30 Years After Reincarnating, It Turns Out This World Was A Rofan?! novel Chapter 133

...He wanted to rest.

‘How long do I have to keep living like this?’

He couldn’t even properly remember the last time he had slept, and there was no time to relieve his fatigue.

Every night, he had to stay up late working, and even after finishing, there was no time to rest.

There was always the next task waiting or something unexpected popping up.

“...Haha.”

Finally, a madman’s laughter escaped his lips.

Back in his teenage years, when he attended the middle division academy, summer vacations were spent at his family’s villa, enjoying the season.

With maids to look after him, there was no need to do anything troublesome, and the family chef prepared three nutritious meals a day without fail.

But now?

“How did I end up like this...?”

...Damian Follett let out a sorrowful lament as he looked over his current predicament.

“Assistant instructor.”

“...”

“Here’s your meal! You should eat while you work!”

“Uh, um, Miss Leyra. I appreciate you bringing me food, but this bowl is...”

“Oh, this? Sir Knight insisted you must use this bowl! He said it’s your exclusive bowl and that all your food should be served in it!”

“...That lunatic.”

“Pardon?”

“...Not talking about you, Miss Leyra, damn it—!”

“Huh?”

Blinking in confusion, as if unsure what she had done wrong, Leyra made Damian painfully aware that this maid was cut from the same cloth as that lunatic.

In any case, there was no normal person in this household!

‘A dog bowl? At least treat me like a person!!!’

Currently residing in a 0.5-pyeong-sized doghouse—or rather, a boarding house engraved lovingly with “[Made in Ihan]”—assistant instructor Damian Follett looked up at the sky with tearful eyes.

As cursed luck would have it, the sky was so damn clear.

‘May lightning strike it!’

...Though deep down, he knew that even lightning wouldn’t kill that monster, and that realization was the root of his inability to rebel.

Damian felt utterly miserable.

Damian Follett.

Resident of a small boarding house, barely 0.5 pyeong in size, built in the yard. Or, to be precise, a doghouse-like boarding house.

Originally, he had planned to spend the vacation in the academy dormitory, but cursed luck forced him into a compulsory boarding life instead.

Why?

...The mere thought of explaining it himself made his blood pressure spike.

He had been enjoying a rare moment of respite when his damn instructor suddenly returned and grabbed him by the scruff of his neck, growling, “You think you get to rest during vacation? You’ve got work to do!” and dragged him off.

...It was, undoubtedly, the most terrifying moment of his life.

And yet now, what he thought was the scariest moment of his life had changed.

‘This is hell.’

Damian Follett ground his teeth, thinking that his instructor was clearly devoid of any conscience.

‘Damn it! Why am I doing all this work in a doghouse?!’

With tears brimming in his eyes, Damian, the sole occupant of the yard’s cozy doghouse—no, boarding house—poured all his energy into completing paperwork.

Originally, this was the instructor’s job.

Instructors and staff at the academy were busy even during vacation. Preparing lectures for the next semester was one thing, but the basic workload included at least ten sheets of documents to submit, along with various departmental requests.

As a result, professors, lecturers, and instructors were constantly in and out of the academic office, burdened with endless tasks.

Thanks to this, Damian, who had never expected to deal with paperwork in his life, was gradually becoming a paperwork expert. The more he worked, the more proficient he became.

However, he...

‘I’m not happy about it at all, damn it!’

All he felt was a rising tide of curses.

The once-elegant and dignified noble heir, unfamiliar with foul language, was gone. Now, he was nothing more than a full-fledged laborer.

Despite his overflowing dissatisfaction and his desperate desire to escape, unfortunately—

“Assistant instructor.”

Flinch!

“Y-yes! Instructor, sir!”

Automatically straightening up, Damian quickly suppressed all complaints.

There was no way he could let that man see his discontent.

The man, Ihan, dripping with sweat, slowly approached. Upon seeing the mountain of documents Damian was handling, he commented,

“You’re doing a decent job. As expected, working in the fresh outdoor air improves efficiency, doesn’t it?”

“...”

“Just kidding. Finish that up quickly so you can have some time to rest.”

“...It’s originally your job, Instructor.”

“And?”

“...”

“Your gaze is insolent, assistant.”

“...Understood.”

“Good, sharp as ever. Smart.”

“...”

“And don’t curse me in your head.”

“...I can’t control my heart, sir.”

“Want to test that?”

“...Damn it.”

“Haha, you cheeky brat. Must be because you’re a noble, huh?”

“Please stop with the noble discrimination!”

Half a year had passed since Damian was assigned to this instructor.

Throughout that time, Damian had heard the same remarks over and over again:

‘Must be because you’re a noble, your work’s sloppy.’

‘Must be because you’re a noble, you’ve got no manners.’

‘Must be because you’re a noble, your gaze is filthy.’

—And so on.

At his young age, Damian felt like he was already developing hypertension.

Stress drove him to become a regular in the academy’s recovery ward.

But do you know what was even more shocking?

He still had two and a half years left of this.

That was the truly horrifying part—a nightmare that sent shivers down his spine, day or night.

Perhaps due to this stress, the priest in the recovery ward had remarked:

—Hmm, are you under a lot of stress lately?

—Is there a problem...?

—I’m noticing symptoms of stress-induced hair loss. At such a young age, how unfortunate...

—...

—Are you okay?

—...Sob.

—Are you crying?

At the age of 20, Damian had developed stress-induced hair loss.

Bang! Crash!

Bang! Crack!

After half a year of mentoring him, Ihan had realized that Damian was the type who would become insufferable if given even a little leeway. If he went easy on him, the old bad habits would resurface.

How could he be so sure?

‘I’ve dealt with at least a hundred like him in my past life.’

As a former noncommissioned officer, Ihan had encountered countless problem recruits, and he was certain of his judgment.

That said, Damian had a few redeeming qualities: a sharp sense of awareness and a basic level of conscience and morality.

In other words, there was hope for him to improve.

Listening to the rumors of his performance during the monster incident suggested that Damian wasn’t inherently malicious.

‘Problem recruits generally fall into two categories.’

Those who improve when guided, and those who remain hopeless despite intervention.

And in Damian’s case...

‘This guy can be fixed.’

That was what mattered.

Though their first meeting had been messy, and their relationship remained rocky at best, there was a saying: even dislike can turn into affection over time.

As one of the cadets under his instruction, Ihan decided to give it a shot.

‘Let’s keep pushing him.’ ƒree𝑤ebnσvel.com

Push him to his absolute limits, and perhaps he’d turn into a proper person.

If a bear could transform into a human after 100 days, surely three years would suffice for Damian.

‘Hmm, maybe I’ll have him dig a drainage ditch once he’s done with the paperwork.’

And then tell him,

‘Oh, not there. Fill that back in.’

Ihan had already crafted the perfect curriculum for grinding one person to their breaking point.

At that moment—

Knock, knock.

“Excuse me, Brother.”

A meddler had appeared to disrupt Ihan’s precious time.

“...You again.”

Ihan’s expression twisted in annoyance.

The sight of that person, who visited like clockwork, already gave him a headache.

Though Ihan made no effort to hide his displeasure, the visitor remained unbothered.

“Would you spare me a moment for a conversation today?”

“...No.”

“Ah, how unfortunate.”

“...”

“Still, I insist...”

“...Please, just leave.”

Ihan’s irritation grew as he addressed the former cardinal-turned-inquisitor who constantly tried to drag him into the fold of religion.

“‘Cardinal’ or not, I doubt you’re someone with time to spare.”

“Haha, when did I give up such an esteemed title? I’m just an ordinary believer now. Please treat me as such.”

“...”

...Yeah, right.

It was easier to deal with openly hostile people than someone so persistently kind.

‘...And this guy’s supposed to be an inquisitor?’

The former cardinal and current inquisitor was an unmatched pain to deal with.

Not to mention...

‘He looks like he could snap my bones with a flick of his finger.’

Just looking at him was enough to evoke an instinctive respect for the elderly and trigger Confucian ethics.