Internet Mage Professor-Chapter 65: Movie

A few minutes passed in eerie quiet.

The earlier chaos and laughter had drained into a tense, motionless fog.

Nolan leaned back in his chair, legs kicked up on the control desk, head tilting to the side, clearly unbothered. He spun a pen between his fingers and let out a theatrical sigh.

"Boring," he murmured. "I thought they’d last longer... they still couldn’t find its weakness, what a bunch of boobs..."

Then, like a volcano waking from slumber, the students erupted in frustration.

"Sir! This is the same game!" Ruvin’s voice boomed across the room, thick with disbelief and righteous indignation. "The exact same! The only difference is this particular infected creature, although different, was slow!"

"But it’s still unkillable like the previous one!" Selin added, arms flailing. "You just slowed down our deaths! What’s the point?!"

"It’s a scam," Erik muttered, jaw clenched. "You set us up again, didn’t you? Gave us hope and then boom, same ending!"

"You made it look easy!" Calien growled. "You knew exactly what would happen!"

Nolan raised a single brow as he listened to the overlapping complaints without even pretending to care.

"Task..." he sneered.

Then he clicked his tongue, lazily swiping open his interface screen without looking up.

"My, my," he said, his voice soaked in mock pity. "So many requests. So many demands." He leaned back further and grinned. "The Second Grade Academy teachers would’ve already thrown you out by now. The Third would’ve stripped your credits and had you cleaning mana tanks. The Fourth?" He whistled. "They would’ve given you a nice little speech about discipline and then booted you to the Wild Trials... Then, you’ll be back here, defeated..."

"Ugh. You’re so shameless!" Selin yelled.

"Completely twisted," Ruvin muttered.

"Obvious setup," Erik chimed in. "He let us switch to this just to watch us die again."

"And you knew that boss couldn’t be killed, didn’t you?" Calien added. "You’re unbelievable."

"I am unbelievable," Nolan said proudly, putting his feet back down and stretching with a loud, obnoxious yawn. "Because unlike you little brats or bunch of little noobs, I can clear that simulation with both eyes closed." Then he would add, "you can even tie one of my hands..."

"Oh, shut up!" Selin barked.

"Liar!"

"Cheat!"

"Sadist!"

The classroom turned into a choir of insults and curses.

Nolan merely grinned wider and let the verbal stones bounce off like raindrops on steel. He even hummed a tune, content and unbothered, flicking his fingers across the interface.

’That’s what you get for trying to compare me, an internet user, with an internet cheat to those measly Mana Specialists,’ he thought to himself.

Then, with a glimmer of curiosity in his eye, he opened a file labeled:

’27 Seconds Later – Movie Reward Unlocked.’

He raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Let’s see what this gem is about... Is this the same as the movie from Earth, or is it different? Does watching this also improve my rank as a Mana Knight again?"

The screen flared, and suddenly, the Academy lights dimmed slightly as the simulation chamber synced with the display.

Nolan leaned in, his smirk fading into focused interest.

The movie began with a quiet shot: the dim orange of sunrise flooding a modest suburban home.

A news anchor’s voice played softly in the background.

"...Mysterious illness continues to spread across isolated towns. The Ministry of Health assures the public that no metropolitan zones have been affected yet..."

The camera shifted to a bathroom—steam curling up against the glass as water rushed.

A husband and wife stood under the shower, laughing gently.

Their voices were distant, echoing in the warmth of domestic routine.

The wife stepped out, wrapping a towel around herself, shaking her head at the mirror.

Suddenly—BANG!

A loud slam against the bathroom door made Nolan jolt upright. He narrowed his eyes.

"That was the daughter, right?" he muttered. Thinking of the memory that’s hazy now in his head.

The wife scowled toward the hallway and shouted, "Can you not slam the door like that, sweetie? What did we say about knocking?"

"I’ll check on her," she muttered, brushing past her husband as he went back under the water.

She walked into the hallway in her robe. Another bang. Not a knock. A slam, full of weight and desperation.

Then... silence.

The wife paused. Her brow furrowed. Something about the stillness didn’t sit right. The hallway was too quiet. The air is too cold.

Instinct flooded in.

"Sweetie?" she called, reaching for the handle. Her fingers hesitated.

Then, without warning—CRACK!

The door burst open and the daughter lunged forward, her face twisted and eyes hollow. She didn’t cry or scream—she growled.

Nolan flinched. The wife screamed, tried to pull back, but the little girl was already biting her shoulder, tearing flesh.

The scene cut violently.

Back in the bathroom, the husband paused, water still pouring over his head. He blinked, confused, and glanced toward the door.

"Everything okay?" he called, wiping water from his eyes.

Silence.

"Hello?"

He shut the water. Grabbing his towel, he stepped out, hair dripping, feet slipping slightly on the tiles. His hand reached for the doorknob when—BAGAG!

The door shook violently.

Something was on the other side.

Low growling followed. Heavy breathing. Fingers scraping the wood.

The man’s lips parted. "Honey?"

CRASH!

The door cracked inward, not quite breaking, but the wood buckled as the wife—no longer herself—threw her weight against it. Her eyes were dead. Her mouth was bleeding. Her skin was discolored, pulsing, rotting.

His mouth went dry.

"W-What...?"

The woman snarled again and slammed her full body into the door once more. This time—BOOM!—it caved partially, and her arm reached through.

The man screamed and stumbled back, slipping, his wet feet failing to grip the floor. Panic overtook reason.

His wife clawed toward him, her hand twisted unnaturally, nails black and jagged.

He grabbed the towel, instinct flaring, and hurled it at her face, wrapping it around her head just as her other arm came through the gap.

He pushed. She resisted.

He slipped again, falling onto the cold tiles with a heavy grunt.

She roared, trying to pull the door off its hinges. The towel was soaked in saliva and blood now.

"Come on, come on—!" he gasped, forcing his weight forward, crawling as he shoved her back just enough to slip through the bathroom door.

He fell onto the hallway floor naked, gasping for air, eyes wide with disbelief and horror.

He turned.

She was already pushing through the door, shrieking like a broken siren.

He ran.

Down the stairs.

Through the kitchen.

He flung the front door open.

And stopped.

The world outside had already collapsed.

People were attacking each other in the street.

Children leaped onto parents. Neighbors tackled friends. Blood sprayed across sidewalks. Screams filled the morning air.

Everything was chaos.

And then—he saw her again. His wife. Still trying to rip apart the bathroom door behind him.

Tears welled in his eyes.

He sprinted toward his car, barefoot, trembling.

The key?

Still in the ignition.

Of course.

He had been too drunk to bring it inside last night.

His hands shook violently as he turned it.

The engine sputtered, then roared to life.

He clutched the steering wheel, eyes soaked with tears, as the chaos of the apocalypse unfolded around him.

And then he realized—

His old life ended in exactly—27 seconds.