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

“Hah? If I don’t go I’ll definitely die? Why?”

Muen stared at Teacher Meladomir in shock, thinking to himself—could it be the Academy will soon face some great upheaval again, like an Evil God personally descending, stirring up whatever’s suppressed beneath the Academy, even Teacher Meladomir unable to stop it, knowing her own fate is sealed, so she finds an excuse to send me, her excellent disciple, away first—let me take the Eternal Clock out to endure humiliation and burden, then come back after I’ve trained to success and do that thirty-years-the-east-bank, thirty-years-the-west-bank revenge for her?

“Ow!”

Just as he was spinning wild conjectures, a stab of pain hit and Muen reflexively clutched his calf and hopped.

“Hmph. If my luck really were running out, the first thing I’d do is toss you, this unfilial disciple, into my coffin as padding!”

Teacher Meladomir drew back the foot she’d used to kick Muen’s shin. Her amber eyes glared at him with cutesy ferocity:

“There’s nothing that complicated about it. Pure and simple—if you don’t go, you die. That’s all.”

“D-detailed... e-explain.”

“Remember that thing I did to you before?”

“Which thing?”

“The one where I almost boiled you to death in a pot.”

“Oh great, you finally admit it—back then you really were going to—”

“Why do you think I did that?”

“...”

Seeing the sudden seriousness settle on Meladomir’s small face, Muen grew solemn as well, rubbing his chin and thinking carefully:

“I recall... your explanation then was... because my physical enhancement exceeded expectations, to make some later step go more smoothly, there was a process that had to be moved up?”

“That’s right. That’s what I said.”

“You boiled me for that process?”

“Mm.”

“And what’s that got to do with me now? If that process isn’t completed, I die?”

“From a causality standpoint, that’s correct.”

“Hah?”

Muen was dumbfounded again.

He froze a moment, looking at Teacher Meladomir, who was calmly sipping juice like she couldn’t care less, and his handsome face twisted.

Fuck!

This damned eternal loli is going to screw me again!

“Talk! Spit it out!”

Muen shook Meladomir’s neck furiously. “What the hell is going on? Lab mice have mouse rights too! Believe it or not, I’ll go find the Cute Disciples Protection Association right now, seize your flower sea, and stage a fierce protest against you?”

“Sorry, no such strange association exists in this world. There was a Lab Mouse Protection Association once, but it only lasted three days before an annoyed Origin Tower flattened it with a Truth-tier spell.”

Meladomir, jostled by Muen, had her baby-fat cheeks jiggling along. Her gaze stayed calm; she flicked a finger, and Muen suddenly hung suspended in midair, jiggling along with her cheeks.

“As for the situation... I believe I told you at the very start.”

“Y-you... you told me?”

Muen shuddered like he’d been shocked and stammered:

“H-how come I don’t remember?”

“Then I’ll help you review.”

Teacher Meladomir clapped her hands.

In an instant, the juice, the beanbag, and the little sun vanished, becoming desks, a blackboard, and a brightly lit classroom. Muen didn’t know when he’d ended up sitting dead-center. Even the pink strawberry nightgown on Teacher Meladomir had turned into a somewhat formal teacher’s professional suit.

But it had to be said—given Meladomir’s size and build, she absolutely couldn’t fill out a jacket and pencil skirt; it just made her look adorably dumb...

“Focus.”

Smack— a piece of chalk thunked off Muen’s forehead. Teacher Meladomir pushed up the black frames on her face and said with perfect seriousness:

“Class is starting.”

“Okay.”

Muen’s mouth twitched.

“First, I told you before—without a living thing, or rather a living person, as the bearer, the Eternal Clock can only ever be considered a nascent Authority. Because so-called ‘Authority’ is a concept that must be held in the hand of some existent entity to be established.”

Teacher Meladomir tapped the blackboard with a pointer on a doodled alarm clock that looked like a kindergartener’s scribble, then tapped the equally kindergarten-level drawing below—of a yellow-haired figure whose eyes were deliberately drawn far apart to look extremely ‘wise.’

“This is the Eternal Clock.”

“This is you.”

An arrow appeared between them.

“You are the vessel I selected for the Eternal Clock.”

“All very easy to understand, but...”

Meladomir’s tone suddenly shifted.

“Can you really be called the vessel of the Eternal Clock as # Nоvеlight # you are now?”

“...What do you mean?” Muen frowned.

Meladomir tapped the blackboard again.

A circle suddenly appeared in the arrow, cutting off the line.

The circle was crooked and crude.

But for some reason, Muen understood at once what it represented.

“The alchemical core.”

“Correct. This represents the alchemical core.”

Teacher Meladomir said:

“Have you noticed—right now, rather than you being the one connected to a portion of the Eternal Clock, it would be more accurate to say the alchemical core is connected to a portion of the Eternal Clock. Your real connection is only to the alchemical core.

The alchemical core is likewise a dead thing.

And a dead thing cannot allow the Eternal Clock to molt into a true Authority.

Yet without the alchemical core, you fundamentally can’t establish contact with the Eternal Clock at all, let alone later fully bear it.

—That is the crux.”

“I see...”

Muen got it immediately, rubbed his chin, and mused:

“So your earlier actions were to make the alchemical core—and even those complex magical circuits—fuse completely with me, transforming dead matter into living?”

“Seems this foolish disciple of mine isn’t entirely stupid.”

Teacher Meladomir nodded:

“Yes. That was my idea.”

“But you failed.”

Muen exhaled and looked at Teacher Meladomir in some surprise.

He hadn’t expected that even Grand Mentor Meladomir would have a hurdle she couldn’t clear.

“Everyone fails sometimes—let alone with something like ‘turning dead into living,’ which, if you merely said it aloud, those brats in the Stone Cauldron Society would drown you in spit for flagrantly violating the fundamentals of alchemy.”

“But...”

“My being unable to do it doesn’t mean others—or other existences—can’t.”

“You mean...” Muen felt he’d grasped something.

“Exactly.”

Teacher Meladomir pushed up her glasses; an inexplicable gleam flashed across the lenses:

“When it comes to the word ‘life,’ besides the Goddess of Life Aemil—or rather the Life Church that worships Her—who else in this world dares claim to truly understand it?”

“All those other reasons are fake. This is the real reason I’m sending you on this trip.”

“...Fuck.”

Hearing this explanation, Muen’s vision went black.

He knew that this time, he was truly not getting out of it.

Even if it was dangerous outside, even if the Life Church would really tie him to a stake and burn him, Teacher Meladomir would absolutely punt him straight to the Holy City.

“But that’s not right.”

Muen came back to himself, puzzled:

“What does this have to do with what you said earlier—that if I don’t go, I’ll definitely die?”

“Heh, kid, I told you long ago—bearing the Eternal Clock isn’t easy.”

“Have you never wondered, with how convenient an alchemical core is, why no one used it before you? Even without the Eternal Clock, the ability to store mana and construct magic is already remarkable.”

“This...”

Muen’s vision blurred; at some point Teacher Meladomir had stepped onto the desk in front of him. She poked his cheek with the pointer, a strange smile playing on her small face.

“So, when did you fall into the illusion that your body could fully accept the alchemical core and those magical circuits—these foreign objects?”

“Wha—”

Muen stalled.

His thoughts churned.

As if something had clicked, a chill like knives sprouted along his spine.

Even the alchemical core that had carried him through countless crises suddenly turned ice cold.

He thought of a surgery from his previous life.

An organ transplant.

“Rejection... reaction?” Muen squeezed the words out of his throat.

“Correct. A rejection reaction. And as you’ve already felt—because of the alchemical core’s complexity and special nature, and because the materials I used to construct it were just a tiny bit special—this is a rejection reaction that even the power of the Silent Moon can only suppress temporarily.”

Teacher Meladomir rapped Muen’s head, gloating:

“So, kid, don’t even think about lying flat this time. If you don’t resolve this at the Church, you really will be a goner later. No one can save you. I mean it—not even the Withering King.”