The Yellow-Haired Villain in Soaring Phoenix's Novels Also Desires Happiness

After Melara left, the infirmary fell quiet once again.

But Muen just stared blankly at the spot where she had disappeared, eyes round as saucers—like a frog seeing a swan fly over the mouth of a well for the first time.

“Holy shiiiii—”

Only after a long pause did those two syllables finally fall dumbly from his mouth.

What had Big Boss just said her name was?

Meladomir?

Which Me? Which la? Which do? Which mir?

Wait a minute... could it be the same Meladomir from the Magic Fundamentals textbook? The one with an entire frontispiece dedicated to her legacy? The one whose theories make up a third of the whole curriculum?

The legendary archmage from a thousand years ago—Origin-Class Meladomir?

A name coincidence?

No way. No way in hell.

Top-tier monsters like that don’t share names.

Which meant...

“This is insane... Big Boss isn’t just any big boss.”

Muen’s throat went dry.

Sure, based on everything, it did seem like Melara-sensei had been the one to drive off the Evil God. But Muen hadn’t witnessed it firsthand, so he hadn’t really felt how terrifyingly powerful she was.

He’d assumed she was just some high-level Crowned-tier, relying on the Academy’s grand secret rites to intervene.

But now it seemed... he’d been too naive. Forget using the rites—she probably invented them!

Origin-Class. A thousand years ago.

What kind of concept even was that?

Unlike those wuxia cultivation novels, people in this world couldn’t casually live for a thousand or ten thousand years.

Before becoming Crowned-tier—undergoing a fundamental transformation of life itself—most people couldn’t even surpass the theoretical max lifespan of 120.

And even among the Crowned, lifespans usually only reached 200–300 at best. The oldest person Muen had heard of from the original novel was the Pope of the Church of Life. And even he, blessed directly by the Goddess of Life, was only a little over 400.

Not even halfway to a thousand.

And Meladomir wasn’t just someone who had lived a thousand years ago.

She had already been Origin-Class back then.

Her actual age? Unknown.

Even the textbook made no mention of her life before becoming an archmage.

“A monster like that wanted to take me as her disciple, and I... hesitated?”

Muen wanted to punch past-himself in the face and cling to Melara’s thigh immediately.

Such a powerful thigh—if he could just hold on tight, unless an Evil God personally descended, who or what could threaten his little life?

The Love God’s Crowned-tier? Pffft. Not even close to the big, fair, soft thigh in my arms.

So what if Ariel had cheat buffs and a sexy lady living in her ring? Could they even compare to Melara’s ankle?

Becoming her disciple meant one thing: as long as he didn’t actively try to get himself killed, he could swagger through life however he wanted.

—Or so he imagined.

Because soon, Muen calmed down.

And then, a flicker of fear crept in.

That road—so uncertain even someone like Meladomir didn’t have confidence in it...

Was it really the right choice for a cannon-fodder villain without a single protagonist buff?

“But... I’ve come this far. I’ve got no choice but to keep going.”

Muen slapped his face and forced his spirit back.

The Black Book’s prophetic dream still loomed over him like a knife to the throat—ready to strike at any time.

So he had to struggle.

Before fate’s malice reared its head again, he had to grab onto anything he could, no matter what.

Even if the path ahead was hell itself.

...

...

“But still... can someone save me please...?”

Not even two minutes after that burst of motivation, Muen was already rolling around in his blanket, letting out a salted fish’s last death cry.

Because no matter how he thought about it—

Melara-sensei’s condition was completely insane.

One month. Pass Magic Fundamentals.

In a single month, he had to learn one year and one month’s worth of material.

This wasn’t some college student revisiting elementary math where a quick glance would be enough.

When it came to magic, he was a kindergartener.

At best, a first-grader.

And Melara wanted him to take the second-years’ monthly exam—in just a month—and pass!

It was just... unreasonable.

But Muen knew deep down, the demand was completely fair.

When it came to profound magical studies, a dumbass who scored a 3 on Fundamentals had no business stepping through the door.

“But it’s just so damn hard! Isn’t there some way to learn everything without studying!?” Muen twisted his body into strange shapes, praying for some kind of all-purpose Doraemon to descend from the heavens.

“Has the Evil God’s corruption finally affected your brain, Muen Campbell?”

A cold voice echoed through the cramped infirmary.

“Uh.”

Muen froze mid-wail, like someone hit his pause button.

He slowly poked his head out from under the blanket, cheeks tinged pink, and looked toward the silver-haired figure.

He offered an awkward smile.

“Ce... Celicia? What brings you here?”

“Am I not allowed?”

Celicia was still wearing her red Student Council uniform. It gave her snow-white skin a warm, rosy tint.

She set down the fruit she’d brought on the bedside table, then brushed aside a lock of silver hair, glancing at Muen out ◈ Nоvеlіgһт ◈ (Continue reading) of the corner of her eye.

“Or are you hoping to see a doctor instead?”

“No, no, no. My brain’s totally fine. Absolutely fine.”

Muen shook his head hard and sat upright in bed.

He adjusted his rumpled hospital gown, like a lowly employee about to meet a CEO boss.

“Things okay with the Student Council? Must be busy lately, right?”

“It’s manageable. This incident had a wide impact, sure—but since no students actually died during the chaos, the Student Council’s mostly handling minor follow-ups. The real headaches are all on the professors and the Dean.”

Celicia took the chair. The one now officially blessed by the butts of two beautiful women.

“Want an apple?”

She asked it casually, but she already had one in her hand—along with a fruit knife.

So Muen could only mumble a quiet “yes.”

“How’s your body feeling?”

“Totally recovered.”

“When are you returning to class?”

“Doctor says I can be discharged tomorrow.”

“And your mind?”

“Feeling great. Appetite’s back. Life is good.”

“......”

Celicia lowered her gaze and began peeling the apple.

Her hands were steady, the peel curling off in smooth, even ribbons like a silk ribbon cascading from her palm.

Once she finished, she placed the apple on a dish and, with a flick of the knife, cut it into eight even pieces—each one getting its own neatly inserted toothpick.

She offered them to Muen.

Truly Celicia. Even peeling fruit looked elegant in her hands.

Muen couldn’t help admiring her in silence. He picked up a piece and popped it into his mouth.

Sweet and crisp.

“So... nothing major’s happened at the Academy lately, right?”

He chewed and asked casually.

After being stuck in bed for days, the only news he got from the outside world came from the occasional giggle of girls drifting through the window.

The doctors and professors were all so stiff—Muen didn’t dare gossip with them.

“Nothing significant. Thanks to timely response, the Evil God incursion didn’t cause any real damage. Classes have mostly resumed.”

Celicia also picked up a slice, nibbling it slowly, her lips glistening red, her posture graceful as ever.

“But if you’re asking about what the students are buzzing about...”

She paused.

“It’s probably the mysterious disappearance... of a certain gold-haired beauty the night of the chaos.”