It took us about 20 minutes to reach the academy.
All thanks to my new baby.
A raven-black, heavy-duty behemoth of an SUV called 'Nightmare' that roared like a caged beast and hugged the asphalt with a predator's grip. The interior smelled of new leather and my own satisfaction.
"Still can't believe you bought this thing," Ron muttered from the back.
"Believe it," I said, parking the Nightmare in a visitor's spot. "A girl needs her toys."
I bought this car a week ago using The Surgeon's connections, and let me tell you something: driving this thing through the city streets was an exercise in power, making lesser cars swerve out of my way with just a glare from my headlights.
It gave me the same feeling when I rode a dragon for the first time and burned down an army of demons.
"It's a good car, Aza. It suits you," Akira said, her voice full of admiration, then she glanced over her shoulder. "Ron, stop staring at Aza's tits while she drives!"
"I wasn't!" he yelped.
"Liar," I giggled, giving Akira's thigh a slow squeeze. "See? Even your big sister notices. Maybe later we can teach you how to look without getting caught."
Ron's face turned the color of a ripe tomato. He sank lower in his seat and muttered something about "academy registration" under his breath.
We pulled into the massive parking lot of the Central Adventurer Academy. The place was a fortress of white stone and glass towers, banners of every combat class fluttering from the walls. Today was one of the first days for registration and awakening fees, and the place was packed with wide-eyed teenagers and their nervous parents, some nervous, some cocky, all of them looking like fresh meat.
I parked 'Nightmare' in a spot that was clearly marked "Faculty Only." A security guard started walking over with a scowl. I stepped out first, stretching deliberately so the tiny black triangles of fabric barely covered anything. The guard's eyes locked onto my chest, then my hips, then my chest again. His jaw went slack. He forgot why he was angry. He just stood there, looking like a confused puppy.
"Uh… ma'am… that spot is—"
"I know," I said, smiling sweetly as I walked past him. "I'm applying for the combat instructor position. Consider this an early audition."
He opened his mouth, closed it, and just nodded.
Akira hopped out after me, linking her arm through mine like a proper wife. Ron followed a few steps behind, still looking like he wanted the ground to swallow him.
"Hmm... Aza," Akira leaned in and whispered, her breath warm against my ear. "You should... maybe put on some more clothes."
"Why would I do that?" I asked, genuinely confused. "This is my armor. It makes people weak."
"I know, but..." Akira just sighed and shook her head, a small, fond smile on her lips. "...you're applying for a teaching job. You can't show up like... this."
She gestured at my barely-there bikini.
"Oh, you're right," I said, a wide grin spreading across my face. "I should've worn my other micro-bikini. The red one with the chains."
Yeah... I bought a whole collection.
Akira facepalmed.
"Please... for me," she pleaded. "Just for the interview."
"Fine, fine," I sighed dramatically. "For you, my sweet, innocent little wife."
I hopped back into the SUV and put on my black bodysuit, which was still extremely form-fitting and left very little to the imagination. Amaterasu was sheathed across my back, giving the whole outfit a look that screamed, 'I will either teach you or end you, depending on my mood.'
"Better?" I asked, turning to face her.
Akira just stared at me, her mouth slightly agape. She looked me up and down, her eyes lingering on the swell of my breasts and the curve of my hips.
She had never seen me in this outfit. Each time I came back from a dungeon raid, I first took a shower and changed to something more comfortable before seeing her.
"..."
She finally managed to say, her voice a little choked. "It's... better."
Ron was even worse. He was staring at me like he'd seen a goddess. A very, very dangerous goddess.
"Let's go," I said, linking my arm with Akira's again, then turned to Ron. "Go. Get your student ID, schedule, and pay the awakening fee. Akira and I have a job interview to attend. We'll meet back at the car in an hour."
He shot me a glare that was half embarrassment, half genuine gratitude, then joined the line.
Akira and I watched him disappear into the crowd of nervous teenagers for a moment. Then she tugged lightly on my arm.
"Come on. The faculty office is this way."
We walked through the main hall, past groups of parents arguing over tuition and kids bragging about their "guaranteed" S-rank potential. A few of the older male students—and more than a few female ones—stopped to stare. The black bodysuit hugged every curve like a second skin; the high collar and long sleeves made it look professional from a distance, but up close it was pure sin.
"You're enjoying this too much," she whispered.
"Of course I am." I leaned down just enough that only she could hear. "Watching half the academy forget how to walk because of me is better than any dungeon loot."
She huffed, but the smile tugging at her lips betrayed her.
"Just make sure to teach them something... other than how to get a nosebleed."
"Of course, wifey," I purred, reaching out to give her bottom an affectionate, heavy smack.
SLAP!
"Ahhn~!" Akira squeaked, her hands flying down to cover her cheeks, her face burning hotter than a fire spell.
We found the faculty administration office tucked away on the third floor, a quiet space of polished wood, mana-crystal lighting, potted plants, and the faint, sterile smell of bureaucracy.
A receptionist sat behind a wide desk of dark wood, glasses perched on her nose, fingers flying across a holographic keyboard. She looked up as we approached.
Mid-thirties. Sharp features. Tight bun. The kind of woman who had seen every kind of arrogant adventurer walk through these doors and was ready to shut them down.
Her eyes flicked over me once. Then again, slower.
I saw the exact moment her professional mask cracked.
"...Can I help you?"
"Azariel Pendragon," I said, sliding my phone across the desk so the submitted application glowed on the screen. "Combat instructor position. I'm here for the evaluation."
She blinked, then straightened. Her expression went from annoyed to intensely curious.
"The... The combat evaluation is usually scheduled in advance. And... applicants are expected to dress appropriately."
"This is appropriate." I tilted my head, smiling. "I'm not applying to teach etiquette."
Akira squeezed my hand under the desk, half warning, half amusement.
The receptionist cleared her throat and tapped something on her console.
"One moment." She spoke quietly into a small crystal on her collar. A few seconds later, she nodded. "Instructor Hale will meet you in Evaluation Arena B. Follow the blue lights."
"Thank you."
As we turned away, I heard her mutter under her breath, just loud enough, "Gods above..." and the familiar scent of lust hit me.
The arena was a large circular chamber beneath the main building. Reinforced walls of white stone etched with layered barrier runes. The floor was smooth training sand. A balcony ran along the upper level for observers.
A man was already waiting in the center.
Tall, broad-shouldered, early forties, silver-streaked black hair tied back. He wore a simple black instructor's uniform with the academy crest on the shoulder. His arms were folded, and the faint pressure of his aura told me he was at least mid-A rank. Probably the current head of basic combat instruction.
He looked me up and down once, expression unreadable.
"Azariel Pendragon."
"That's me."
"I'm Instructor Hale. You're here for the combat instructor evaluation." His gaze flicked to Amaterasu on my back, then to Akira standing politely behind me. "Civilian observer?"
"My wife," I said simply.
Akira blushed but didn't correct me. What a naughty girl. I love it.
Hale's brow twitched. He opened his mouth, then closed it. He didn't comment.
"Very well. The evaluation is straightforward. You will face three successive opponents of increasing difficulty. Standard sparring rules—no lethal force, no permanent injury. Demonstrate control, technique, and teaching potential. If you pass, you'll move to the second phase."
"Second phase?"
"Theory and pedagogy test," he said, gesturing to the arena door. "First, prove you can fight and protect yourself. If you can't, we have nothing to discuss. Then we test if your teaching skills are as sharp as your blade."
I rolled my shoulders, feeling Amaterasu's quiet hunger stir against my spine.
"Ready when you are."
He led me to the center of the arena. Akira went up to the observation balcony. The door to a side chamber opened.
The first opponent entered.
A young male instructor, early twenties, confident smile, dual short swords already drawn. B-rank at best.
I didn't even draw my blade.
He charged.
I sidestepped, caught his wrist, twisted, and planted him face-first into the sand in under two seconds. The dual swords clattered away.
Silence.
Hale's expression didn't change, but his eyes sharpened.
"Next."
The second opponent was a woman in her late twenties, a spear specialist with a stronger aura. She was smarter—kept distance, tested me with thrusts and sweeps.
I still didn't draw.
I closed the gap between one breath and the next, slapped the spear shaft aside with an open palm, and tapped two fingers against the hollow of her throat. She froze. I could have crushed her windpipe. Instead, I simply stepped back.
She lowered her spear, breathing hard, and gave a small, respectful nod before leaving the arena.
Hale's arms unfolded.
"Final opponent."
The third gate opened.
This one was different.
A man in his thirties, tall and lean, wearing the same instructor uniform but with a higher crest. His aura pressed against the barriers like a living thing—solid A-rank, maybe higher. He carried a single longsword and moved with the quiet confidence of someone who had killed before.
He looked at me, then at the black blade still sheathed on my back, and smiled faintly.
"Finally, something interesting."
I reached up and drew Amaterasu in one smooth motion.
The air in the arena changed.
The black blade drank the light. A low, almost inaudible hum filled the space—the sound of something ancient and hungry waking up.
The man's smile faltered for half a second. He saw it. He felt it.
But he still charged.
Steel met black metal.
The impact rang through the entire chamber.
I let him press for three exchanges—enough to feel his rhythm, his weight distribution, the tiny tells in his footwork. Then I stopped playing.
One step. One cut.
Amaterasu's edge stopped a hair's breadth from his throat.
His own sword was already on the ground, the tip cleanly severed.
The arena went dead silent.
I held the blade there for a long heartbeat, then slowly lowered it and slid it back into its sheath.
"Evaluation complete?" I asked, voice mild.
Instructor Hale stared at the severed tip of the longsword for several seconds. Then he looked at me.
"...Yes," he said finally. "Evaluation complete."