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Chapter 78
“Professor Sian.”
At those words, every gaze turned toward him.
That man?
Irene’s eyes widened in shock.
When Evie once said that Professor Sian was more handsome than Arcel, Irene hadn’t believed it for a second.
As the daughter of House Terrins, Irene had been surrounded by beautiful and precious things since birth. Naturally, her standards were very high.
And since her own appearance was dazzling enough to draw admiration, she had never once been moved by someone else’s looks.
But the first time she saw Arcel, she had been forced to admit to herself—he’s breathtaking.
Arcel’s beauty, both objectively and subjectively, was flawless.
So when Evie had stubbornly declared that Professor Sian was far more handsome, Irene assumed it was simply childish infatuation.
Evie probably just likes that professor too much, that’s all.
To a young girl, the one she liked would always look more appealing.
Or perhaps Evie simply had unusual standards of beauty.
But now, seeing this so-called Professor Sian in person, Irene suddenly understood why Evie had insisted so strongly.
From the moment he appeared, Irene found she couldn’t look away. And it wasn’t just her—the other students seemed just as spellbound.
No one was gossiping or whispering. They couldn’t even open their mouths.
Tall, broad-shouldered, and carrying an indescribable sense of pressure—he was the kind of man who made you lower your head without realizing it.
Is he really… a professor?
Irene recalled the instructors at the academy. Each had presence that reflected their age and achievements, but they all shared that unique aura belonging to “professors.”
This man had none of it.
If anything, his presence resembled the imperial knights Irene had seen during her palace tour. Perhaps it was his build, but no—even professors with larger frames never radiated this kind of sharp, intimidating power. He felt even more dangerous than the palace knights.
No… this man isn’t a professor.
Realizing this, Irene instinctively stepped back, watching him warily. She needed help.
Arcel, or at least Lusca.
She often grumbled at Evie to stay away from those two, but Irene knew better than anyone how reliable they were. She turned her head to look for them.
“…Huh?”
But something was strange.
Both Arcel and Lusca were staring at Professor Sian with disbelief. Their expressions weren’t wary like hers, but shaken—like people confronted by someone who should never be here.
They… know him?
Why else would they look so shocked? Was this man some infamous criminal? But no—he hardly gave off that impression.
While Irene panicked in confusion, Arcel and Lusca were struck with a very different realization.
Of course they recognized him the moment he entered.
Professor Sian—the man Evie so adored—was none other than His Imperial Majesty, Emperor Clois.
The two froze, unable to believe their eyes. Only belatedly did they remember the proper etiquette before the Emperor. Just as they bent to bow, Clois raised a hand.
Do not.
Understanding that he did not wish to reveal his identity yet, they straightened awkwardly, lips pressed shut.
Clois walked calmly through the parting crowd until he stood before Evie.
“Evie.”
At his voice, trembling Evie lifted her head.
Clutching the crushed cardboard box to her chest, her face smeared with blood, the child was a pitiful sight.
Clois bent down on one knee. From this angle, he could see her battered little face more clearly. He raised a hand and gently wiped at the blood trickling from her nose with his sleeve.
“Professor, your shirt…”
The clean white fabric was stained red, but Clois didn’t so much as glance at it. He continued tidying her face. When the blood wouldn’t come off, he turned his head and commanded:
“Bring me something to wipe with.”
“Yes.”
Arcel bowed respectfully and went at once, with Lusca following suit.
Only then did the other students begin to sense something was off.
This supposed “Professor Sian” issued orders as naturally as breathing, and the two most noble students present obeyed without hesitation—as though it were only right.
Before long, Arcel found a clean cloth, and Lusca wetted it in the restroom before offering it with both hands.
Clois took it and carefully wiped Evie’s face.
Once the blood was gone, a red handprint stood out starkly on her cheek. Clearly Izriella’s doing.
Clois examined her thoroughly. Fortunately, aside from the nosebleed, there were no other bleeding wounds. But her small body, beaten by five larger students, looked utterly wretched.
As the last of the stains were wiped away, Izriella seemed to come to her senses.
“S-see? She’s a thief! That box must have stolen goods inside! That’s why she won’t show anyone! She was trying to hide it before she got caught!”
At her accusation, Arcel and Lusca turned pale.
The world knew Clois as the wise sovereign who ended the bloody succession war and led the Empire to prosperity.
But they also knew how he had achieved it: with ruthless decisiveness.
No one liked to dwell on it, but countless executions had followed his ascension. Clois had shown no mercy, ruling strictly by law until order was restored.
Had his brutality turned in the wrong direction, history would have named him a tyrant.
And now Izriella was pointing her finger at him, brazenly slandering him—when she had been the one to raise her hand in violence first.
Seeing Clois’s cold expression, Arcel and Lusca felt a chill. He would never let this matter end quietly.
As Izriella raged, Clois turned back to Evie. His face softened, his voice gentle.
“Evie, is what she says true?”
Evie shook her head vehemently.
“N-no, sir! I never did such a thing!”
“Liar!” Izriella shrieked.
Clois’s gaze snapped toward her. The moment their eyes met, she gasped and stumbled backward, unable to withstand the deadly sharpness of a man who had slain thousands on the battlefield.
With a quiet sigh, Clois addressed Evie again.
“Evie, I know you don’t want anyone to see what’s inside that box.”
“…”
She had clung to it even while being beaten. Whatever was inside, she wanted desperately to keep it hidden.
“But if you want to clear your name, you’ll have to show them.”
He did not believe for a moment that she had stolen anything. There had to be another reason.
In truth, he wanted nothing more than to take her away, let her hide her treasure as she wished. But if he did, she would spend her entire time at the academy under suspicion.
“Please, Evie. Show them what’s inside.”
Even at his gentle request, Evie flinched, hugging the box tighter.
Izriella smirked.
“Hah. Just like I said. She’s a thief and a liar, trying to pin it all on an orphan—”
“No!”
At those words directed toward Clois, Evie cried out, unable to endure it.
“Professor…”
Biting her lip, she thrust the box forward. Then, screwing her eyes shut as though steeling herself, she flipped open the battered lid and overturned it.
The contents spilled across the floor with a clatter.
The students who had expected to see stolen goods froze, their faces shifting to bewilderment.
“…What is this?”
