Miss Witch Doesn't Want to Become a Songstress-Chapter 183

Under the guidance of the student council members, Thilan gradually became familiar with the student council’s work. Over the course of a week, she had also gained a general understanding of the various clubs, both big and small, within the academy. Now, it was time for her to start handling things on her own.

"Thilan has been a lot busier lately," Dolores remarked as she watched the black-haired girl sitting in the club office, organizing documents. Her fingers moved swiftly over the keyboard, typing in various commands at high speed, processing raw and complex data with efficiency.

After finishing today’s tasks, Thilan finally put down her arms, ready to take a short break.

She glanced at the bottom left corner of the screen. It was 11:20 AM—almost lunchtime. However, she didn’t feel like moving. Physically, she was fine. As a transcendent, her physical endurance was far superior to that of an ordinary person. But mentally, she was a little drained—there had simply been too much to learn and remember lately.

Standing up and stretching slightly, the black-haired girl rubbed her wrists and knuckles before heading toward the sofa she had claimed as her own. She was already accustomed to napping in the club office, and aside from Annelie and Dolores, no one else would come in to disturb her.

She first sat down on the fabric-covered sofa, took off her shoes, and let her toes—wrapped in black socks—press against the soft cushion. Then, she prepared to lie on her side.

Dolores, who was sitting across from her reading the news, caught sight of this adorable scene from the corner of her eye and felt the urge to smile.

Even though she had seen it many times before, Thilan’s sleeping posture was always so endearing. That innocent, flawless face, breathing softly, with eyelashes faintly quivering—it was something she could never get tired of watching.

But for now, she decided to pretend she hadn’t noticed. Otherwise, this adorable girl would definitely get embarrassed, likely turning her face away and curling up on the inner side of the sofa.

Less than a minute later, a slightly drowsy Thilan had already drifted into slumber, her breathing gradually becoming steady.

Only then did Dolores set down her personal terminal, quietly approach, and sit beside the sleeping black-haired girl, gazing at her serene face.

Just looking at her, a sense of peace and tranquility slowly filled Dolores’s heart.

Thilan had a certain kind of magic—one that wasn’t immediately obvious upon first meeting, but after spending enough time with her, it became undeniable. Being around her made everything feel slower. Not in the literal sense, but in a way that calmed the mind. It made one notice the small joys and delicate moments of life, allowing irritations and anxieties to fade away.

Although Thilan herself had her own worries and moments of doubt, the feeling she gave to others never changed. Those around her naturally believed that she would always find a way to overcome whatever challenges she faced—even if she herself had no confidence in that.

"She’s really special," Dolores thought to herself.

Her mind drifted back to the first day they met—Thilan standing on stage, discussing societal issues with deep thought and insight. At first, Dolores had assumed it was just a performance, a superficial display meant to attract attention. But as the speech went on, it gradually won her over.

Unlike many public speakers who relied on fiery rhetoric to stir emotions, Thilan’s words were calm and rational, analyzing various factors with precision. Her aspirations were simple yet profound, devoid of unnecessary embellishment.

In the end, these impressions all came together, sparking Dolores’s curiosity and interest in her. That was why, on that very same day, she had taken the initiative to invite Thilan.

During their first face-to-face conversation, Thilan had not continued the discussion from her speech. Instead, she seemed a little embarrassed about it, worried that people might misunderstand her as some kind of fanatic.

In reality, Thilan rarely imposed her own views on others. More often than not, she simply played the role of a listener.

She was adorable—and more than that, she was kind. But it wasn’t a fragile, passive kindness. It was a quiet strength, soft on the outside but firm on the inside, with principles she would never compromise on.

That was what Dolores admired most.

She had seen too many people who only pretended to be good—some who did charity work solely for publicity, craving attention and media coverage. Others appeared kind but had no convictions of their own, easily swayed by others, becoming accomplices in wrongdoing while still acting as if they were innocent.

As fragments of memories from the past six months surfaced in her mind, time unknowingly slipped away.

By the time Thilan woke up, feeling a gentle squeeze on her shoulder, it was already past noon.

"Everyone else has gone for lunch. Let’s go too," Dolores said, her tone light and cheerful as she looked at the sleepy-eyed girl.

"Okay," Thilan replied, sitting up on the sofa. She reached for her shoes, slipping her toes inside before putting them on properly.

Once she stood up, Dolores took her hand and led her out of the clubroom.

Thilan could feel the faint happiness radiating from the other girl.

"Did something good happen to Dolores today?" she wondered silently before following her steps.

...

Two weeks passed in the blink of an eye.

Thilan finally had a bit of breathing room—not because the workload had lessened, but because she had become familiar with her responsibilities. Now that things were running smoothly, she only needed to handle unexpected issues as they arose.

Today, she was visiting the Hat and Dagger club to check on their recent training progress.

At first, Woolay had assumed she was simply curious about swordsmanship and didn’t have much actual combat experience. After all, most people didn’t receive formal combat training in middle school. It wasn’t until high school that battle-oriented courses became common.

However, during a casual practice session, the club’s swordsmanship instructor—N—greeted Thilan warmly and even asked her to evaluate the skill levels of the club members.

That was when Woolay was truly caught off guard.

At first, he had thought that Instructor N was just joking—asking an outsider to give an assessment. He figured it was just a way to lighten the mood, maybe have her comment on who looked more impressive while wielding their swords.

But unexpectedly, Thilan went on to evaluate each member individually, pointing out their shortcomings. Her depth of experience and understanding was so profound that it was hard to believe she was only 16 or 17 years old.

After she finished her evaluations, Instructor N clapped his hands and selected a few skilled members, inviting Thilan to spar with them. That day, Woolay watched as the quiet, bespectacled girl stepped onto the training ground with a steel-bladed sword in hand. The heels of her small leather shoes clicked crisply against the floor, and then, without any noticeable pause or acceleration in her movements, she defeated each opponent who attacked her one by one—maintaining a smooth and unwavering pace until she reached the end of the arena.

Only then did Woolay truly believe the words Colt had told him that day. It turned out they were not exaggerated in the slightest—Miss Thilan was indeed capable of providing the most precise guidance and advice.

From that day on, every time Thilan visited the Hat and Dagger club, she was warmly welcomed by its members. Many sought her guidance, and her reputation as a prodigious swordmaster quickly grew—so much so that she even started to overshadow Woolay himself, the club president, in terms of admiration.

How could this be allowed?

Determined to reclaim his standing, Woolay took the opportunity one day to challenge Thilan after training, engaging her in a practice sword duel.

As expected, he was utterly defeated. Not just once, but five times in a row, each match ending in his loss.

Unwilling to accept this outcome, he then suggested taking the match to the academy’s designated battle arena.

Unlike the practice sessions, this battle had no spectators. The official battle arena allowed full freedom to exert one’s personal strength and use a variety of powerful skills, so Woolay went all out.

After the duel, he never spoke a word about the results to anyone.

After all, losing to a younger student who was still at Sequence 4 while he himself was at Sequence 5 was hardly something to be proud of.

However, after that match, he had no choice but to wholeheartedly acknowledge the strength of the seemingly quiet black-haired girl. In the end, he even entrusted her with the responsibility of selecting the club’s next president.

"These are the best candidates in our club." Woolay gestured for five students to step forward. They were all second or third-year students with considerable potential. There were others who were even more talented, but since the fourth-years were about to graduate, they were not included in the selection process.

Who should I choose?

Seated in a chair, the black-haired girl rested her chin lightly on one hand, her gaze slowly sweeping across the five candidates.

Then, under their nervous stares, she stood up and began to circle them at a leisurely pace, recalling each of their performances over the past few weeks.

"If I were to simply appoint someone, you might feel dissatisfied. So instead, let’s do this—I’ll teach all of you a sword technique, and in one week, the person who has mastered it the best will become the next club president."

"Yes!" The five students immediately stood at attention, their eyes filled with anticipation. Learning a new sword technique—especially one taught by the prodigious swordswoman personally praised by Instructor N—was an opportunity too rare to pass up.

"Then, pay close attention. This is a technique passed down from the White Orchid Cross Sword School. It may not be particularly advanced, but it is easy to learn, highly versatile, and excellent for building a strong foundation. Even if you choose to switch to another sword style in the future, it won’t leave any detrimental habits behind."

With that, the black-haired girl drew a steel sword from the side and began her demonstration.

She explained each movement in detail, from the most fundamental strikes to the infusion of transcendent energy, as well as the training methods for the accompanying secret arts.

Truth be told, she had learned this sword style from the Phantom Princess, who had systematically taught her the secret arts of all the major sword schools of the Third Epoch. But there had been so much to absorb that, even now, she had only managed to fully digest a small portion of it.