuded as naturally as breathing. Elara's presence alone seemed to soothe the children's jitters, an invisible balm against fears they hadn't yet learned to articulate. Amberine often found herself fascinated by this—Elara's unspoken magic that had nothing to do with mana, nothing to do with glyphs or runes. It was something purely human, purely gentle, and Amberine sometimes envied her deeply for it.

"Now breathe with it," Elara continued quietly, almost hypnotically. Her voice carried softly yet filled every corner of the modest classroom, gently wrapping each child in its comforting sound. "Make your magic match it."