I spent the second day of my weekend immersed in magic research for the first time in a while. While my life as a teacher wasn’t bad, research was still my true passion.
It was now the start of my second week as a temporary teacher. Today’s lesson was a practical training session for Class B.
“…Huff, huff. Damn it!”
“I get that you want to land a direct hit head-on, but against an opponent where that’s not possible, you need to figure out a better way to land your attack.”
“Tch…”
“Still, your magic construction speed and precision have improved, if only slightly, since last week. Perhaps your desire to hit me has driven you to train on your own. I’d encourage you to keep it up.”
“………”
Practical lessons generally involve magic demonstrations by me, focusing on techniques useful for fighting monsters or human opponents. The students then practice hitting moving targets—or me—with their magic. I also teach defensive tactics in case they face dangerous threats.
In some cases, it’s more important to know when to flee. Knights may have to stand and fight in certain situations, but others need to assess their abilities honestly and decide when to retreat.
I also assign tasks for the students to tackle. Since the time needed to complete these tasks varies, students who finish early engage in self-study, mock battles with their peers, or, if they wish, spar with me. The safety of the training ground ensures no injuries during these mock battles.
“You’ve got guts, though. I’ll give you that much.”
“One day, I’ll land a hit on you, you bastard teacher!”
The one kneeling on the training ground was Gale, the student who had been antagonistic toward me during the first lesson.
Since then, he’d attended every practical lesson, completed all assigned tasks quickly, and inevitably challenged me to a mock battle afterward. Although I hold back, the feedback pain from magic isn’t entirely absent. Yet he persists—quite impressive, really.
Gale has a natural talent for magic. Even in just one week, his movements and tactics have noticeably improved.
When I asked Anon why Gale wasn’t in S Class, I learned his practical scores were excellent, but his academic performance was abysmal. Apparently, he’d been skipping his theory lessons.
“By the way, could you stop calling me that? I don’t mind, but you shouldn’t address other teachers that way.”
Ever since I was reincarnated into this world, the common language here has been magically translated into Japanese for me.
“Teacher,” or “sensei,” was fine. But “bastard teacher”? That’s an outdated term I’d expect from punks in my old world. It made me curious about the mechanics of this translation magic—definitely worth investigating someday.
“You might want to watch how you talk to nobles,” Gale said, “but I’ll admit you’re skilled. Unlike you, though, most other teachers here are incompetent. It’s a waste of time to listen to their lectures. Honestly, the first class I attended at this prestigious Bounce National Magic Academy was such a disappointment.”
“You should take your own advice about how to talk to people, Gale. Still, if the issue is with the faculty, that’s something for the academy to address. I’ll raise it with the headmaster.”
“At the very least, the basic magic and magic pharmacology teachers should be fired. Their knowledge and skills are pathetic. Especially the pharmacology teacher—following their instructions is an accident waiting to happen.”
“…Thanks for the heads-up. I’ll bring it up for investigation.”
Like Cyril, Gale had strong criticisms of the faculty. The basic magic instructor, Marti, had already proven to be a problem by ignoring Melia’s plea for help. Apparently, his teaching skills were as poor as his ethics.
As for magic pharmacology, it’s a field where students learn to concoct and refine various potions. These potions, like healing or antidote potions, are imbued with magic and vital in this world. Many academy students aim for careers in this area.
Potions can be dangerous if mishandled, so becoming a pharmacology teacher requires a strict national qualification. How did someone so incompetent even get hired?
“Gale-sama!”
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. Let’s go.”
Gale’s lackeys, Hazen and Cunnel, arrived to escort him off the training ground.
“You should stop associating with that temporary teacher,” one of them said.
“There’s a rumor he expelled the Marquess family’s eldest son. We might be next!”
Their whispers weren’t very subtle. If they’re going to talk behind my back, they should at least wait until they’re farther away.
“Hmph. If disrespect alone were grounds for expulsion, I’d have been kicked out on the first day. That teacher doesn’t act unless someone crosses a line. The Marquess’ son was expelled because he was caught doing something vile with commoners,” Gale retorted.
It seems Gale has started to understand me. Beneath his brash exterior, he’s actually a sharp and capable individual.
After observing the students and listening to their complaints, I began to suspect the root of the academy’s problems lay not with the students but with the teachers.
If students enroll expecting high-quality instruction but find their teachers less competent than private tutors—or barely more skilled than the students themselves—it’s no wonder they lose interest in lessons.
Disengaged students turn to other distractions, creating a negative cycle that spreads to other classes. This is likely what led to the chaos I walked into when I arrived.
It seems I’ll need to gather more information about the academy’s faculty. There’s one method I could use, but it’s risky. Alternatively, there’s someone far better suited to this task than me.
I’ll consult with Anon.
