Internet Mage Professor-Chapter 91: Professor Hein’s POV

From the place where he stood, near the edge of the crowd yet still within earshot of everything unfolding, Professor Hein quietly observed the spectacle before him.

His hands were behind his back, his spine straight, expression composed—but his mind was whirling like a brewing storm.

He hadn’t come here to be part of this.

He had come on assignment.

"I need someone low-key. Someone respected, but not too involved with the public. Someone who can sniff out a rat without the rat knowing it’s being watched."

That’s what Principal Duldor had told him.

At first, Hein had declined. Naturally. He was a recluse by nature, a man of quiet chambers, dusty tomes, and magical theory.

His comfort zone was the peaceful confines of his study, not the chaotic theatrics of Silver Blade City’s bustling streets.

Most of the city hardly remembered his face. Despite his prestigious title, Hein had always lived like a hidden pillar of the Academy—known, but rarely seen. freewebnσvel.cѳm

And that was exactly why Duldor had insisted.

"You never show your face all the time, Hein. That’s what makes you perfect. They’ll never suspect someone like you. You look too honest, too nervous, too... studious. Although they know you—or a lot of people know you—they wouldn’t suspect that you’d be someone who would report them. You just don’t have that face..."

He had sighed, of course. Duldor always had a way of cornering people with logic disguised as flattery.

Then came the promises.

"You won’t have to interact with anyone unless necessary. You’ll just observe. That’s all. Just watch and tell me what you find. Report anyone suspicious, and I promise you that’s all you need to do. As for the rest, I—no, we will take care of them..."

Hein was too old to be fooled by sugar-coated responsibilities, but in the end, he accepted. Not because he was eager, but because he trusted Duldor—and because even the most bookish of professors could not ignore the whispers of deceit blooming in the city like mold under floorboards.

So he had come. Quietly. Casually. To watch. To listen.

And now, standing here, watching this ridiculous game of artifacts and eggs, he was beginning to think he had found what he came for.

The so-called scammers.

The seller—too smooth. Too flashy. Every word he uttered was a performance, laced with fake cheer and exaggerated pauses. A crowd-pleaser. A showman.

The beggar from earlier? It feels too forced and seems planted to make the crowd believe him and his scam.

That’s quite a solid scheme, for real.

Even if Hein hadn’t seen this kind of scene before, as long as someone was using their brain, they could get it easily.

This seller and his companions were peddlers of illusions.

But the surprise came when, amid the crowd, he noticed a familiar figure: Ravas of the Eastbank Consortium.

Ravas... what is he doing here?

That man had his claws in half the shady business around Silver Blade City. Hein had suspected his involvement in unauthorized mana trades, but he’d never expected to see him mingling near a rigged artifact draw.

And that wasn’t the only twist.

The real mystery was Nolan.

The so-called "new professor."

At first glance, he had seemed like the usual fresh-faced academic. But now? Hein wasn’t sure anymore. The man had just spent over one hundred and sixty Mana Crystals, gleefully throwing them into the wind with each failed draw.

It didn’t make sense.

If he’s part of the scam... why spend so much? Wouldn’t he conserve resources to split profits with the seller later? But if he’s not part of the scam... is he just a fool? No. His eyes—there’s something in them. He’s hiding something too.

Hein’s brow furrowed deeper as he continued watching Nolan pick yet another box. It was the seventh... no, eighth set now. Dozens of options. All glowing, all sealed with minor illusions meant to trick the eyes. Hein could tell. Anyone trained in mana perception could. But most of the crowd didn’t notice. They were enthralled by the lights, the excitement, the possibility of glory.

Nolan opened one box.

Nothing. A cracked relic, completely powerless.

He moved to another. Useless junk. Disguised, yes, but empty.

Another. And another.

Each time, he played it out with a subtle slump of the shoulders, a brief sigh, a disappointed smile. But Hein wasn’t fooled.

He’s pretending. Each sigh is too controlled. Each reaction too rehearsed.

It was an act. Hein was sure of it now. But what kind of act, he couldn’t yet say.

Nolan’s performance stretched on as box after box yielded nothing. The crowd began to murmur, some voices tinged with pity, others with amusement. A few still believed in the "blessed" story. Others whispered about bad luck, cursed fingers, and the misfortune of challenging fate.

And yet, Nolan never once looked angry. Never once looked confused. His eyes sparkled like someone playing a game they understood better than everyone else.

That made Hein’s neck prickle.

He’s not just participating. He’s watching too. Watching the seller. Watching the crowd. Just like me.

Then came the final draw.

The last box was opened. Empty again. A false relic.

The seller, smiling wider than ever, raised his hands and called for silence.

"Ladies and gentlemen!" he cried, his voice echoing across the plaza. "We come now to the end of this exciting display! What a marvelous day it has been! The energy, the suspense, the participation!"

He turned dramatically, sweeping his arms toward Nolan, who stood calmly at the center, egg in hand.

"And we owe it all to our wonderful Professors—Professor Hein, for his early enthusiasm and noble spirit, and of course, Professor Nolan, whose divine optimism has lit the hearts of all present!"

There was clapping. A few cheers. Someone whistled.

The seller smiled. But Hein could feel the tension in the man’s mana. He was wrapping it up. Trying to leave before anyone thought too hard.

The seller bowed once, twice.

"And now, with grateful hearts, we must take our leave! Farewell, Silver Blade City! And may the magic of fate guide your days!"

Assistants began folding the curtains, gathering the props, quietly sweeping away broken boxes and fake glitter. The vendor’s platform was collapsing into neat panels, as if prepared for departure from the very start.

The scam was ending, wrapped neatly with applause and excitement.

Hein kept watching.

He didn’t clap. Didn’t cheer.

His eyes followed every movement. He would remember every assistant’s face. Every relic they carried away. Every subtle mana fluctuation from the seller. He would cross-check it later. Quietly.

The seller vanished behind a curtain, and for a moment, Hein believed it was done.

Until, without warning—

"Beautiful day, isn’t it, Professor Hein?"

Hein stiffened.

Nolan was beside him.

So close, so fast, that Hein hadn’t even felt the mana displacement of his approach.

He turned, eyes narrowing. "You..."

Nolan smiled, egg tucked under one arm, his tone light. "They packed up quickly. Almost like they’d rehearsed it a hundred times."

Hein didn’t reply immediately. His mind was still catching up.

How did he—? When did he—?

He looked around.

The crowd was dispersing. The plaza was returning to normal.

And yet... he had a strange feeling.

That things were just beginning.