Internet Mage Professor-Chapter 109: Class Dismiss

The room exploded with noise.

"S-Prime? Seriously?"

"There’s only been one S-Class in the past decade!"

"No way we’re gonna get in!"

"You’re joking, right?! Tell us you’re joking!"

Nolan blinked, then blinked again, dragging his eyes slowly over the chaos before him.

He scratched the back of his head, his expression flat with exhaustion.

The way the students shouted over one another, the growing disbelief in their voices, the urgent hands waving in the air—it all felt like nails scratching across a chalkboard in his brain.

James pointed at him, eyes wide. "Teacher Nolan, how are we supposed to believe that? Silver Blade Academy hasn’t had an S-Prime class since before we were born! And we’re not even top students!"

Liam jumped in, eyebrows knit in confusion. "I mean... we’re barely scraping by. You’re saying we could surpass even the elite kids from the Capital branches?"

Sophia raised her hand and lowered it mid-air, almost unsure if she should be asking. "What’s the catch? Is this some kind of trick to make us train harder or buy more bottled water?"

"You said yourself," Rhea added, "people don’t just ’become’ Class S-Prime. It’s... legendary."

"Impossible," Alina muttered.

Each voice added weight to the air, layering disbelief over disbelief until it was thick enough to choke on. But Nolan didn’t budge. He just sighed.

"No," he said, his voice firm.

"What—"

"I said no."

"But—"

"No," he repeated. "It’s not impossible. I’m telling you again."

They froze.

"No," Nolan said yet again, this time almost as a growl, rubbing his temples as if warding off a headache. "You’re hearing me, but not listening. I. Said. It’s. Not. Impossible."

"But Teacher—"

"NO!" Nolan thundered.

The room went silent. Even the magical lights seemed to dim a bit at his tone.

Nolan exhaled, long and loud, like a man who’d just realized there was no coffee left in the pot. He dropped into his chair with a weary sigh, legs stretched out like a man preparing for the worst. His head lolled back against the top of the seat before he straightened and sat up again, his eyes scanning the room.

"You lot..." he began slowly, eyes narrowing, "are exhausting."

They flinched.

"Always asking. Always doubting. Always assuming the ceiling is all you’ll ever see." He stood, letting the chair scrape dramatically across the floor. "So let me tell you something."

The room fell even quieter, if that was possible.

"Everything they taught you—the rankings, the limits, the traditions—was built to make you obedient," Nolan said, pacing now, slowly, deliberately. "They tell you that only geniuses make it to the top, that legacies are inherited, not earned, and that some classes are too elite to even dream about."

He turned, eyes sharp.

"It’s not truth. It’s convenience."

One by one, the students found themselves holding their breath.

"Convenience for those who already have everything. For those who want to stay at the top without a fight. They teach you to aim low and be thankful for crumbs."

He walked down the center aisle between the students, voice steady and growing in intensity.

"You think you’re not good enough? That your bloodlines, your talent, your effort—it’s not enough? That’s what they want you to think."

They could feel it now. The pressure behind his words. The conviction.

"I’ve seen more than you know," Nolan continued. "I’ve watched so-called geniuses break from the pressure of expectation. And I’ve seen the ones no one believed in rise because they decided to. It wasn’t because of their families. Not because of some ancient artifact. It was because they refused to crawl."

His voice rose like a tide, relentless.

"If you think you’re stuck, then you are. If you think Class S-Prime is impossible, then for you—it is. But for the ones who refuse to be shackled by fear? Who train until the bones in their arms scream? Who listen, really listen, and follow when I tell them to do a technique again, and again, and again, until their body does it without thought?"

His fist clenched.

"Those are the ones who break the system. Those are the ones who rise."

The students were frozen. Their eyes wide. Their lips parted. No one even dared blink.

Nolan stepped back, gaze sweeping over them like a commander before a battle.

"So yeah. You might become S-Prime. Or you might not. But I’m telling you—it’s not impossible. And anyone who tells you otherwise is either a liar... or afraid of what you might become."

Silence.

Deep. Unshakable.

Every student stood still, their backs a little straighter than before. Nolan raised a brow.

"Well? Done now?" he asked dryly. "Satisfied with your complaints?"

They nodded. Slowly. Every single one.

"...Good," he muttered, waving them off. "Now shoo. Shoo! Get out! You’re taking up too much of my time. I’m tired of teaching you brats. Just let me rest already!"

The students blinked in confusion at the sudden shift.

Alina tried to speak. "But you just—"

"I said SHOO!"

And just like that, the spell broke. They began leaving, one by one, dazed but quiet. It was as if something fundamental inside them had shifted. No more whining. No more protesting.

Just stunned obedience.

Nolan sighed the moment the last one stepped out and closed the door behind them.

Finally.

Peace.

He stretched his arms above his head and groaned, bones popping in a grim symphony. Then he dropped to the floor, doing a series of lazy pushups—not out of dedication, but to loosen the stiffness in his spine from sitting too long watching movies.

"Ugh," he muttered, wiping sweat off his forehead. "That movie marathon messed up my back. I shouldn’t have binged the entire ’27 Later’ infected horror saga."

He paused in thought, then nodded to himself. "Still... worth it."

He opened his system interface and checked his cultivation screen. His Mana Circuit flared slightly, lines pulsing with faint light.

[Current Rank: Mana Specialist – 8th Stage.]

A small grin pulled at his lips. "Not bad. Not bad at all. Who knew a zombie apocalypse movie binge would push me into the eighth stage."

He opened his browser again. Time to do something other than watching horror and ordering bottled water.

But...

404 Error.

Page did not exist.

Retrying...

404 Error.

"Come on..."

He tried to access the merchant app.

Another error. "This application cannot perform a transaction at this time."

"Again?"

He switched to another food ordering portal.

Another blank screen.

Nolan stared at the screen, then shut his eyes and exhaled through his nose. "So that’s it, huh? Movies and water are all I get."

He leaned back, rubbing his temples. "No snacks. No juice. No spice ramen. Just... ’27 Later’ and magical water."

He shook his head slowly. "It’s like I’m cursed..."

Just then, a sensation pricked his spine. His neck stiffened.

Something wasn’t right.

The air shifted—just slightly—and before he could fully process the strange mana pulse, the classroom door slammed open.

"NOLAN!"

A blur of pink, red, and black burst into the room, horns glinting, eyes wide with panic.

Lirazel.

Succubus.

And his unofficial breeding materia—familiar.

"What is it, this time?" Nolan asked.

"Master! Danger!" she shouted, breathless. "Something’s wrong—very, very wrong!"