I CHOSE to be a VILLAIN, not a THIRD-RATE EXTRA!!

Ashok turned his head, eyes scanning the crowd of muscle-bound students, when—finally—Hamiel emerged from between them.

The old dwarf stepped forward, bare-chested like the rest, revealing a frame packed with well-defined muscles beneath a thick coat of coarse hair.

A sight Ashok could have gone his entire life without seeing.

His thoughts churned as he forced himself to remain composed, resisting the overwhelming urge to turn around and retreat to his dorm.

'Wear some damn clothes. My eyes are suffering looking at an old man's bulging muscles.'

The suffocating heat of the forge, the pungent scent of sweat clinging to the air, and now this—he was dangerously close to his limit.

Hamiel barely spared Ashok a glance before barking a command at the nearest student—

"HEY! What are you standing around for? Go bring me a registration form for the Blacksm—"

But before the dwarf could finish his order, Ashok interrupted without hesitation, his voice firm, cutting straight through the heat of the forge.

"I didn't come here at night to register."

His words carried a weight that shifted the mood instantly, silencing the nearby whispers.

Ashok had no intention of becoming a student here, nor did he plan on wasting time filling out paperwork.

Hamiel's initial excitement dimmed as he looked at Ashok, his voice tinged with disappointment.

"You didn't come to register?"

His tone fell, the shift in emotion clear in his expression.

Ashok words carried weight, the kind that didn't leave room for negotiation—

"No. And stop silently signaling that student right before my eyes."

Hamiel froze for a second, his plan caught mid-action, his gaze flicking toward Ashok as if caught in the act.

Yet, for a brief moment, he still tried to feign ignorance.

Ashok remained firm—watching as the old dwarf continuously cast side-glances toward the student, subtly urging them to bring the registration form despite his words.

The tension lingered—until—

"Tch!"

Hamiel clicked his tongue, finally dropping the act, shifting his stance as he asked—

"What did you come here for?"

The forge students, muscular, hardened by years of labor, stood watching in silence, their eyes fixed on Ashok as he delivered his next words without hesitation.

"I want you to enchant something."

The students murmured among themselves, their faces shifting as they realized—

Ashok was speaking to Hamiel informally and without even an ounce of fear.

Instead of responding, Hamiel turned his face away, huffing with exaggerated defiance, his demeanor suddenly resembling a sulky child.

"I won't do it."

The surrounding blacksmith students rubbed their eyes multiple times, as if trying to confirm whether they were hallucinating or witnessing reality.

This wasn't the Hamiel they knew.

The strict, merciless master of the forge—the one whose brutal training methods were still etched in their minds and bodies—was suddenly behaving like a sulky child.

Every single one of them recalled the countless taunts, the unforgiving scoldings, and the painful "lessons" they had endured under his guidance.

"You morons! You can't even smelt metal—just jump into the furnace!"

"Dimwits! You can't even hold a hammer properly—let me hammer you instead!" (Proceeds to literally beat them without warning.)

"Die, idiots! Just die already!"

"You will never be a blacksmith. Just cut off your hands and start begging instead!"

Each insult had been burned into their memories, each strike a testament to the dwarf's harsh methods, shaping them through pain and persistence.

Yet now—the same Hamiel who had terrorized them for so long was throwing a tantrum before their very eyes.

The students exchanged glances, an unspoken question forming between them—

'Who is this Adlet who made Hamiel behave like this?'

For the strictest teacher in the forge to sulk before a student—not just any student, but one who spoke to him without even a hint of fear.

"I am sure that the Gold Pass comes with the privilege that allows me to ask for 'any' Blacksmith for personal work. Now, don't tell me that the Head of the Blacksmith Department is going to break that rule."

He spoke without hesitation, fully aware of the weight the Gold Pass carried—a privilege that couldn't be ignored or denied.

Hamiel clicked his tongue, his frustration evident, yet even he couldn't override the rules of the pass.

In truth he wanted to reject even now but because he couldn't set a bad example in front of all these students he was forced to take back the words of rejection.

"Tch. Follow me."

And with that, he turned, walking deeper into the forge, his footsteps steady.

Without a word, Ashok followed behind, the wide-eyed blacksmith students watching the exchange unfold in stunned silence.

The moment Ashok and Hamiel disappeared into the forge, the students turned to one another, their expressions filled with uncertainty and disbelief.

One among them finally broke the silence—

"Is Teacher Hamiel ill today?"

Another chimed in, his voice laced with confusion.

"Now that I think about it, ever since he returned from his usual morning inspection, he's been acting a bit odd—like laughing weirdly or sometimes looking sad."

Their thoughts swirled with questions, trying to grasp why their strict, unyielding master had suddenly folded before a student.

Then—one student shouted, frustration laced in his tone as he snapped at his peers—

"IDIOTS! OPEN YOUR EYES!"

The force behind his words made everyone look at him, their attention instantly drawn.

Despite the harsh insults, not a single student dared to speak back—because they all recognized him.

The fourth-year student was the senior-most figure in the forge, standing just below Hamiel and the Assistant Teachers in terms of rank.

And more than that—he was one of Hamiel's personal disciples, a status that alone earned him the unwavering respect of everyone present.

The senior's voice carried a certainty that demanded attention—

"Do you think Teacher Hamiel would behave like this for just anyone?"

His words sparked murmurs, curiosity swirling among the students.

One of them hesitated before asking—

"What do you mean, Senior?"

The fourth-year student nodded slightly, offering what he believed to be a well-reasoned deduction—

"From the navy-blue stripes on his tracksuit, he's clearly a first-year. Teacher Hamiel must have spotted extreme talent in blacksmithing within him. That must be why he wanted to recruit him as soon as he arrived."

His explanation carried an air of confidence, a logical assumption—yet it was far from the truth.

Hearing his conclusion, the students immediately reacted, their expressions shifting into admiration.

"Wow! You truly are a genius, Senior!"

Voices rang out, their tone dripping with bootlicking enthusiasm, heads nodding in unquestioning agreement.

The fourth-year's words struck like a hammer against an anvil, sending shockwaves through the gathered blacksmith students—

"That's not all. That Adlet must have rejected Teacher Hamiel—that's why he's acting like this."

The statement hung in the air for only a second before the forge erupted with outraged voices.

"Yeah! How dare he?"

"Who is he to reject Teacher Hamiel?"

Murmurs turned into heated discussions, their frustration growing rapidly, their disbelief fueling their anger.

For them, Hamiel was an unforgiving, relentless mentor—one who rarely showed patience, let alone took an interest in a student.

Yet now, here was a first-year—someone they had never seen in the forge before—refusing him outright.

It was absurd, unthinkable.

Then—the fourth-year shouted again, his voice cutting through the noise.

"FOOLS! This is not the time to get angry. This is an opportunity."

The words silenced the crowd, confusion flickering across their faces as they turned their full attention back to their senior.

One of them hesitated before asking—

"What do you mean, Senior?"

The fourth-year smirked, his voice lowering into a calculated tone, deliberate, thoughtful—

"Let's say we make Adlet agree to join the Blacksmith Department… Then tell me—what do you think Teacher Hamiel will do?"

His question lingered for only a moment before realization dawned upon the younger students.

Their expressions shifted—frustration melting away, replaced by growing ambition.

If they could convince Adlet to accept, then Hamiel would surely reward them.

Excitement bubbled as desires began spilling into the air, spoken aloud without restraint—

"A personal weapon…"

"A blacksmithing technique…"

"An enchantment technique…"

Their voices grew stronger, their resolve hardening.

This wasn't just about a first-year anymore.

This was a golden opportunity.

As Ashok followed Teacher Hamiel up the winding staircase, a sudden chill prickled at his skin, an unexpected sensation in the searing heat of the forge.

'Why do I suddenly feel cold in this scorching place?'

His thoughts barely settled before Hamiel's voice cut through—

"Get in."

At the top floor, Hamiel pushed open the nearest gate to the stairs, revealing a room that was entirely different from the inferno below.

The moment Ashok stepped inside, a cold breeze rushed past him, wrapping around his frame like winter air slipping through a cracked window.

It was the complete opposite of the forge—

No blazing heat, no smell of sweat, no oppressive humidity.

Instead, it was a cool, controlled environment, lined with towering bookshelves packed with tomes and blueprints, each carefully arranged across the room's walls.

At the center, a wide wooden table stood, accompanied by several sturdy chairs meant for serious discussion and work.

Hamiel wasted no time.

Pulling a shirt from behind the gate, he draped it over his shoulders, shaking off the heat before taking a seat at a slightly larger chair than the rest.

Gesturing casually, he spoke—

"Take a seat."

Without hesitation, Ashok took the chair opposite him, facing the dwarf directly.

The conversation had finally begun.

Hamiel leaned back, fingers tapping the tabletop.

His tone was direct, carrying the weight of his expertise -

"So, what do you need to enchant?"