Ivan was, in most respects, a thoughtful and warmhearted person, but when it came to assessing himself objectively, he was utterly dispassionate.

Thus, he knew he was not a good teacher. He could never teach a student the way Enrique did.

“Kill... me...!!”

“Don't say that. You aren't going to die.”

“You monster...!! I'm going to... drop this course...!!”

“Felix von Esbil, second son of the comital House of Esbil in Thilles. Residing at 21, District Three, His Holiness Boulevard. Three maids, one butler, one manservant, two horses. You send a letter home once a week, but the recipient is a commoner girl named Irilda in the County of Esbil. Correct?”

“... Eek?!”

“There is no early discharge from my classes. Now concentrate.”

Ivan had personally experienced the advanced educational system of the twenty-first century. And twenty-first-century South Korea was a developed nation that provided modern universal education.

Enrique's method was closer to an apprenticeship. Teach only the worthy; pass everything on to a single successor. She selected a disciple with painstaking care, then did her utmost to instill everything she knew in that disciple.

Universal education, however, was different. The quality of the students did not matter. Its goal was to raise the average standard of the entire student body through an adequate level of instruction.

South Korea operated a social welfare system called “compulsory education.” It meant providing equal educational opportunities to all students, regardless of their wishes.

He had already given them ample warning during orientation. It had been an almost unimaginably considerate declaration of war by his standards. (The Extermination Unit did not declare war before taking action.)

Thus, the students taking his classes had effectively signed an agreement to accept every risk that might arise during instruction. An exemplary attitude toward learning.

Ivan had decided to become a teacher who offered educational opportunities to enthusiastic students and those eager to learn. Since he had already memorized all their personal information, this would not be difficult.

Humans were imaginative creatures, after all, and would sometimes “mistake” even a trivial “truth” for a threat.

From Jean-Jacques Rousseau to Pestalozzi, the brilliant educational philosophies of the twenty-first century would illuminate this uncivilized, premodern society.

“Aaaagh!! My arm, my aaaarm!!”

“Shh. Screaming does nothing to help you survive. Recall your [Human Anatomy and Mana] lessons and respond accordingly. Remember the first-aid procedure for severed nerves in your arm and reconnect them.”

“Gaaaagh!!”

“Your nerves haven't been severed. They are merely paralyzed, and the pain you feel is nothing more than phantom pain. Concentrate. Slowly.”

Ivan's teaching methods had already proven their usefulness on numerous occasions. Mostly when training recruits on the battlefield.

Bringing everyone's capabilities up to a common standard regardless of individual talent: viewed from a slightly different angle, this spirit of “compulsory education” was little different from “military training.”

In that field, at least, he surpassed Enrique. No, he prided himself on being second to none in this other world. That was how objectively he could assess himself.

“Grrrgl...”

“Broken. Patricia. If you would.”

“I honestly can't bear to watch this... I didn't become department head at the College of Theology to see things like this... And I'd have no reason to do it if you hadn't asked, Brother! Does a department head look like a school nurse to you?!”

“You look like a Saint.”

“...!!”

After that brief reply, Ivan surveyed his surroundings. Some fifty students lay collapsed, each in a pose brimming with individuality.

That was fine. They had only just begun laying the groundwork in survival skills. These students were going to receive an excellent education, without fail. There were no Fs in his classes.

There was, however, just one thing displeasing him.

If his teaching methods had become somewhat—ever so slightly—rougher, it was because even Eugene's Status window had failed to identify the “demon spy at the academy.”

'Was my prediction wrong?'

Ivan considered the possibility briefly, then wiped it clean from his mind. Impossible.

Since the “academy festival attack” led by Pavel, Prizhenkaya's domestic intelligence network had become the most tightly woven in its history. With the rebel ringleader on their side, they had been able to address every previously known vulnerability.

According to “the common sense of people in this other world,” then, there could no longer be any threats in this city. Unless the Demon King or the Seven Dragon Generals descended upon it in person.

The Hero's Party's thief controlled the back alleys, Counterintelligence Command held the domestic intelligence network firmly in its grip, the Crown Prince's Faction had fallen, and every government ministry had sworn loyalty to the Princess.

Since forming a united front with the dwarves, the northern military leadership had also become favorably disposed toward the Princess. The rewards spoon-fed to them had been considerable.

Under these circumstances, who could possibly send a spy into Prizhenkaya, and how? That was “common sense among the residents of this other world.”

Naturally, that was not “a modern person's common sense.” An academy absolutely had to contain a spy.

The children of the Hero's Party, the students every potential enemy nation would most eagerly drool over, were gathered in one place. Despite their different majors.

There were no fewer than three such classes. Better still, they were general-education electives open to all majors, making them easy to infiltrate. Under these conditions, a spy was bound to enroll. That was how things were supposed to work.

'If their race classifications all say human, that means one of the humans is in league with the demons.'

And it couldn't be anyone from Krasilof, so excluding them...

Ivan sighed as he scanned the foreign nobles among his students. There were easily more than twenty suspicious candidates. This would not be easy.

“Mister!!”

As he was leaving after class, one of the foreign nobles ran up to him. Soon, the other foreign nobles surrounded him.

Isabelle looked up at Ivan with blazing eyes. The same look the hero had worn in the previous age, when he formed his party to overthrow the Demon King.

The members of the Hero's Party encircled Ivan, their resolve burning fiercely. He slowly surveyed the group.

“Professor.”

“Pardon...?”

“Use the proper form of address at school.”

One misstep could send the other students the wrong message: that he “favored certain students.” This would violate the educational philosophy of universal education.

Isabelle snorted at his words and replied,

“After everything we've been through!”

“Everything we've been through.”

Like every professor in the world, Ivan remembered the students he had given an A+. All the more so if, despite receiving that A+, the student had called his class the worst in the course evaluation.

Ivan was a warmhearted man, so such things did not hurt his feelings easily. He was simply rational. With all due rationality, he replied sulkily.

“So what is it?”

“What are you doing tonight?”

“Preparing for class.”

“Nothing besides that, right? You don't have anything to prepare anyway. You're doing the exact same things you did to us!”

Isabelle laughed and raised her chin proudly.

“We're all having dinner at my house tonight! Got it?”

“I can't do that.”

Ivan was an upright man of simple means, so he did not extort gifts from students who approached him for better grades. That would violate the principles of universal educa—

“Even if we're having kimchi fried rice?”

“...”

Counterintelligence Command was an inquisitive organization, and made it a principle to satisfy any curiosity that arose.

Unable to conceal his intense curiosity about the words that had left Isabelle's mouth, Ivan found himself nodding.

* * *

The smell.

“Enjoy!”

“Wait, why does this look good?”

“What have you done? Is this cabbage the same stuff from back then?”

“Wow, amazing. This is a completely different dish!”

It smelled familiar.

CLINK.

Ivan carefully picked up his spoon. It felt unfamiliar. The very act of handling cutlery felt unfamiliar. Most of his meals consisted of gulping hastily boiled porridge straight from a mess tin or crunching through a nutrition bar.

Fundamentally, eating was nothing more than replenishing essential nutrients. It was little different from basic weapons maintenance, performed to keep the body's performance constant.

The spoon slid through the stew.

Large chunks of meat and potato in the bubbling stew crumbled softly against it. This was food simmered long and well, prepared with care.

Ivan's nose twitched involuntarily as he smelled the steaming stew in his bowl.

Even he knew what food tasted like. However little importance he placed on it, he was not incapable of distinguishing flavors.

But preferences in taste were ultimately just a kind of nostalgia-tinged stimulus produced by one's upbringing and the universal human sense of taste. And this world held no flavors capable of stirring his nostalgia.

And yet,

SLURP.

The hot, textured stew slipping down his throat. The tender, well-boiled brisket falling apart on his tongue. The vegetables, sautéed long enough to draw out their sweetness.

The spicy seasoning layered among them, the lime mixed in just right to balance the acidity, and the final note of sour cream.

It had been altered somewhat, but this was, to some extent...

“How is it?”

Isabelle was watching him with sparkling eyes. Both hands folded over her chest, she looked proud. Yet at the same time, there was a cautious anxiety in her gaze.

A brief silence followed. Without a word, Ivan moved his tongue and swallowed every last bit of food in his mouth.

Kim Seonwoo lowered his head.

“It's delicious.”

Snow fell outside the window. It was always winter in Krasilof. Unlike other countries with their four seasons, Krasilof knew only winter.

Ivan moved his spoon again, lifting a generous spoonful of stew to his mouth. Mechanically, without stopping, over and over.

At last, with a clink, the tip of his spoon scraped lightly against the bottom of the bowl.

“Would you like some more? I made plenty.”

“If possible.”

“Anytime. As much as you like.”

Isabelle rose with a warm smile. Her steps were full of cheerful energy as she hurried to the kitchen.

Slow, gentle conversation murmured around the table.

The Hero's Party and the Possessors. These utterly mismatched people. The “protagonists.”

Unlike him, they were the leading figures who would carry this generation's story forward.

The youngsters continued their meal, trading silly jokes, grumbling playfully, and grinning at one another with easy familiarity.

Sitting among them, Ivan quietly looked out the window.

'This was unexpected.'

Kim Seonwoo whispered quietly. Ivan briefly agreed. Unexpected.

Feeling nostalgia in this uncivilized world defied common sense.

But sometimes, he found himself thinking, things that defied common sense were not so bad.

“This is nice.”

Ivan murmured in an unusually gentle voice, quietly watching the first snow outside the window.

He had never imagined that a cloudy sky shedding snow could remind him of anything other than the northern front.

“Did Uncle just...?”

“Did Boss just say... this is... nice...?”

“He knew how to say something like that?!”

“Is this a glimpse of the hero's talent...?”

As the table regained its noisy energy, Ivan looked down at the fresh bowl of stew that had appeared before him.

Isabelle carefully slid the bowl toward him and smiled brightly.

“Eat up!”

Ivan smiled back.