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

Clicking his tongue, Flakey spun back around with a huff, blowing softly into his untouched coffee cup before raising a finger to his temple.

With a slight hum, his pupils dilated as he channeled mana into his perception, extending his senses outward—piercing through layers of sky, space, and energy to glimpse the source of the disturbance on the Main Island.

And then he saw it.

Floating ominously above the Aether Dormitory, a massive, radiant blue Magic Circle burned in the sky. But it wasn't the circle itself that made Flakey's eyes widen.

It was the mana signature.

He wasn't the only one who noticed it.

Across the rooftop, every teacher froze mid-conversation, their senses sharpening as they too felt it—like a familiar pressure descending over their minds.

"…That's Frederick's spell," one of them whispered.

Even the jokes died instantly.

A thin trail of smoke curled into the night sky as a calm, gravelly voice cut through the rooftop murmurs.

"I'm sure everyone must have realized by now—there's no need for concern. Go back to sleep," said a teacher.

He stood with relaxed posture, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a slowly burning cigarette between his fingers.

The ember glowed like a small, lazy star against the night sky.

There was a brief pause.

Then, one by one, the gathered teachers began to turn away from the view of the Main Island, their curiosity giving way to resigned understanding.

If Frederick was involved, there was no point in interfering.

Chatter returned to the group, casual and half-amused.

"I wonder which poor soul was foolish enough to get on Frederick's bad side," one instructor muttered, stretching his arms as he walked toward the dorm entrance.

"I pity the students," said another, adjusting her shawl against the breeze.

"Same here," someone else agreed, exhaling softly. "Whoever it was… may the gods be with them."

The students stood frozen, their heads tilted skyward, eyes wide with awe and dread. High above them, the massive magic circle pulsed with growing intensity.

Then—

BOOM!

A deafening explosion of sound shattered the silence as the first streak of thunderbolts split the sky.

BOOM!

Another.

Then another.

One after the next, massive blue-white streaks of lightning rained down like divine punishment, each one striking the compound with terrifying precision.

The ground shook violently with every hit.

Where the lightning touched down, the earth erupted—craters formed instantly, chunks of stone and soil launched into the air as flying debris scattered like shrapnel.

The scent of ozone and scorched grass filled the air.

It was a scene torn straight from a nightmare—a heavenly execution, relentless and blinding.

And yet, amidst all the destruction, there was something strange.

Something… calculated.

Despite the storm's overwhelming force, not a single strike landed anywhere near the students.

The walls of the dormitory buildings, though close enough to feel the energy pulse through their stones, remained untouched.

Not a single chip, not a single crack.

The architecture stood pristine—as if the very thunder had bent around it.

All of it—every bolt of ruin—was focused solely on one area: the courtyard at the heart of the compound, the space once proudly decorated for the Welcome Party.

Banners incinerated.

Tables obliterated.

Lanterns exploded into molten shrapnel.

The festive colors and symbols of hospitality were reduced to nothing more than smoking craters and ash.

The entire spectacle lasted no more than ten seconds.

Gradually, the students began to shake off the shock, blinking as they tried to make sense of the devastation around them.

What was once a vibrant courtyard, meticulously decorated for the Welcome Party, was now unrecognizable—a vast expanse of deep craters and scorched earth.

Tables and chairs lay reduced to nothing but scattered dust and splintered wood, as if a fierce storm had ripped through, leaving only ruins in its wake.

The remnants of what should have been the feast were nowhere to be found—the very ground where the food had been placed was gouged out by darker, deeper craters, as if the lightning had singled out the food itself for destruction.

The pungent smell of charred earth and faint traces of evaporated magic lingered in the air.

Frederick's voice cut through the stunned silence like a whip crack.

With a wide, almost unsettling grin, he called out, "Does anyone feel hungry? Want food and welcome? Raise your hands! I will give you food and welcome!"

His words hung in the air, bizarrely out of place against the backdrop of devastation.

The students stood frozen, their faces a mixture of disbelief and stupefaction, unable to find the words—or even the will—to respond.

No one moved to raise their hands. How could they, when the thunder's echo still vibrated in their chests and a lingering tingling sensation crawled beneath their skin, reminding them of the spell they had just witnessed?

Seeing the students remain motionless and silent, Frederick let out a short, disappointed sigh. "How boring," he muttered under his breath, his tone dripping with disdain.

Then, abruptly turning his sharp gaze to the leading Third Year, he barked, "Idiot!"

The Third Year instinctively looked up, meeting Frederick's cold, piercing eyes.

Frederick's voice dropped to a deadly serious tone.

"I want this entire compound restored—every inch—before the first bell of the Dormitory rings in the morning. If even a single speck of dust remains, I'm sure you understand the consequences."

He paused, letting the weight of his threat settle like a heavy fog.

"I don't care how you do it or how many of your friends you drag into this. But hear me clearly: if I find a single Second or First Year anywhere near you Third Years come morning..." Frederick let the sentence hang ominously in the air, his eyes flashing with silent menace.

The message was unmistakable: use every Third Year at your disposal, but do not involve the younger students under any circumstances.

The leading Third Year swallowed hard, the chill crawling down his spine as he absorbed the severity behind Frederick's gaze.

His eyes drifted to the sprawling destruction around them, the cratered grounds and shattered remnants of what had been a festive scene.

It was around 1:00 A.M right now.

The first bell would ring precisely at 6:00 A.M.

'How am I supposed to fix all of this in just five hours?' thought The Third Year's as he immediately turned to his friends, his eyes wide and pleading for help.

But his companions only scratched their cheeks awkwardly, avoiding his gaze.

They, too, had classes early the next day, and the thought of staying up all night filled them with dread.

Missing classes was not an option.

A flicker of hope sparked in the Third Year's chest. 'At least I still have my best friend', he thought desperately.

But then his gaze dropped to the ground just ahead.

There, sprawled unconscious, lay his best friend.

Both legs were twitching unnaturally, twisted at awkward angles.

In that moment, the Third Year knew without a doubt—he was utterly screwed.

Just as he opened his mouth to speak, Frederick began his command, "First Year and Second Year, return t—"

Suddenly, a sharp, mocking voice cut through the air, halting Frederick mid-sentence.

"The Academy truly is wondrous—lightning falling even beneath a perfectly clear sky."

The voice reverberated through the courtyard, freezing everyone in place.

All eyes snapped toward the source, but only the First Years immediately recognized who had spoken.

There he was—casually strolling into the Dormitory, clad in the official tracksuit with navy blue stripes that marked the First Years.

Hands stuffed deep into his pockets, he glanced up at the sky with a calm, almost indifferent air.

It took only a heartbeat for the Second and Third Years to realize who he was—the mastermind behind the chaos that had unfolded in the Dormitory.

The First Year, Adlet.

[Attention Level: Maximum]

[False Monarch]

Ashok, watching from a distance, clicked his tongue with a mix of admiration and exasperation.

'To think a big fish would swim right into my trap… I really should've savored this moment more,' he mused quietly.

He had meticulously set the trap, but never once imagined that out of all the teachers in the Academy, it would be Frederick who'd show up to stir the pot.

If only he'd known Frederick would intervene, Ashok would have stayed close to the Dormitory instead of heading off for training.

'Now he decides to grant us with his presence' thought Roan, his eyes narrowing slightly as he watched the confident figure of Adlet enter the Academy grounds.

'I have to say Mr. Special have quite some impeccable timing' thought Gideon, glancing at the scrunched faces of the Third Years.

His gaze lingered especially on Valencia, who stood silently at the edge, her glare sharp enough that she wanted to cut his tongue, quietly expressing her anger and frustration.

'There really is no end to this Bastard's Arrogance but why would father react like that' thought Alina, her mind replaying the moment she had informed her father about the bastard being a Supernatural.

The memory brought a flicker of unease to her expression.

However, instead of replying with words like 'Bring him back to the family or I am coming to the Academy,' her father's reaction was curt and detached: 'Is that so, Keep an eye on him.'

The coldness in his voice echoed in her mind.

Her father had cut the call without saying anything further, but just from hearing his voice alone, she was sure—deep down—that the Head of the Cindergarde Family knew something about the bastard that she didn't.

'Don't tell me his self-exile was something planned by the father and that's why he easily gave his permission' thought Alina, her mind racing as she struggled to piece together the hidden motives behind her father's calm approval.

A cold shiver ran down her spine, the weight of suspicion settling heavily on her chest.

She couldn't understand just what her father was planning together with that bastard.