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

The sound of footsteps faded into stillness.

All movement ceased as every student—First, Second, and Third Year alike—froze mid-step, turning slowly toward the voice that had just broken the heavy silence.

Their heads pivoted almost in unison, like a chorus of statues brought to life by disbelief.

The words of the leading Third Year hung awkwardly in the air, brittle and out of place, as if they didn't belong in the world that had just watched a brutal punishment unfold.

Dozens of eyes now rested on him—wide, blinking, and filled with confusion, shock… and fear.

To speak after Teacher Frederick had issued a command was not bold—it was insane.

He had told them to return to their rooms.

That was final.

Even his own friends recoiled slightly, glancing between each other in disbelief.

None of them had known.

None of them had expected that the quiet fear in their leader would twist into this reckless act.

Not even they had dared to defy Frederick. And now, one of their own had done so… openly.

Is he out of his mind? someone thought.

"Crazy… crazy… everyone's going crazy…" Henry murmured, the words trembling out of him as he slowly tilted his head back.

His gaze rose to the fourth-floor balcony above, where Frederick still sat perched casually on the handrail.

A slow, deep smile crept across Frederick's face, one that didn't quite reach his eyes.

It was the kind of smile that made the air feel colder, despite the still summer heat.

"Hehe… An idiot suddenly grows a spine out of fear?" he said, his voice low and amused.

"Good. Good. Now even I'm curious to hear what these 'some words' are that a Third Year of the Academy feels compelled to say to a bunch of First Years."

His voice carried like a blade through silk—soft, yet threatening.

The Third Year inhaled sharply, mustering what little courage he had left as he prepared to speak.

But before his lips could part, Frederick raised his hand slightly, halting him with a single motion.

"But," Frederick interrupted, his tone sharpening, "keep in mind… if I don't find your words useful…" he paused, letting the silence build like a slow descent into a pit, "then even I don't know what I'll end up doing."

He leaned forward just slightly on the handrail, eyes locking directly onto the Third Year's—unblinking, merciless.

"Now go on," he finished, voice calm, almost gentle. "Speak your words."

The crowd remained still, not even daring to whisper.

The courtyard was deathly quiet, save for the faint rustling of leaves in the distance and the pounding of the Third Year's heart in his ears.

In that moment, the leading Third Year felt as if the very ground beneath him had crumbled. His vision dimmed at the edges.

Frederick wasn't just unpredictable—he was volatile, and his words held a promise that chilled the soul: Say something useless, and you'll regret opening your mouth at all.

Not to mention, there was absolutely no way he could start reciting rules—not while Frederick was watching from above.

Speaking of rules in front of him? That was like bringing a candle to a wildfire and expecting it to survive.

'I'm dead', the Third Year realized with sudden, sinking clarity.

Not metaphorically.

Not dramatically.

Genuinely—this might be last day.

His thoughts raced in a blind panic, spinning so wildly that it felt like his brain had short-circuited.

Frozen in place, he stood like a puppet whose strings had been cut, his mouth slightly ajar, eyes vacant.

The rest of the Third Years stood around him like pillars of stone, but none stepped forward.

None dared to share in his doom.

His chest tightened as reality closed in on both sides.

No matter what he did, no matter what words he chose—he was trapped.

If he somehow managed to survive Frederick's unpredictable wrath, then the Crown Prince would ensure the rest of his life was short and miserable.

Caught between two executioners, the only path he could see ahead was death.

With panic clawing at his throat, the words he had desperately wanted to speak dissolved into static.

His mind stalled.

His voice failed.

And he simply… stood there.

A silent wreck in the middle of the courtyard.

Up above, Frederick's voice suddenly broke the suffocating quiet like a whipcrack.

"I don't have all night to keep watching you stand there like a statue!" he shouted, his voice booming, laced with irritation and mockery.

The Third Year flinched violently, as if the words had physically struck him.

"I… We… I just wanted to say…" the Third Year stammered, his voice cracking as the pressure bore down on him like a mountain, "what about the par— I mean… food! Yes! The food!"

His eyes darted wildly around the courtyard, desperately grabbing onto anything that might save him—and there it was: the leftover banquet table, still groaning under the weight of untouched dishes.

"I'm sure the First Years must be hungry," he continued hastily, trying to sound earnest.

"After all… they haven't eaten anything! And we—we prepared so much! The food will go to waste, and everyone worked… so hard to put everything all together."

He gave a weak smile, as if those flimsy words could somehow shield him from what was coming.

'Shit! Shit! What have I just said?!' the Third Year screamed internally, every nerve in his body going numb as his own words echoed back in his head.

He could barely believe what had just come out of his mouth.

'Food? That's what I came up with?! Out of everything—food!?'

A cold sweat broke across his forehead.

It was over.

And it seemed the others thought so too.

The surrounding Third Years began to subtly, but decisively, take a step back—one by one, inch by inch, like leaves retreating from a fire.

Their expressions were blank, but their eyes screamed betrayal and survival.

'He's gone mad.'

'He's going to get us killed too.'

'We'll remember your sacrifice, brother.'

'He's done.'

Each thought was unspoken but written clearly on their faces as they widened the gap between themselves and their doomed companion, silently establishing a no-blast-radius zone.

"HAHAHAHA!"

Frederick's laughter exploded into the night like a crack of thunder itself—deep, loud, and utterly unhinged.

The sound of it echoed off the stone walls of the dormitory buildings, a chilling chorus that sent shivers racing down the spines of every student below.

It wasn't the laughter of a man amused—it was the laughter of a storm about to break.

And then—abrupt silence.

Without warning, Frederick's expression snapped back into cold focus. "Lightning Rain," he said, his voice low, sharp, and final.

The moment the words left his mouth, the sky above trembled.

A deafening boom rolled overhead, like the heavens themselves had split.

Every head instinctively tilted upward, eyes widening in awe and terror.

There, high above them, a massive magic circle had manifested—pulsing with a radiant, electric blue glow.

It wasn't a typical circle of magic; it was a colossus, wide enough to blanket the entire compound and anchored precisely between the four towering dormitory buildings that surrounded the courtyard.

The intricate patterns of the circle spun slowly in the air, each glyph humming with latent power.

Arcs of lightning crawled through the sigils like veins of pure energy.

The glow was so blindingly bright that it bathed the entire compound in a ghostly azure light—like thousands of ethereal lanterns had been lit in the sky at once.

Meanwhile, far above the glowing chaos of the main island, on one of the smaller floating isles orbiting the Academy, movement stirred atop the Teacher Dormitory.

One by one, the doors to the teacher rooms creaked open. A dozen figures emerged, some still in robes, others half-dressed, but all of them drawn by the same thing—a massive surge of mana.

Within moments, the roof of the dormitory was alive with presence.

Professors and instructors from every department—Combat, Spellcraft, Alchemy, Summoning, Divination—stood shoulder to shoulder, staring across the open air toward the source of the flare: the Main Island of the Academy.

And then, crashing through the mood like a pebble hurled at a stained-glass window—

"WOW! SUCH A LARGE GATHERING!" came an obnoxiously cheerful voice from behind.

Flakey had arrived.

He bounded up the final few steps to the rooftop, his hair as unkempt as his manners, a wide grin stretched across his face like he'd stumbled into a festival rather than a magical crisis.

Every head turned to look at him—dozens of narrowed eyes and furrowed brows.

And, just as quickly, every single teacher turned away again, collectively deciding that acknowledging Flakey would cost them brain cells.

"HOW MEAN!" Flakey wailed, clutching his chest in theatrical betrayal. "I AM ALSO A TEACHER, YOU KNOW!"

His boots clacked as he hopped across the rooftop, completely undeterred by the silent treatment. With an exaggerated spin, he stopped right beside Teacher Mia.

"Miaaa," he cooed, sidling closer, "I didn't know you were here too! It's pretty chilly up here, don't you think? Want some coffee?"

With a flourish of his hand, two steaming cups of coffee shimmered into existence out of thin air—aromatic, perfectly brewed, swirling with tiny curls of steam in the cold night air.

"Just shut up." Mia replied flatly, her eyes fixed firmly on the sky above as if willing Flakey to vanish with sheer willpower. "Drink your coffee by yourself."

She didn't even glance at him.

Another teacher beside him chuckled softly and replied, "Hmm… if memory serves, this would make it the sixty-seventh time. As expected of Flakey—his mind really is in a league of its own."

Their voices weren't particularly hushed, and their words, though laced with amusement, were spoken loud enough to reach their intended target.

"I'm hearing everything, you know," Flakey said flatly as he slowly turned to face them, one brow raised and lips curled into a pout of feigned offense.

""Don't mind us,"" the two teachers said in unison, grinning without remorse.

They exchanged a knowing glance and began to snicker quietly, shoulders shaking with the kind of joy only shared mockery could bring.