The Villain Professor's Second Chance

The carvings on the barrier were delicate yet powerful, intertwining like the roots of a great tree, each line flowing into the next with perfect precision. It was a blend of elegance and strength, a visual representation of the harmony she had achieved in her magic.

As Elara moved her hand slightly, the barrier shifted in response, the carvings glowing brighter, the lines adjusting as if the barrier itself was alive, breathing in sync with her mana.

Her golden mana, the signature of her lineage, was like liquid light, flowing smoothly through the barrier. It gave the shield a radiant glow, the kind of warmth and strength that felt unbreakable yet graceful. It was beautiful—too beautiful, even, to be just a defensive spell.

The barrier's surface seemed to dance with energy, rippling gently like a calm sea, ready to bend and absorb whatever force came its way.

For the first time in what felt like ages, Elara allowed herself to smile. She was usually reserved, but the triumph bubbling inside her was too strong to suppress. She had created something perfect, something even Draven himself would have to acknowledge. The thought of Draven's cold, calculating eyes flickering with even the smallest glimmer of approval sent a strange thrill through her.

She imagined his voice, as sharp and precise as always, giving her a rare nod of recognition.

"Elara Valen," he would say, his tone cool but impressed. "You've done well."

The mere idea of it made her smile widen. She couldn't remember the last time she had felt this way—truly accomplished, truly proud. The bitterness that had haunted her since the lecture began to fade as she stood there, basking in the glow of her creation. She wasn't just a student anymore. She wasn't just the prodigy child. She was—

"Elara?"

Her mother's voice cut through the moment, sharp and unwelcome. The smile on Elara's face disappeared as quickly as it had come. She turned to see her mother standing at the doorway, her expression soft but distant, as it always was.

"It's time for dinner," her mother said, her voice as calm and detached as ever.

Elara sighed softly, the warm glow of her triumph fading into the usual dullness that accompanied family interactions. Dinner. Another tedious ritual that brought her little joy. She nodded, dispelling the barrier with a flick of her hand, and followed her mother downstairs.

The dining room was as grand and elegant as the rest of the Valen estate, but to Elara, it felt empty. Her father wasn't there—he was often absent during dinner, busy with his duties as a count. That left Elara and her mother sitting at the long, polished table in uncomfortable silence. The clinking of silverware against porcelain was the only sound that filled the room.

Her mother, as always, tried to make conversation. "How was your day at the university?" she asked, her voice polite but distant.

"Fine," Elara replied blandly, keeping her eyes on her plate. She wasn't in the mood for a conversation, especially not one filled with forced pleasantries. Her thoughts kept drifting back to the barrier, to the moment of triumph she had experienced just minutes ago.

"Your father is still meeting with the council," her mother continued, trying to fill the silence. "There's been some unrest in the northern part of the countdom. He's handling it."

"Of course," Elara said shortly, not bothering to look up. She wasn't interested in hearing about her father's work, about the things that kept him away from their home for most of her life. It had always been like this—distant conversations, strained interactions. Her mother and father were more like figures in her life than parents.

The rest of the dinner passed in much the same way. Her mother asked a few more questions, to which Elara gave curt, one-word answers. Eventually, the silence took over, and they ate the rest of the meal in quiet detachment. Elara's thoughts continued to swirl, not around the dinner conversation, but around the magic she had created, the barrier that had felt like an extension of herself.

After dinner, Elara excused herself and returned to her room, the empty feeling settling over her once again. She had always felt like an outsider in her own family, and tonight was no different.

As she sat back down at her desk, her mind drifted back to her childhood—a time before she had discovered her potential, before the title of "genius" had defined her every move.

___

Elara had been a quiet child, unnoticed by her parents, left to her own devices for most of her early years. Her father, Count Valen, was a man of duty, always busy with the affairs of the countdom, and her mother was a delicate woman who spent much of her time in the social circles of the nobility.

As a child, Elara had craved their attention, longed for the warmth and affection that she saw other children receive from their parents. But in the Valen household, affection was a rare commodity.

She had been just another child, playing quietly in the vast gardens of the estate, her presence hardly acknowledged by the adults around her. The servants were polite, of course, and did their best to care for her, but there was always a distance, a formality that made her feel isolated.

It wasn't until she had been tested by the Magic Association that everything had changed. She remembered the day vividly—the day when the association had come to the estate to evaluate the children of the noble families, testing them for magical potential. Elara had been nervous, unsure of what to expect, but when it was her turn, something had shifted.

She had stood before the evaluators, a group of stern-faced magicians with sharp eyes, and as they began to test her mana, the air in the room had changed. She could still hear their whispers, the awe in their voices as they realized what she was capable of.

"Her mana… it's unlike anything we've seen."

"She has the potential to be one of the greatest magicians of her generation."

"Prodigy. Genius."

Those words had followed her ever since. The Magic Association had declared her a genius, and from that moment on, her life had changed. Her parents, who had barely noticed her before, suddenly began to pay attention. Her father had taken a keen interest in her education, ensuring that she had the best tutors, the best training.

Her mother, too, had become more involved, though her affection always felt distant, as if it was more out of duty than love.

Elara had embraced the title, the identity of being the prodigy child, the genius magician. It had given her a sense of purpose, a way to define herself in a world where she had once felt invisible. But with that title came expectations—expectations that weighed heavily on her shoulders. She had to be perfect, had to live up to the brilliance that everyone expected from her.

There was no room for failure.

Elara's childhood had been an endless stream of lessons and training sessions, her days blending into each other as she moved from one study to the next. Tutors came and went, each more impressed than the last, their eyes wide with amazement at her abilities. She excelled in every subject—whether it was spellcraft, elemental theory, or advanced magical disciplines, Elara mastered them all with ease.

She pushed herself relentlessly, driven by the praise that followed her every achievement.

But with every accomplishment, something inside her faded. The freedom she once had to simply be a child, to play or dream, slowly slipped away. The title of "prodigy" came with expectations she couldn't escape, and those expectations grew heavier with each passing day. There was no room for mistakes, no margin for failure.

She had to be the best, always perfect, because that was what everyone expected of her.

Now, as she sat at her desk, staring at the blank pages of her notebook, that weight felt more oppressive than ever. She had created the perfect barrier earlier—a masterpiece of magical precision and control. But instead of feeling proud, all she felt was emptiness. This was just another step in the endless pursuit of perfection that had defined her life. The question nagged at her: was it enough?

Would it ever be enough?

Her parents had never seen her as just their daughter. To them, she was the prodigy, the genius magician who brought prestige to their name. They offered her guidance, resources, and opportunities, but never affection, never warmth. And in her effort to meet their expectations, Elara had lost sight of who she really was beneath it all.

The image of the perfect daughter, the brilliant student, had consumed her identity.

Now, in the quiet of her room, with nothing but her thoughts and the flickering light of her desk lamp, Elara felt the overwhelming uncertainty of it all. She wasn't sure who Elara Valen was anymore, beyond the genius everyone admired. And that realization, more than anything, left her feeling hollow.