My name was Robert.
I was a researcher of the demon race.
In the Demon Kingdom, there were generally two ways to pursue an education if one had the will to learn. One could hire a private tutor, or one could enroll in a public institution like an academy.
A private tutor usually taught one-on-one or worked with a very small group, which was a significant advantage because they could thoroughly manage each individual's progress. It was difficult for a student to fall behind under such scrutiny. However, finding an excellent tutor was a chore, and they cost a considerable amount of money. Consequently, they were mostly employed by wealthy families.
Enrolling in a public institution like an academy was inexpensive and highly efficient. If someone wanted to learn, that was my recommendation. However, because it involved group study, there were inevitable limits to what could be taught, and some students inevitably fell through the cracks. Furthermore, there were academies intended only for nobles or the very wealthy, and the disparity between schools was a notable disadvantage.
Since my family was ordinary, a private tutor was out of the question for me. I studied at an academy instead. I was praised for my excellent grades there, which led me to pursue the path of a researcher. I suppose I was rather simple-minded.
However, I soon learned that becoming a researcher required a sponsor. Without someone to provide funding, I couldn't conduct any research at all. It was a sobering realization. I had to find someone willing to part with their money at a stage where it wasn't even clear if my work would produce results.
The world was a harsh place.
After graduating from the academy, I ended up continuing my research through self-study while helping out at my family home. I was a burden to my younger brother, who had succeeded as the head of the house, but I was determined to make my research a success.
Through endless trial and error, I finally found my research theme: the application of Earth Magic in agricultural land. Had it been something flashier, like Attack Magic, I imagine a sponsor would have signed on immediately. I couldn't count how many times I regretted not choosing a more sensational topic.
Still, I refused to give up. In an era where food shortages were a constant concern, I believed this research was absolutely vital. The reason no sponsor would take me on was that my field had been researched many times before, and no one had ever produced significant results. I knew the difficulty was immense, but I wanted to eliminate hunger from the world.
Then, the introduction of the Dungeon Potato dampened my research fervor. A bountiful harvest was a cause for celebration, of course... but still... No, I couldn't wish for misfortune just to make my work relevant.
Eventually, I left home and traveled to Shashato City. I had been scouted by the Ifuls Academy, which had just been established there. While it bore the name of the city's Magistrate, it wasn't an institution officially recognized by the state; strictly speaking, it was a Private School. The treatment wasn't bad, but it wasn't particularly good either.
To be honest, I would have preferred a standard academy. However, places like that wouldn't have given me the time of day even if I had begged. After all, I was a researcher with no results to my name. Who would have a use for someone like me?
My invitation to Ifuls Academy was a stroke of luck, triggered by a man I had studied with who was involved in the school's founding. I wasn't overly enthusiastic, but the cold glares from my brother's wife were getting painful, so I accepted the offer. It had already been ten years since I graduated, and I had been a guest in their house for far too long. While the salary was lower than I'd hoped, I was grateful that they provided lodging upon request.
And so, I began my career as an instructor at Ifuls Academy. I received high marks for my clear, easy-to-understand explanations. However, I couldn't feel entirely happy about it because my rival instructors were all incredible people. Aside from me, almost everyone else had produced a mountain of research results.
There was Attoma Vielas. Despite being a Vampire, he was the leading authority on light magic. He was rumored to be a disciple of the legendary Lulushi and was a preeminent researcher in both Magicology and Herbalism.
Then there was Gaburuslow Seinbalz. He was Attoma's disciple, but he was said to have surpassed his master in the field of Pharmacy. Personally, he focused more on Magicology; it was rumored that mages would scramble to attend his presentations on magic efficiency.
And Mariana Goro, the leading authority on fire magic. She was sometimes ridiculed as an "Explosion Maniac," but her skill was undeniable. Her research was credited with doubling the magical combat effectiveness of the Demon Kingdom's army.
Since I taught Magicology, I mainly took note of those in the same field, but many other leading authorities from various disciplines were gathered there as well. The reason my ratings were so high was likely because the level of the other instructors was so extreme that beginners couldn't understand a word they said. I sat in on a lecture once, and rather than being "hard to understand," it was simply impossible for a novice to grasp.
I felt they should try to meet the students halfway, but I suppose the ability to teach is its own kind of talent. In that regard, I might have been blessed.
Even so, I thought it was madness when the Principal asked me to act as the coordinator for the faculty. It was impossible. It wasn't about the salary; I simply didn't have the confidence to manage a group like that. Honestly, if they were going to run a Private School, shouldn't they have done something about the instructor lineup? They were certainly brilliant, but their intellects should have been used for something more meaningful. I didn't think even national research institutions could assemble such a roster.
I wondered why they were all here. They weren't the type to be motivated by money, and they were already in positions where they could conduct research leisurely at home. I wondered what kind of compensation could have possibly enticed them.
The food was delicious, but surely that wasn't the reason, was it?
Instructors were expected to eat at a shop across the street called Big Roof Shashato. We could eat elsewhere if we chose, but that would be at our own expense. At the start of each month, we were given thirty days' worth of meal tickets. The menu was entirely up to the shop, but there was enough variety that I never grew bored of it. Our tickets were special, allowing us to pick up our food at a dedicated window so we didn't have to wait in the long lines.
Today was curry. I smiled. Curry had a way of making one forget their troubles.
At a nearby table, Mr. Attoma and Mr. Gaburuslow were arguing over the proper way to eat curry, but I ignored them. I had to ignore them. If I got caught up in their orbit, I'd be forced to participate in the debate until the next morning. Once, I had carelessly joined a discussion about pizza toppings and suffered a terrible ordeal. I still believed that cheese and tomato were the ultimate toppings, but to end the argument, I had eventually sided with those who wanted to put an egg on it. It was delicious, yes, but the regret of compromising my beliefs ran deep.
I shook the thought away and focused on my curry. After eating, I had to prepare for my afternoon classes. Even if the Principal followed me to lunch, I wasn't going to accept the promotion.
Despite my internal protests, the Principal's persistence eventually wore me down, and I was appointed as the faculty coordinator. My official title was Head Instructor. Sadly, in this world, power was everything. It was frustrating, but there was nothing I could do.
The Principal's goal was clearly for me to teach the other faculty members how to actually educate people. However, I didn't have the confidence to stand up to them. After some thought, I came up with a plan.
The root of the problem was the massive gap between the instructors' level and the students' level. The distance was simply too great to bridge. So, I sent out letters to academies across the land, ostensibly to recruit students, and I enclosed the list of instructors at Ifuls Academy.
My real targets weren't the students, but the instructors at those other schools. Anyone with a true will to learn would see that list and come running. Once they arrived, I would have our elite faculty members teach the visiting instructors, and then have those visiting instructors teach our actual students. They were already experienced educators; it would be perfect.
I worried briefly about what I would do if too many people more talented than me showed up, but I assumed only a few would actually come. I thought having two or three extra hands would be enough.
I should mention that the current faculty, including myself and the Principal, numbered twenty. We had about one hundred and fifty students. In response to my letters, about three hundred active instructors and researchers who had seen the list or heard the rumors came flocking to the school.
I began receiving letters of protest from academies all over the country. In some cases, messengers even traveled here just to scream at me. Was it really my fault? Among the new arrivals was even the principal of my old academy. He had apparently quit his job just to come here.
I felt a twinge of regret at the scale of what I had done, but I didn't exactly repent. Ifuls Academy finally felt like a real academy.
A few days later, Lulushi herself visited the school. I was stunned. I never expected someone so famous to drop by so casually. It turned out she was the primary benefactor who had helped establish the school, serving as something of an Honorary Academy Director.
That explained everything—especially why Mr. Attoma and Mr. Gaburuslow were here. It was all because Honorary Academy Director Lulushi was involved.
When I asked if she would be willing to give a lecture, she agreed to teach Herbalism. Even though it wasn't my specialty, I desperately wanted to attend. She brought with her a mountain of precious medicinal herbs. She claimed they were harvested at her home, which was hard to believe; most of them were plants that were considered impossible to cultivate.
When she suggested limiting the number of attendees for her lecture, I immediately used my authority as Head Instructor to claim priority. I didn't care if the others complained. I was going to use every advantage I had. If they didn't like it, they could fire me from this position!
My name was Robert. I might have strayed from the path of a researcher, but I was doing my absolute best as an instructor.