In the imagination of the vast majority of students at Glory Cael Magic Academy, the Headmistress's office was undoubtedly a place shrouded in a mysterious halo.
After all, this was the office of an Archmage with a level exceeding 85, one of the top combatants on the surface of human civilization.
Consequently, students couldn't help but imagine the place as incredibly elegant, solemn, and filled with an aura of wisdom.
They imagined it should have ancient oak bookshelves reaching the ceiling, packed with leather-bound, gold-leafed forbidden grimoires emitting magical fluctuations.
Portraits or trophies of past sages and powerful magical beasts would hang on the walls, and the air would be filled with the tranquil scent of aged parchment, high-grade ink, and refreshing incense.
However, for Greg, who had already visited this place in the original game, he knew very well that the reality of the Headmistress's office had nothing to do with the students' romantic and reverent fantasies—to put it mildly.
Pushing open the carved wooden door, which looked heavy but was actually unlocked, the first thing to hit his nose wasn't the scent of books or incense, but a mellow aroma of fermented malt.
Clink! Clatter!
A crisp sound of glass colliding came from beneath his feet.
Greg looked down and saw dozens of empty wine bottles scattered haphazardly across the polished dark wood floor.
They were like discarded trash, forming a minefield that one had to carefully navigate upon entering the room.
With every step, one might knock a few over, causing a sharp clinking sound.
In the center of the room stood a massive dark desk.
It was supposed to be for work, given that its size and design certainly fit that function.
But it had clearly and completely lost its primary purpose.
On the desktop, office supplies like documents, files, quill pens, and inkstands were nowhere to be seen. In their place were various open snacks, interspersed with several bottles of top-tier wine—some just opened, others half-finished. Amber, ruby-red, and honey-gold liquids rippled slightly in exquisite crystal glasses.
And the most eye-catching thing on this desk... was a pair of dainty feet.
Their owner clearly didn't care about displaying them so openly.
The ankles were slender and delicate, the skin so white it was almost translucent. The curve of the instep was graceful, and the ten toes were like peeled bamboo shoots, with neatly trimmed, clean nails that had a healthy pink glow.
At the moment, this pair of feet was crossed and resting on the edge of the desk in an extremely relaxed posture, the toes occasionally wiggling slightly to some rhythm.
Looking up along those long, straight legs, one could see exactly what their owner was doing.
She was leaning back in a high-backed leather chair that looked soft enough to sink into, sitting in a lazy, casual posture that was almost reclining.
She wore a uniquely styled outfit—not a mage's robe, nor a noble's dress, but a set consisting of a dark brown leather vest and matching trousers. The vest outlined her full, proud bust and slender waist, while the trousers tightly hugged her long, powerful legs. She wore neither shoes nor socks.
A dark cowboy hat with a slightly wide brim was pulled low, covering half of her face and revealing only a beautifully lined jaw and several locks of wine-red hair that fell from under the brim like flowing fire.
Her gaze was fixed with great interest on one wall of the room. There, a portable magic projector was emitting a steady light, casting a dynamic image onto the blank wall opposite.
A dusty wilderness, a small town of wooden buildings, men and women wearing wide-brimmed hats with revolvers at their waists, and iconic scenes of quick-draw duels—it was clearly a magic film about cowboys.
"Damn cow— Ahem, respected Headmistress, may I ask why you've called me here?"
With a blank expression, Greg navigated around several wine bottles and walked up to the desk piled with snacks and wine, speaking in a flat tone.
That's right. This sexy woman radiating the aura of a veteran shut-in and alcoholic was the current Headmistress of Glory Cael Magic Academy, one of the top combatants of human civilization, and an Archmage of Level 85 or higher—Olivia Moore.
Even in the original game, she was a ceiling-level existence in terms of combat power.
To be fair, in terms of appearance alone, Olivia was flawless.
Her long wine-red hair was like a burning sunset, and her features were deep and well-defined, possessing a wild and unrestrained beauty. Her golden eyes, currently hidden in the shadow of her hat's brim, were particularly soul-stirring.
Her figure was hot enough to make any man's blood boil, and that leather cowboy outfit showcased her curves to the fullest.
However, aside from this perfect shell, every other aspect of the Headmistress was... as the player community put it, a classic case of a disappointing beauty.
She lived a messy and casual life, was addicted to alcohol, obsessed with all things cowboy culture, and hated troublesome social interactions and administrative affairs. If she could lie down, she would never sit up—the most classic example of a hands-off manager.
As for why a magic world had cowboy culture? It must have been a joke from the development team.
"Hmm...? You're already here..."
Olivia seemed to finally snap out of the magic film's plot, lifting her head slightly. The brim of her cowboy hat rose, revealing a pair of eyes filled with a bit of drunken blurriness.
She swirled the wine glass in her hand, seemingly finding it a bit boring to drink alone, and naturally extended her own crystal glass—from which she had just sipped—toward Greg.
"Do you want... a glass? Volcano Ale. It's got quite a kick."
Greg's gaze swept over the ambiguous lip print on the rim of the glass, and his brow furrowed almost imperceptibly.
"No, thank you. Just tell me what's on your mind. I'm in a hurry to get back to the dungeon... to feed my cat."
"Oh?"
Olivia seemed a bit surprised by his reaction. Her molten-gold eyes narrowed slightly as she sized him up, her drunkenness seeming to dissipate a little.
"You seem... not the least bit afraid of me. You even lack basic nervousness and respect. Why is that? Is it because being exiled by your family made you give up on yourself, to the point where you've lost all reverence for the Headmistress?"
Greg twitched his lip and made up a random excuse. "I guess I just found the courage in my back pocket."
Even though he was facing the Headmistress—an Archmage who could turn him into ash with a flick of her finger—Greg's tone was still far from respectful, even somewhat casual.
On one hand, this was because he had played the original game and knew this character's personality and behavioral patterns inside out; he didn't have the 'looking up at a god' filter that other students had.
On the other hand, it was because Olivia truly wasn't someone who cared about etiquette. Otherwise, she wouldn't have kept her dainty feet on the desk even after a student had walked right up to her.
Rate on N.U.
