Internet Mage Professor-Chapter 107: Enemies

The door burst open with a loud slam that echoed through the chamber like a thunderclap.

The students froze mid-step, their blades paused mid-air, breaths held tight.

Even Nolan paused his movie halfway through a zombie headshot and turned toward the sudden noise with a raised brow.

A tall figure stepped into the room, wearing dark crimson robes with a bold golden trim, the unmistakable mark of a high-ranking instructor from the Outer Ring. His hair was styled too perfectly, his smile was too wide, and his footsteps too loud, almost deliberately disruptive.

"YO! Nolan, my man!" the newcomer called out, his voice booming through the quiet room, completely unbothered by the stunned silence. He waved with exaggerated gusto and strode in with the kind of confidence only someone truly obnoxious—or incredibly competent—could pull off.

Nolan groaned internally. Of course.

"Granfire," he muttered under his breath, already dreading what was to come.

Granfire casually tossed a rolled-up scroll toward Nolan’s chest. Nolan caught it with one hand and unfurled it slowly, already expecting drama.

"Came straight from the Department Head," Granfire said cheerfully, though there was a slight bite in his tone. "Figured I’d deliver it personally. You know how I love your... enthusiasm."

Nolan narrowed his eyes and began reading. As his gaze moved line by line, his brow furrowed, and he started mumbling under his breath.

"Silver Blade City Dance... evaluation... instructor candidate ranking... comparative instruction model... official mentorship designation... wait, what the hell? We’re competing now?"

He paused, eyes scanning further down. "So basically, we’re to teach them our own version of the Silver Blade City Dance, and whoever performs better becomes either their permanent instructor or subject-focused teacher for the entire semester?"

He glanced up, already annoyed. "Wait a minute. So if I already taught them the traditional one, then—?"

"Then," Granfire interrupted, his grin widening, "they want the traditional way, of course." His eyes sparkled with mischief, but his voice held a sharp undertone that barely masked his amusement.

Nolan squinted. "I already taught them the traditional Silver Blade City Dance yesterday."

Granfire’s expression froze for just a moment before he burst into a loud laugh, slapping his thigh. "You actually did? HA! That’s rich!" He clutched his sides, clearly amused.

Inside, though, he was cursing. This guy—he really went and taught that garbage? The traditional dance was a convoluted revision made by some political old farts who’d never even held a blade. No one could perform it properly—not without two years of muscle pain and spiritual injuries. But Granfire wasn’t about to correct him.

Instead, he composed himself and smirked. "Well, well, well. That just makes things more interesting. Since the Council asked for tradition, that means you’re already ahead."

Then, pivoting sharply on his heel, Granfire faced the students, who were still awkwardly holding their swords and standing still like confused scarecrows.

"Alright, kiddos!" he barked with a loud clap. "Pop quiz! What did you learn from Nolan? Show me what he taught ya!"

The students blinked, exchanging glances. The energy in the room shifted from surprise to wariness. Granfire may have had a loud voice and a dramatic entrance, but he wasn’t hated. In fact, most of them knew of him—some had even been inspired by his combat exploits.

One by one, they began to respond.

Thomas stepped forward and bowed. "Instructor Granfire. We’ve been practicing the Silver Blade City Dance. Teacher Nolan guided us on each of the twelve poses."

Rhea nodded respectfully. "He corrected our stances... made us repeat it over and over until we didn’t trip over our own legs."

James added, "He... also forced us to run formations while chanting the sequence. It was... intense."

Another student piped up shyly, "He gave each of us corrections according to our body types. Even if it was tiring, it helped a lot."

Then came the cascade. One by one, the students offered their own testimonies—some nervously, others proudly—describing how Nolan helped align their mana flow with their sword movements, how he paced their breathing with the strikes, and how he even used strange words like "muscle memory calibration" and "combat rhythm fusion."

Alina bowed deeply. "Instructor Granfire. Teacher Nolan may seem strange at times... but he has been more than just a teacher to us these past few days."

The rest followed, forming a line, each bowing and greeting Granfire respectfully. It took a long while, as each student gave their piece. Some mentioned how Nolan yelled at them until their legs gave out, others shared how he adjusted their sword grip using strange techniques from ’somewhere else.’ But the message was clear—he had earned their trust.

Nolan leaned back slightly with folded arms, watching Granfire’s expression closely.

"Come on," he said finally. "You came here to challenge me, right? Just say it."

Granfire didn’t bother pretending anymore. His friendly tone dropped just slightly as he grinned. "Let’s make a deal."

He walked to the center of the room, spinning on his heels to face both Nolan and the class. "We’ll each teach the students our version of the Silver Blade City Dance. Traditional or not—your choice. After a set period, their performance will be evaluated. Whichever group performs better wins. Loser pays up."

Nolan raised an eyebrow. "How much?"

"Five hundred mana crystals," Granfire said without hesitation.

There was a low whistle from a few students.

Nolan chuckled, not even hiding the amusement in his voice. "Didn’t you lose the last time we bet?"

"Yeah, yeah," Granfire replied with a shrug. "But that was different. I underestimated how well you could manipulate fears. This time’s different. This time I’m in my field—combat. Practical movement. Physical application. And this time... I’m more prepared."

He took a step closer and smirked. "How about you? You sure you don’t want to back out and save yourself some crystals? I won’t blame you if you do. We’re both professionals. No shame in knowing your limits."

Nolan stared at him in silence for a beat, then smirked.

"Huh? Who says I’m scared of you?"

Granfire’s smirk stretched wider. The cocky confidence that oozed from him wasn’t just for show anymore—he was actually enjoying this. That made it worse. Much worse.

"Well then," Granfire clapped his hands, loud and commanding, "it’s a bet." He turned to the students with a surprising shift in tone—one that was warmer, even protective.

"Now, listen up, all of you," Granfire said, striding back toward them like a general inspecting his troops. His booming voice filled the space, every syllable laced with energy. "Don’t get the wrong idea here. Teacher Nolan here? He might look like he rolled out of bed and fell into this teaching gig, but don’t disrespect him."

The students blinked in confusion, a bit stunned by the sudden turn.

"I know some of you may have heard rumors or doubted him in the past week," Granfire continued, his voice swelling with theatrical emotion. "He’s odd. He’s got methods no one’s ever heard of. His teaching feels like you’re being trained by a drunken mercenary who forgot which continent he’s on—but let me tell you this." His finger pointed toward Nolan, and the room stilled.

"He passed the assessment. Yesterday. Not just passed—he did something most instructors don’t manage even in their tenth year. He impressed the Elders. Shocked them, even. And I don’t say that lightly."

His tone now dipped into something colder, less rehearsed. "Do you know how hard that is? The Elders don’t like to be impressed. Half of them think standing too fast is a mortal sin. But Nolan? He walked in with his strange words, his insane training drills, and that dead-eyed look like he didn’t even care... and walked out with a passing result that actually made a mark. That’s rare. That’s power."

The students were silent. Every word hit like a drumbeat, heavy and deliberate.

Granfire grinned again. "So be grateful you get to learn from him. Doesn’t matter if you win this little dance contest or not. You’ll come out stronger either way."

There was a beat. He gave a small bow—mocking or respectful, it was hard to tell—then turned toward the door.

"Anyway. That’s enough inspiration for today. Bye, students." He waved lazily and stepped out.

As soon as the door clicked shut behind him, Nolan rolled his eyes.

"Fake bastard," he muttered under his breath.

But he’d seen it—just before Granfire turned away. That glint. That flash of delight in his eyes, like he’d just lit a fuse and was eagerly waiting for the explosion.

Nolan scoffed and leaned back against his chair, rubbing his temple. "Courting death again, huh?" he whispered, half to himself. "Wants to go toe-to-toe with a damn Mana Specialist with an ’Internet Cheat’. Idiot."

He glanced at his water bottle and took another swig. His throat was dry, but not from thirst—he could feel the tension clinging to his skin like dust.

One of the students—Thomas, the tall one with the habit of biting his lip when nervous—stepped forward hesitantly.

"Uh, Teacher Nolan?"

"Hm?"

"I don’t mean to pry, but... the way you and Instructor Granfire speak to each other. It sounds like... you’re, uh... enemies?"

A few other students nodded cautiously. Rhea exchanged glances with Alina, and they both looked at Nolan with concern. It wasn’t just curiosity—they genuinely didn’t know how to react. One teacher praising the other to the skies with an edge of contempt? That was confusing. And they weren’t sure if they were supposed to pick sides.

Nolan sighed and leaned forward on his desk, fingers steepled, gaze sharp but tired. "Enemies? No. We’re not enemies."

A pause.

"I just don’t like him."

He said it flatly, with no attempt to soften the words. But he could feel their eyes still on him, expectant, waiting. And after a long moment of trying to resist the pull of explanation, Nolan gave in with a weary breath.

"Fine. You want to know? Here’s the truth."

He pushed his chair back and stood up, pacing slowly in front of them like a reluctant lecturer.

"Granfire," he began, voice low but precise, "is arrogant. Not just the kind of arrogant that makes you roll your eyes. He’s the kind that looks down on people, even while pretending he’s lifting them up."

His steps were slow, measured. "Back when we were both being assessed for the Instructor Trials, he strutted in like he already owned the place. Didn’t even glance at the other candidates. Didn’t ask anyone’s name. Just smiled, threw out some compliments, and acted like he was a golden hero gracing the commoners with his presence."

The students stared. Nolan kept going.

"And the worst part? He wasn’t wrong. He was talented. One of the best in the physical disciplines. But instead of helping, he sneered. Every time another Mana Specialist stepped up to demonstrate their skill, he’d chuckle, whisper to his little followers, or just fold his arms and close his eyes like he was bored."

He stopped pacing and faced them, eyes dark.

"When it was my turn? He didn’t even watch. Turned around. Didn’t think I was worth his time. Until I outperformed everyone else in the simulation test."

A faint grin crossed his lips at that memory. "His face that day? Priceless."

The students were wide-eyed now, caught between admiration and surprise.

"But the thing with Granfire is, even when he loses, he wins. He’ll compliment you with a knife behind his back. Praise you in public, then discredit you in whispers. It’s not just a rivalry—it’s the way he operates... Maybe it’s his instinct... He wants to be seen as humble while making everyone feel inferior."

He sighed again, sinking back into his chair. "So no. I don’t like him. Doesn’t mean I hate him. I just don’t trust people who wear too many masks..."

There was a long silence.

Then Rhea raised her hand. "...Sir?"

Nolan tilted his head. "Yeah?"

"He says the same thing about you."