Internet Mage Professor
Chapter 150: Repeaters

Chapter 150: Repeaters

The morning sun was soft, muted by a gentle mist that hovered over Silver Blade City, casting a sleepy golden hue through Nolan’s villa windows.

Nolan stretched lazily on the edge of his bed, one foot hanging off the mattress, his face buried in the pillows.

The night had been... intense.

From killing a demon-spawn to watching dungeon serpents salute him like soldiers, to Lirazel cradling a crystal like it was her heart and calling him "my lifebinder." Too much. Way too much.

His mind spun with half-formed questions as he lazily rolled off the bed and kicked his feet into his boots.

What the hell was Lirazel going to do with that crystal? Eat it? Worship it? Use it to hatch a dungeon chicken? And now that Yxthul was dead, did that mean things would settle down? Probably not.

Then there was the new problem: the dungeon den had expanded. He now technically owned a two-floored living dungeon.

He didn’t even understand the taxes for a single-floor dungeon, much less two.

Would he need to register this with the Guild of Realms now? Did the local city hall need a blueprint for its internal architecture? Did it count as a "dragon estate" if it grew underground without permission?

He rubbed his temples. "I’ll think about that tomorrow," he muttered to himself.

Instead, Nolan decided to head back to Silver Blade Academy.

Something about walking those stone paths always reset his brain.

Besides, he’d been assigned a new class today.

Not the elites. Not the battle-hardened. Not the spoiled ones. And definitely not the perky first-years practicing their mystic dances under Granfire’s supervision.

No, these were the... repeaters.

The losers.

The troublemakers.

The lazy.

The "I don’t give a damn if I flunked five times" crowd.

The problem children.

Nolan grinned as he stepped into the crumbling stone corridor that led to Class F-7. "Sounds like my people."

He reached the door, took a deep breath, and pushed it open.

Inside, the air was thick—not with tension, but with disinterest.

Half the classroom wasn’t even facing forward. Boys had their chairs turned around, feet kicked onto desks. Girls leaned out windows, gossiping with each other in hushed, dismissive tones. A few were tossing cards. Others were sleeping.

The moment Nolan stepped in, not a single voice dropped. A few eyes flicked lazily toward him, then just as quickly turned away.

He blinked. This... was new. Usually there were scoffs, side-eyes, or groans. This was pure indifference.

He cleared his throat, walked to the front of the room, and clapped his hands once. "Good morning," he said.

Nothing.

"Name’s Nolan Grime. I’m your new instructor."

Still nothing.

One guy picked his nose in the back row. Another girl yawned so dramatically Nolan could see the back of her throat. Someone was sketching a cursed-looking chicken creature in their notebook.

And Nolan...

...smiled.

"Perfect," he whispered under his breath.

He turned around, drew a circle on the board—purely for his own entertainment—and then wandered to the teacher’s desk and sat down. Slouched, really. No papers. No chalkboard notes. No spell circles. He just pulled out his mana teacher desk, leaned back, and opened up Street Rumble Ultra 7.

Time to game.

The screen lit up with neon explosions, a pulsing synth soundtrack, and the clashing roars of two oversized fighters.

He scrolled past the basic characters and hovered over the one he always used: Mad Lightning, a cybernetic kung-fu monk with chains for arms.

His opponent: Witchinatrix, a sorceress in a clown costume that shot exploding balloons and summoned shadowy plushies. Definitely a pain in the ass.

The match started.

"Let’s go..." Nolan muttered, as he pulled off a spinning roundhouse kick into a dash-chain grab, then dropped an electric elbow that exploded on contact. "Ooh, combo’d you into next week..."

Meanwhile, the students continued in their own little chaos.

One corner of the room was fully engaged in an argument over whether the mutated pigs of Westlake were stronger than the flame lizards of the Eastern Spire.

Another corner discussed the taste differences between mana-infused wine and goblin-fermented cider.

Somewhere near the front, a girl with half her hair shaved and dyed bright pink was carving symbols into her desk with a butter knife, muttering, "This place is cursed anyway."

A boy leaned his chair so far back Nolan expected it to topple any second. It didn’t.

And through all this? Nolan didn’t care.

He was on Round 3 now. Mad Lightning had lost a limb but gained an aura. He was halfway into pulling off a multi-directional sky punch when suddenly—

BAM!

A desk slammed.

The entire room shook with the impact.

Nolan’s screen froze for a split second, costing him the combo.

He blinked and looked up.

The girl with the pink hair stood up, her desk nearly flipped over. Her eyes were wild, glowing faintly red. She pointed straight at Nolan.

"You gonna teach us or just sit there acting happy on your own?"

Nolan blinked again, taking her in. Her arms were tattooed with half-drawn spell formations. Her boots were mismatched. Her stare was sharp, challenging.

He slowly set down the mana teacher desk.

"...You really wanna learn something?" he asked, voice quiet.

The girl raised an eyebrow, scoffing slightly. "Not really," she said with a shrug, and turned to sit back down, dragging her desk noisily as if to emphasize how unbothered she was.

Nolan blinked once. "See?" he said with a deadpan voice, slipping back into his seat and crossing his legs. "I also don’t want to teach anything."

For a moment, silence filled the air like a slap. The girl paused mid-sit. A couple of students looked at each other, unsure if they heard him right. One of the boys at the back scratched his head and muttered, "Wait... what?"

"What kind of teacher...?" another student whispered to their friend.

But Nolan didn’t explain himself. He didn’t give some philosophical reason or drop an unexpected speech. No. He just went right back to his teacher desk and tapped his screen with one hand, calm and focused.

And the students?

They just... resumed what they were doing.

Some played cards, others exchanged smuggled candy, two of them continued balancing spoons on their noses like that was the most important thing in the world. A few giggled at the absurdity of it all.

And Nolan?

Nolan dove back into Street Rumble Ultra 7 like a man slipping into the only church he ever believed in.

The glow of the mana teacher desk’s screen lit his face like moonlight, his fingers dancing like seasoned blades over the input commands. His thumbs were confident, precise—muscle memory refined over thousands of matches in every spare minute between lectures, battles, and slaughters of eldritch spawn.

His fighter, Mad Lightning, was now up against Bladekiss, the vampire matador who fought with enchanted scarves and blood whips. The screen shimmered as Nolan started a combo: dash, crouch, sweep—cancel into uppercut elbow, chain slam, followed by a burst finisher—

"Countered? Damn," Nolan muttered, eyes narrowing as Bladekiss bled his fighter dry and laughed in pixelated glee.

But Nolan didn’t flinch. He leaned into the battle. His monk regenerated a sliver of health, and he responded with a teleport knee, frame-perfect.

"Sit down," he whispered, delivering a lightning barrage that lit up the screen like a holy storm. KO.

Victory.

He tapped his screen again.

Next match: Mad Lightning vs Iron Widow—a mechanical empress with arachnid limbs and a nano-plague arsenal. Nolan cracked his neck and muttered, "You again? I hate you."

The match began.

Iron Widow lunged, shooting needle missiles from her abdomen. Nolan dodged, jumped, rolled. His monk parried mid-air, planted his feet on a summoned chain and swing-kicked her out of the sky. Sparks flew.

Combo, evade, combo, dodge, reversal, grab, finisher.

Match win.

His rank increased.

He was now in Tier 8: Skyfire Adept.

Nolan smirked slightly. "Still got it."

Next match.

Mad Lightning vs Void Samson—a cosmic brawler made entirely of negative space and collapsing star gravity. Every punch pulled enemies toward him.

Nolan blinked. "Ugh. You’re a pain."

The match was hell. Void Samson’s gravity fields pulled Mad Lightning into slow-motion traps. Every frame mattered. Nolan had to time his counters by feeling the game more than seeing it. Tap-tap-swipe, hold, burst—

Mad Lightning landed a perfect reversal after three failed rounds. Nolan was down to 4% HP. The enemy was at 60%.

But Nolan knew the rhythm now.

One feint.

Chain spin.

Teleport slam.

The screen glowed red with last chance finisher unlocked.

He didn’t hesitate.

With fingers flying, he activated Mad Lightning’s super move: Fist of Heaven.

A combo of 108 hits later, the final screen shimmered, showing the opponent disintegrated into stars.

Victory.

Rank up.

Now in Tier 9: Thunder Disciple.

Nolan grinned to himself. "Come on, give me a real boss."

The students hadn’t noticed a thing.

Around him, life went on. Some argued about mana-economy. Others threw dice enchanted with minor hexes. A girl tried to summon a flame sprite and accidentally singed the curtain. One of the boys nodded off and fell asleep with a mana sucker stuck to his neck.

And Nolan just kept playing.

Mad Lightning vs Queen Florea, a glass-cannon boss with flower limbs and explosive pollen spells.

The match was chaos.

She was fast. Unreadable. Every time he thought he had a combo in, she reversed with a toxic bloom, bouncing Mad Lightning off screen. Nolan furrowed his brow. "You’re new."

He adapted quickly.

Dodged.

Read.

Countered.

He launched his monk into a triple jump, spinning through her pollen clouds with a storm-aura. Landed a punch to the core. She shrieked and burst into petals.

Victory.

Tier 10: Bolt Wielder.

And then, just as Nolan was about to enter his 32nd match for the morning—

BAM!

The sound was loud. Violent. It echoed across the room like a cannon blast.

Nolan’s hand froze mid-input. His thumb hovered above the final combo.

He looked up, slowly.

Someone had slammed something massive into the ground—or maybe through a desk.

The room fell into silence again.

Nolan blinked.

"...Now what?" he muttered, placing the teacher desk face-down.