Shattered Innocence: Transmigrated Into a Novel as an Extra - Chapter 903: In school politics (2)
Chapter 903: In school politics (2)
The moment Marisse’s last words fell, a ripple went through both groups—subtle in motion, but unmistakable in focus.
Every pair of eyes shifted toward Selenne.
Even the ones who didn’t fully grasp the significance of the accusation seemed to understand its weight. The Magister Primus was a title wrapped in authority, influence, and respect. To hear that its holder had no disciples—that she had withheld that fact during her own tour—was enough to stir quiet speculation.
Elara caught the flickers of exchanged glances, the slight tilts of heads toward one another. ’They’re waiting for her to falter.’
But Selenne didn’t.
She straightened, the lines of her cloak falling clean. “That one,” she said, her voice carrying without strain, “is correct.”
The murmurs stilled.
“As Miss Marisse claims, I do not have any disciples under my name—per se,” she continued, the last words edged with the faintest emphasis, “but that is only under the narrow guise of what the Academy defines as a disciple.”
Marisse’s smile tightened, as if waiting for her to trip.
“For one to be named a direct disciple,” Selenne went on, “they must share the same attribute as their master. It is a matter of direct compatibility—shared essence, shared path. Without that, the process cannot be formalized.”
She let the words settle, her gaze sweeping the faces before her. “Since my element is… unique, as you might be aware, someone of the same attribute has yet to appear within these halls. In fact, within the Empire itself.”
A few students stiffened at that—not in doubt, but in the dawning realization that such rarity was both a strength and a limitation.
“So yes,” she said, meeting Marisse’s eyes without flinch, “I have no disciples. Not because I am unfit to teach, nor because I cannot develop those I take under my guidance—but because none share the root of my magic. That is the only truth in your claim.”
Her tone sharpened, subtle but unmistakable. “However… that fact does not disqualify me from being Magister Primus. The role is not bound solely to the number of disciples one produces. It is bound to mastery, to capability, to the ability to oversee every branch of the block with the authority to unite them.”
Marisse’s lips parted before Selenne could go further, her voice sliding in like a blade through cloth. “Mastery, capability… fine words. But words do not raise the next generation, Selenne. You can dress your absence of disciples in whatever rarefied silk you like—it still means there is no one to inherit what you claim to oversee.”
A few of the students drew in quiet breaths, sensing the deliberate sting.
Selenne did not so much as blink. “While I cannot directly develop and guide a disciple of my element,” she said, her voice steady, “to make up for the space I take here, I am not… spending my time freely.”
Her gaze shifted to the gathered students, her tone now carrying a clipped clarity. “As Miss Marisse is also well aware, I conduct three distinct special courses. Each designed to benefit any mage—regardless of attribute.”
She ticked them off, not with the air of someone boasting, but simply listing facts.
“First—Innate Mana Flow Control. A discipline in precision channeling, not just for spellcasting, but for sustaining long-form magic under duress.”
“Second—Arcane Structural Theory. The advanced study of the frameworks underlying all known spell models—how to adapt and rebuild them under battlefield disruption.”
“Third—Interdisciplinary Mana Application. A practical course on fusing multiple attribute magics into stable constructs, even between mages of opposing natures.”
Marisse’s smile had thinned, but Selenne pressed on.
“These courses are not easy to teach. They require more than rote theory or rehearsed incantations. And yet—there has been measurable success. Not just in passing students, but in elevating their practical combat capacity.”
She let the statement hang a moment, then closed it with the same deliberate calm she had held since the first insult.
“I did not speak of this earlier,” she said, “because it does not concern those who do not want to—or rather, will not—join the Magicians’ block. I will not waste their time with detail irrelevant to their path. My plan was to explain it to the magic students, once the arrangements for their advanced instruction were made.”
Her eyes locked on Marisse’s one last time, neither rising nor lowering her voice. “Not all of us need to perform for a crowd to prove we are working.”
Marisse’s smile fractured, the edges of her composure tightening until it looked more like a mask than an expression.
“Oh?” Her voice rose just enough to slice the quiet that had settled. “Was that… an implication, Selenne?”
Selenne’s reply was calm. “It was an answer.”
“An answer,” Marisse echoed, her tone sharp as a snapped quill, “laced with the sort of veiled jab one might expect from someone who knows their position is not entirely unshakable.”
The students shifted in place, their gazes darting between the two women.
Marisse stepped forward a fraction, her robes brushing the stone at her feet. “You’ve always been the same—aloof, dismissive, above the rest of us mere mortals because of that ’unique element’ of yours. You walk the halls like the rest of us are air, and then wonder why your block doesn’t brim with loyal protégés.”
Selenne remained still, letting the words flow past without so much as a twitch.
Marisse’s voice dropped, but the scorn in it only sharpened. “The truth, Selenne, is that the title you hold would have been contested long ago if not for the Head Council’s little fondness for exceptions. For symbols. You’re not the primus because you are indispensable—you are the primus because they like having a glittering rarity to parade when it suits them.”
A few in the crowd drew in quiet, uncomfortable breaths. Even for Academy politics, that was a blade aimed high.
“And yet,” Marisse added, her smile thin and cold, “you dare to lecture me about performance? About ’not performing for a crowd’? I have students—real, tangible mages—who carry my lessons into the field. What do you have, Selenne? A list of lectures? Theoretical success on paper?”
Selenne’s only answer was the faintest lift of one brow.
Marisse let the silence stand for a heartbeat, then gave a sharp, dismissive breath and turned back to her own group. “Come along,” she said, not looking back at Selenne. “We’ve wasted enough time on titles and excuses.”
The students parted just enough for her to pass, her cloak sweeping through the narrow gap before her group followed, their chatter low and quick.
The courtyard seemed to breathe again, the tension easing though not dissolving entirely.
Elara stood very still, watching the last swish of indigo vanish around the corner. The others in Selenne’s group looked much the same—half-confused, half-curious.
Aurelian broke the quiet first, leaning slightly toward Selphine without much attempt at whispering. “That wasn’t about teaching. That was politics.”
Selphine’s mouth tightened in a knowing line. “Workplace politics,” she said softly. “The kind that bleeds in front of an audience when it shouldn’t.”
Elara’s eyes narrowed faintly in agreement. ’She was trying to force her into a corner—make her answer on her terms. And Selenne… didn’t give her the satisfaction.’
