Professors Have to Run Too

Thursday morning, 6:45.

Zhang Wen stood by the Black Lake, staring at the one-and-a-half-mile stretch of shoreline before him and beginning to question his life choices.

When was the last time he had run? When Lancer had chased him through Fuyuki City. That hadn't counted as exercise. That had been running for his life.

"Ready?" Artoria stood beside him, already finished with her warm-up stretches. The chilly morning air had no effect on her. Her golden ponytail swayed lightly behind her, and she looked absurdly energetic.

"Can I apply for a delay?"

"No."

"Half the distance?"

"No."

"Walk it?"

"No."

Zhang Wen resigned himself and started running.

The first five hundred meters were manageable. His stamina was nowhere near Artoria's, but the magecraft circuits from the Type-Moon Universe had enhanced his physical abilities, making him somewhat stronger than an ordinary person.

By eight hundred meters, he had started panting.

By one thousand meters, his legs had begun to ache.

By one thousand two hundred meters, he finally understood Ron Weasley's words: "You can just bury me here."

Artoria jogged beside him at a steady pace, her breathing as even as if she were taking a walk. She even had enough energy to talk while running.

"Your cadence is too low. Pick it up."

"I... can't... go faster..."

"Your arm swing is too small. Drive your elbows back."

"Are you... enjoying this...?"

Artoria did not answer.

But Zhang Wen swore the corner of her mouth twitched.

He practically dragged his legs through the final three hundred meters. After crossing the finish line—really just a line he had drawn on the ground himself—he braced his hands on his knees and bent over, gasping for a full two minutes.

"Time: fourteen minutes and thirty-two seconds." Artoria looked at the timer on her wrist—a magical timing bracelet she had bought in Diagon Alley.

"What level is that?"

"Two minutes slower than Neville Longbottom."

Zhang Wen fell silent.

He was an adult, and a Master who had experienced the Holy Grail War, yet he couldn't outrun a twelve-year-old boy who had done no exercise at all a month ago.

"Neville has improved quickly," Artoria added. Her tone sounded like she was comforting him, but also like she was twisting the knife.

"Thanks for the encouragement."

"Tomorrow, we continue."

"You said once every other day."

"Today is Thursday. Next time is Saturday. Every other day."

There was no refuting that mathematically.

Zhang Wen limped toward the castle on aching legs. At the entrance, he ran into Neville Longbottom, who had gotten up early. He had just finished the extra training Artoria had arranged for him and was about to go wash up.

Neville froze for a moment when he saw Zhang Wen's miserable state.

"Professor Zhang, you run too?"

"Against my will."

Neville's mouth twitched. He was trying very hard not to laugh.

"Mr. Longbottom, I won't be angry if you laugh."

Neville finally failed to hold it in, breaking into a shy but genuine smile.

It was probably the first time Zhang Wen had seen Neville smile so naturally.

Worth it.

Even if the price was soreness in every muscle in his body.

The first class that morning was fourth-year Gryffindor and Slytherin.

Zhang Wen's legs were still trembling slightly when he entered the classroom. He did his best to control his stride so he would not look too pathetic.

Fourth-years were more mature than second-years, but the atmosphere in class was also more complicated. The rivalry between Gryffindor and Slytherin was even more obvious among the older students. Their seats were sharply divided, with the empty space in the middle like a chasm.

"Today's topic—the basic principles of counterspells." Zhang Wen wrote the title on the blackboard.

He discovered that his new wand was not only easier to cast with; it even wrote more smoothly on the blackboard than his old one. Compatibility truly mattered everywhere.

"A counterspell differs from a Shield Charm. A Shield Charm blocks an attack with a barrier, while a counterspell uses a new spell to negate or reverse magic that has already taken effect."

He gave several examples—the counterspell for petrification, methods of countering the Disarming Charm, and ways to lift common jinxes.

"The most important point is this: a counterspell must be cast faster than the spell can take effect. If your opponent's Petrification Spell has already fully taken hold, then it is too late to cast a counterspell. Therefore—"

"So reaction speed is critical." A Gryffindor girl named Angelina Johnson picked up the sentence.

"Exactly right. Five points." Zhang Wen nodded. "That is also why I emphasize physical training in lower-year classes—physical reaction speed directly affects your casting reaction speed."

Someone on the Slytherin side muttered something under their breath. Zhang Wen did not catch it clearly, but it was probably related to "What's the point of running?"

He ignored it.

Teaching fourth-years was considerably more difficult than teaching second-years. These students already had three years of foundation and a certain understanding of both spell theory and practice. Zhang Wen could not teach them Expelliarmus from scratch as he had taught the second-years. He needed to provide genuinely in-depth material.

Fortunately, he had two advantages.

First, although the magecraft theory of the Type-Moon Universe differed from that of the Harry Potter world, it offered a great deal of knowledge that could be applied to the field of countering magic. Mages in the Type-Moon Universe had spent thousands of years studying how to break one another's magecraft, accumulating rich theoretical knowledge.

Second, he had a new wand. Nothing would explode during demonstrations anymore.

"Now, I'll demonstrate a practical application of a counterspell." Zhang Wen raised his wand. "Teaching Assistant Pendragon, please use a Leg-Locker Curse on me."

Artoria stepped out from the corner.

The atmosphere in the classroom immediately grew more tense. The fourth-years had seen her performance at the start-of-term feast and knew that this blonde woman was no ordinary person.

"How is she going to cast a Leg-Locker Curse without a wand?" a Slytherin boy whispered to the person beside him.

Artoria did not use a wand. She pulled a short stick from her waist—he had no idea where she had gotten it, though it was probably the handle of some broom—and threw it at Zhang Wen.

It was fast.

It was not magic. It was a physical attack.

Zhang Wen raised his wand.

"Protego."

A pale blue Shield Charm unfolded before him, and the short stick bounced off its surface.

Then Artoria was already in front of him.

She was too fast—from the side of the classroom to the center of the podium in less than a second. Her right hand clenched into a fist as she aimed straight for Zhang Wen's shoulder.

Zhang Wen twisted aside to evade her. His new wand spun in his hand.

"Expelliarmus!"

A red beam shot out at close range.

Artoria tilted her head aside to dodge it, but Zhang Wen had never been aiming at her—the red light struck the blackboard behind her, scattering every line of chalk writing across it.

Artoria withdrew her fist, took a step back, and came to a stop.

The entire exchange had taken less than five seconds.

The classroom fell silent.

"This is a counterattack in real combat." Zhang Wen turned to the class and casually wiped sweat that did not exist from his forehead. In truth, his palms were soaked from nerves, but he absolutely could not let the students notice. "Your opponent will not attack you in only one way. Physical attacks, magical attacks, close combat, long-range attacks—you need to identify the threat and react in an instant."

"Professor Zhang," Angelina raised her hand, "was that thing between you and Teaching Assistant Pendragon just now... rehearsed?"

"No," Zhang Wen said.

Angelina's expression became rather complicated.

Fred Weasley, sitting nearby—yes, one of the twins was also in fourth year—let out a whistle.

"Professor, the two of you looked really cool fighting," George added.

Zhang Wen did not respond. He glanced at Artoria.

Her expression was utterly calm, as though nothing had happened. But Zhang Wen noticed the tiniest curve at the corner of her mouth.

She had been serious just now.

If that punch had landed, his shoulder would have been useless for at least three days.

"Teaching Assistant Pendragon," Zhang Wen said in a lowered voice, "could we discuss it before the next demonstration?"

"There is no room for discussion in real combat." Artoria returned to the corner. "Your reaction speed was 0.3 seconds faster than last week. Keep it up."

Zhang Wen took a deep breath.

This woman was using classroom demonstrations to test his actual combat ability.

And he had nearly been knocked flat in front of the entire class.

How humiliating.

He had to train more.

At lunch, Zhang Wen discovered that he had become a topic of student conversation.

Not because of his teaching content, but because of that "demonstration" with Artoria.

News traveled through Hogwarts faster than the speed of light. By lunchtime, the entire school knew that the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor and his teaching assistant had "fought" in class.

Various versions were circulating among the four Houses.

The Gryffindor version: "Professor Zhang blocked Teaching Assistant Pendragon's attack with a Shield Charm, then the two of them fought. It was a draw!"

The Slytherin version: "That Pendragon woman nearly knocked Zhang Wen down with one punch. If he hadn't dodged quickly, he'd have been finished."

The Ravenclaw version: "It was a carefully designed teaching demonstration showing the complementary relationship between physical attacks and magical defense."

The Hufflepuff version: "Did they have an argument?"

Zhang Wen sat at the staff table, trying to ignore the furtive glances the students kept sending his way.

"You turned a teaching demonstration into schoolwide gossip," he said to Artoria.

"That was not my intention." Artoria was cutting a piece of steak, her movements elegant and efficient. "Your students are simply too idle."

"Couldn't you have told me beforehand that you planned to attack at close range?"

"If I had told you beforehand, you would have been mentally prepared. A defense made with mental preparation is not true defense."

Zhang Wen could not refute that.

From a teaching perspective, she was right. From the perspective of his dignity—forget it. He did not want to think about it.

"Professor Zhang." A voice came from beside him.

Zhang Wen turned and saw Snape sitting three seats to his left, staring at him expressionlessly.

"Is something the matter, Professor Snape?"

"I heard that you conducted a... practical demonstration with your teaching assistant in class today."

"It was a teaching demonstration."

"The difference appears negligible." Snape's mouth dipped downward by perhaps one degree—in his repertoire of expressions, that probably counted as "mockery." "Your teaching assistant seems more skilled in combat than you are."

Zhang Wen could not deny it.

"Everyone has their specialty," he said. "She handles practical demonstrations, and I handle theoretical teaching. Division of labor."

"An interesting division of labor." Snape picked up his goblet of pumpkin juice and slowly took a sip. "Usually, the professor is stronger than the teaching assistant, not the other way around."

"Usually, professors do not have Voldemort's face growing out of the backs of their heads."

The instant the words left his mouth, Zhang Wen regretted them.

That remark directly touched on Professor Quirrell—the unlucky man Voldemort had possessed last year. Snape was one of the few people in the school who knew the truth.

Snape stared at him for three seconds.

During those three seconds, Zhang Wen felt as though an invisible scalpel had scanned him from head to toe.

"You know many things, Professor Zhang." Snape's voice dropped half a note. "Enough to make one curious."

Zhang Wen lifted his pumpkin juice and gave no response.

Damn it. He had let something slip.

He had to be more careful. Snape was not like Dumbledore, who concealed his doubts behind a smile. He would remember every suspicious detail and lay them all out together at some point.

There were no classes that afternoon. Zhang Wen shut himself in his office, grading fourth-year assignments while reflecting on his mistake that morning.

Mentioning Quirrell and Voldemort's relationship in front of Snape had been an error he should not have made. In this world, that information was a secret known to very few people. Zhang Wen, a new professor of unknown origin, should not have known it.

As he was thinking, someone knocked on the door.

"Come in."

The door opened.

Albus Dumbledore stood in the doorway, wearing a purple robe embroidered with moons and carrying a paper bag.

"Good afternoon, Professor Zhang." Dumbledore entered with a smile. "I brought Lemon Sherbet. Would you and Miss Pendragon like some?"

Zhang Wen's vigilance immediately rose to its peak.

Dumbledore had personally come to deliver snacks. That sort of thing was either pure friendliness or meant he had something to say. Given Dumbledore's personality, it was most likely both.

"Thank you." Zhang Wen accepted the paper bag.

Artoria came over from the window and glanced at the Lemon Sherbet inside the bag.

"Please, sit." Zhang Wen offered him a chair.

Dumbledore sat down, took a Lemon Sherbet from the bag, and slowly unwrapped it.

"Professor Zhang, your classes are very popular with the students," he said in a tone as casual as if discussing the weather. "Especially the physical training and practical demonstrations. It has been a long time since I have seen students so enthusiastic about Defense Against the Dark Arts."

"Thank you, Headmaster."

"Professor McGonagall told me that you submitted a very detailed teaching plan. I admire your conscientious attitude."

Polite small talk. A preamble.

Zhang Wen waited for the real subject.

Dumbledore took a bite of his Snow Baby, his blue eyes flashing behind his half-moon spectacles.

"But I did not come today merely to bring Snow Babies."

Here it came.

"I wanted to talk to you about something small," Dumbledore said. "You have recently hung some mirrors in the castle corridors."

Zhang Wen's heartbeat sped up by a beat.

"Yes. I have been researching defensive spells based on the principle of reflection."

"Filius Flitwick told me. He is very interested in the direction of your research." Dumbledore paused. "But I noticed that the locations where you hung those mirrors were rather deliberate. The second-floor corridor, the route from the third floor to the library, the fourth-floor stairway—these are all areas with the highest student traffic."

Zhang Wen said nothing.

"If it were merely for experiments, any wall would do." Dumbledore's tone remained gentle. "But you chose specific locations. That makes me think your purpose in hanging those mirrors is more than academic research."

The office fell silent for several seconds.

Artoria's hand quietly moved closer to her waist. Zhang Wen signaled for her to relax with his eyes—Dumbledore was not an enemy.

"Headmaster," Zhang Wen said, choosing his words carefully, "do you believe in precautionary measures?"

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow.

"What I mean is," Zhang Wen continued, "some protective measures are not taken because something has already happened, but just in case. Like the castle's defensive wards—they were not set up because someone was attacking Hogwarts, but to guard against possible threats."

"The mirrors are a precautionary measure?"

"Yes."

"A precaution against what?"

Zhang Wen fell silent for two seconds.

"To prevent students from being harmed at corridor corners by things they cannot see."

The words were extremely vague. But Zhang Wen gambled that Dumbledore could read something into them.

Dumbledore looked at him, his blue eyes deep and calm.

A long silence followed.

Then Dumbledore smiled.

"Precautionary measures." He nodded. "I have always supported precautionary measures, as long as they do not harm anyone."

He rose to his feet.

"The Lemon Sherbet is for you. Miss Pendragon seems quite interested in it."

Zhang Wen glanced at Artoria—she was staring at the paper bag, her expression utterly unchanged, but the intensity of her gaze gave her away.

Dumbledore walked to the door, then turned back.

"Professor Zhang, there is one more thing."

"What is it?"

"Severus told me that you have a rather deep understanding of certain... historical details of Hogwarts."

Zhang Wen's heart sank.

Snape had already reported to Dumbledore.

"He advised me to keep an eye on you," Dumbledore said. "But I told him that someone willing to hang mirrors in the corridors to protect students does not need to be watched. He needs to be trusted."

He smiled and left.

After the door closed, the office remained quiet for a long time.

Zhang Wen leaned back in his chair and let out a long breath.

"He knows," Artoria said.

"He does not know the specifics. But he knows what I am guarding against." Zhang Wen rubbed his temples. "Dumbledore is the sort of person who will not force you to tell him the truth. He will give you room and let you decide when to speak. But he will keep watching you."

"Is that trust, or surveillance?"

"Both," Zhang Wen said. "To Dumbledore, the two are not contradictory. He trusts your good intentions while watching your actions. If your actions align with those good intentions, he continues to trust you. If they do not—"

"He will take action."

"Right."

Zhang Wen thought for a moment.

"He is like Merlin."

Artoria froze.

"You know Merlin?"

"Merlin was my court mage." Artoria's tone was matter-of-fact. "He is that sort of person too—always smiling, always knowing more than he lets on, always watching everyone from the shadows. Extremely annoying."

Zhang Wen could not help laughing.

The King of Knights calling Merlin "extremely annoying." That was probably the most unique evaluation in the entire universe.

"At least Dumbledore is on our side," Zhang Wen said. "He knows I am taking precautions, and he has tacitly approved of them. That means when the Chamber of Secrets Incident occurs, he will not become an obstacle to us."

"He may even become an ally," Artoria said.

"Provided we do not do anything to disappoint him."

Artoria nodded.

Then she picked up a Lemon Sherbet from the paper bag.

"Is this good?"

"It is Dumbledore's favorite snack. He thinks it is good."

Artoria unwrapped it and took a bite.

An extraordinarily subtle change appeared in her expression—the corners of her mouth tightened slightly.

"Too sour."

"Dumbledore's tastes are rather unusual."

Artoria looked at the Snow Baby in her hand, then took another bite.

"Though sour, it is acceptable."

"You do not have to eat it."

"Wasting food is unacceptable."

Without changing expression, she ate the entire Lemon Sherbet.

Zhang Wen felt that this was probably Artoria Pendragon's most difficult battle during her time at Hogwarts.

More difficult than facing the Basilisk.

After all, the Basilisk was not sour.