Internet Mage Professor-Chapter 78: Answer

Nolan didn’t respond to Calien’s stunned question immediately.

Instead, he glanced at the others, watching how their wide eyes and gaping mouths practically begged for an explanation.

Even Erik, who always tried to play the cool-headed skeptic, looked like he’d just seen someone tame a dragon by petting it.

So Nolan stepped forward, hands behind his back, posture firm and composed.

"You want to know why it felt easy?" he asked, tone calm but deep with resonance. "Let me explain."

They all leaned in unconsciously, drawn to the steady cadence of his voice.

"In multiplayer, you’re bound by rules—shared tempo, formations, cooldown overlaps, responsibility diffusion. When you’re in a group, you aren’t playing the game—you’re playing each other. You’re anticipating who will move, who will dodge, who will fail. And more than half the time, you’re not acting based on your instinct, you’re waiting for someone else to lead the moment. That delay? That doubt? That hesitation? It costs you."

The students stilled, their faces registering dawning understanding.

"In single player, there’s none of that," Nolan continued. "You’re only responsible for yourself. The pacing aligns entirely to your decisions. The AI doesn’t try to outthink a group—it just tries to test you. It simplifies its aggression patterns. It becomes... predictable. And once it’s predictable, you don’t fight it. You command the fight."

Ruvin blinked, astonished. "Wait... that’s why it felt like it knew what we were doing as a team—but not when Calien went alone?"

"Exactly," Nolan nodded. "It was reacting to patterns of group behavior before. Now, it’s reacting to a single stream of input. Just one. It stops trying to split aggro, stops looking for bait rotations, stops planning those trap timings it used to throw at you when you tried to flank together. It simplifies."

Selin looked visibly shaken. "So... all the complexity came from us trying to coordinate."

"Yes," Nolan said, a faint smile curving his lips. "You made the fight harder because you weren’t synchronized enough. It punished your dissonance. But now? You have rhythm. And when you fight alone, there’s no one else to interrupt that rhythm."

Erik muttered, "That’s why it kept breaking our combos before. It knew when we were slightly off."

Nolan nodded again. "It punished you for being even a fraction late. Remember that time Ruvin missed his stun window and Selin died immediately after?"

Ruvin winced. "Don’t remind me..."

"Well, that’s exactly what I mean. The bloater saw a pattern—three hits, one stun, one dodge roll. When the stun didn’t happen, it broke the chain and punished the weak link. That’s not something it does in solo mode."

Selin looked at the floor, processing.

Nolan walked slowly, his steps measured as he made eye contact with each student. "Single-player is more intuitive. More reactive. It doesn’t expect strategy, it expects survival. And survival... survival is primal. It’s where instinct and training meet. It’s where your lessons are tested, not your coordination."

Calien’s eyes were wide again, still stunned by how differently the game had felt. "So the reason it felt so smooth... was because I was just flowing?"

"You were the rhythm," Nolan replied simply. "There was no other noise."

The group went silent for a while. Each of them stood quietly, reflecting on all the past losses and frustration. How they’d blamed the system. The AI. The bloater. Even each other.

But now it made sense.

They’d been fighting chaos with chaos.

Now, things were different.

"Try it," Nolan said at last, stepping back.

The moment he said that, something shifted in the room. It wasn’t fear anymore. It wasn’t dread. It was something closer to... curiosity. That charged kind of curiosity that came with possibility. With a chance to rewrite history.

One by one, they returned to their seats. No more complaints. No more hesitation. The simulator booted up, the interface glowing like it had been waiting for them all this time.

Even Calien—despite having already conquered the Bloater—sat back down.

"I wanna do it again," he said, smirking.

Ruvin laughed. "Let’s see if the big bad bloater still wants to dance."

The room buzzed with excitement. It was subtle at first—little comments, side glances, nudges—but then, as the first simulation booted up, the volume rose.

Selin was the first to go.

"Time for revenge," she muttered, cracking her knuckles as she entered the virtual world.

The others stood behind her seat, watching intently.

The fight began.

And this time, there was no screaming. No panic. No frantic calls for help.

Selin rolled with precision. She slashed at the bloater’s side with perfect spacing. Her footsteps were confident, her movement fluid. The others watched, wide-eyed.

She wasn’t dodging the bloater anymore—she was reading it.

Ruvin started laughing halfway through.

"This is ridiculous," he said. "I hated this boss an hour ago. Now look at her or him or whatever it is!"

"Watch this part," Calien whispered. "This is where it fakes the double lunge."

Selin didn’t fall for it. She sidestepped and retaliated instantly. The bloater grunted in frustration and flailed—but missed.

"Damn!" Erik shouted. "You see that?! She’s styling on it!"

When Selin finally landed the finishing strike and the bloater fell with a satisfying crunch, she ripped off the imaginary headset and turned to face them all, grinning wide.

"That. Was. Fun!"

Now Ruvin was eager. "My turn!"

One by one, they stepped into the simulation.

Erik. Then Ruvin. Each of them brought their own flair, their own rhythm—but the result was the same. Laughter. Cheers. Triumph.

Even mistakes didn’t feel like failures anymore—they were met with comments like "Almost had it," and "Try the left roll next time." It was no longer them versus the game.

It was them mastering it.

By the time Calien went again, the room was practically roaring with energy. He started the fight by running circles around the bloater, mocking it.

"Oh no, he’s gonna explode again!" Calien yelled, imitating the bloater’s growl with exaggerated gasps.

Everyone cracked up.

The bloater lunged—and Calien casually ducked, slashing it with a flourish.

"I should name this guy," Calien said, as the bloater missed again. "How about... Sir Stumblesalot?"

Nolan watched them with quiet pride, his arms crossed. For once, the simulation chamber felt less like a test room and more like a battlefield turned training ground. The despair that had once weighed heavy on their shoulders had vanished.

Now, there was only fire.

Excitement.

Joy.

He didn’t interrupt.

He didn’t need to.

They were learning on their own now—building instinct, finding confidence, enjoying the process. Even Erik, who used to overthink every move, was now smiling with every dodge.

But as Nolan continued to watch them, something odd shifted in his vision.

He could feel the light from the simulator grew brighter than usual. Too bright.

The glow surrounding the mana-crystal interfaces shimmered in strange patterns, curling and stretching unnaturally, like threads of liquid silver twisting in the air.

He blinked.

Once. Twice.

Suddenly, the edges of the room softened.

The laughter of his students became muffled, distant, as if underwater.

Nolan’s breath caught in his throat.

He frowned.

Then slowly, his gaze turned hazy.

Like something was... pulling. From inside.

As if something dormant inside him had been quietly watching—waiting—and was now stirring.