People feared fame as pigs feared growing fat.
At that moment, Greg gained a profoundly personal understanding of the essence of that old proverb.
As he stepped into the classroom for the second-year elective theory course with the final chime of the bell, the room, which had still been filled with quiet murmurs, instantly fell into a strange silence.
Then almost everyone in the classroom turned to look at him at once.
Their gazes held an incredibly complicated mix of emotions, like countless invisible rays pinning him to the doorway.
Even the elderly professor of magical theory at the lectern, who usually showed obvious disdain for this former aristocratic wastrel, pushed his crystal glasses up his nose and let his gaze linger on Greg for several seconds. Then, for once, he gave him a smile that could only be described as pleased and nodded slightly.
Greg: "..."
He felt a muscle in his cheek twitch almost imperceptibly.
Although he had expected this, as a rat lurking in the shadows of the Dungeon, he really wasn't used to being the center of everyone's attention.
Under dozens of gazes that threatened to burn straight through him, he kept his face as expressionless as possible and hurried to his seat beside the window in the back row, hoping to make himself less noticeable.
But that was only the beginning of his torment.
Halfway through the lesson, the old professor was explaining a complex theory concerning "the attenuation model of elemental mana in compound magic circles and node compensation."
Having exhausted himself yesterday and gotten too little sleep that morning, Greg listened to the obscure formulas and theories until his eyelids began fighting to stay open. His head bobbed, and he was on the verge of catching up on his sleep.
Just before his