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

As Ashok caught sight of Elara striding toward him, the sound of her voice still echoing faintly in his ears, he didn't move immediately.

Instead, his gaze slid subtly to the side, catching Gideon in the corner of his vision.

The boy, had already begun retreating, his head bowed in mock deference, shoulders hunched in an exaggerated show of humility, all while his feet shuffled ever so slowly—yet intentionally—toward Leon's side.

It was a calculated withdrawal, one born not from fear, but from mischief laced with foresight.

Ashok didn't need to think hard to understand what had just transpired.

Gideon had clearly seen Elara before Ashok had, and with all the timing of a scheming court jester, had chosen that precise moment to raise his voice and theatrically call him 'Great Majesty'—loud enough to make sure the title floated directly into her ears.

'So, this fool wishes to toss me and the Princess into a petty squabble for his own amusement,' Ashok thought, his eyes narrowing slightly.

'He's not doing it out of malice, no—he sees me as a source of interest.'

There was no illusion of romance in the word "interest"—Ashok didn't flatter himself with such delusions.

The so-called interest Gideon held wasn't admiration in the traditional sense—it was more akin to fuel.

A spark in the powder keg of his nature.

In the original game, Gideon might have been labeled a side character, but that was a misnomer in spirit.

He had been built not as a follower, but as a rival—a challenger to stand shoulder to shoulder with the protagonist, constantly pushing against the story's flow, always chasing and standing along the strongest.

Unlike Leon, who was molded to rise through structured growth—his soul trait and superhuman physique making him a prodigy even among prodigies.

Gideon's was also a prodigy whose path was forged through fights.

He can't get by training alone like Leon; he ascended through violence.

Through real battles, brutal ones. In every clash where bones cracked and blood spilled, Gideon grew sharper, faster, tougher.

In a life-and-death situation, even the main characters would struggle to match his sheer tenacity. When it came to sheer survival instinct, Gideon reigned supreme.

Raised in combat since his earliest memories, battle wasn't merely a challenge to Gideon—it was a necessity, a lifeline, the fuel of his fire.

And now, standing in front of him was Adlet—a walking contradiction who didn't need a sword or a reason to start a fight.

His tongue alone stir the fury of even the calmest minds.

He didn't discriminate between the weak or the powerful; his words lashed without hesitation.

He had mocked teachers, baited seniors, and even dared to provoke the Imperial bloodline. Picking a fight without ever drawing a blade—such gall required something more dangerous than strength.

It required defiance.

And that, more than anything, earned Gideon's respect.

No matter how outrageous Adlet's behavior was, no matter how sharp or cruel his words came out, Gideon couldn't bring himself to dislike him.

On the contrary, he admired him for it. In his mind, Adlet wasn't just another student, he was really special just like he proclaimed himself.

To Gideon, Adlet was exactly as he called him—Mr. Special.

Elara now stood directly before Adlet, her posture as poised as it was confrontational, framed by a semicircle of Aether Class students who hovered at her sides like ceremonial guards.

"Do you even know what you're doing?" she demanded, her voice clear, clipped.

Ashok, however, didn't flinch. He simply blinked slowly, as if giving her question the same level of urgency as a yawn.

Inside his mind, though, thoughts churned—not in panic, but in irritation.

'I accepted their personalities in the game. I tolerated them because they were part of the narrative structure, he thought, watching her with a growing detachment.

Leon, the embodiment of virtue and justice—always noble, always selfless, a Hero too perfect for his own good.

Gideon, the brawler, constantly seeking conflict because that's how he grew.

And then her—Elara—the princess who couldn't stand not being the center of attention, whose quest to eclipse her brother had her collecting loyalists like shiny trophies.'

In the game, it was tolerable.

Predictable.

Necessary.

Character arcs needed conflict to bloom.

But now that he stood here in this world, surrounded by those same archetypes turned flesh and blood, the reality hit differently.

As his gaze swept over Elara's entourage—each of them glaring at him with the same programmed intensity, expressions parroting their leader's—the irritation deepened.

And there, just outside the ring, was Gideon, eyes glinting with anticipation, no doubt hoping the situation would erupt into a real confrontation.

'The fool's practically salivating', Ashok thought.

Then there was Leon.

Still sulking.

Still casting sidelong glances as if weighed down by a moral dilemma only he could feel.

'It's not just tiring', Ashok thought, jaw tightening. 'It's downright annoying.'

Because unlike in the game, where he could lean back and enjoy their antics from a screen, here he was being pulled into them—used as a stepping stone for the princess's ambition, and as a matchstick for Gideon's next sparring fire.

'Elara wants to shine, to prove her superiority by standing above me, to use me as a platform for her image. And that battle-obsessed fool? He just wants a fight to break out so he can jump in and start swinging. Doesn't matter who the target is.'

And Ashok had no intention of getting along with annoying personalities.

He didn't respond with a single word.

He didn't offer a look, a gesture, or even a flicker of acknowledgment to Elara or the crowd that had gathered around her.

Instead, he lifted his hand in one fluid, casual motion—his expression unreadable—and turned his wrist to stare calmly at the face of his watch, as if time itself held far more importance than whatever royalty was standing in front of him.

The effect was immediate and volcanic.

Elara's brows twitched, her nostrils flared, and the air around her seemed to hum with restrained indignation.

Her loyal followers reacted just as predictably—gasps, widened eyes, barely stifled huffs of disbelief.

For someone like Elara, an attention seeker and the validation of those beneath her, being ignored was not just rude—it was a declaration of war.

It wasn't just a snub—it was the social equivalent of a slap across the face, delivered in full view of an audience.

And to her loyal lackeys, it was worse.

Ignoring their revered leader wasn't just an insult—it was heresy.

A crime of the highest offense in their eyes.

Meanwhile, not far from the brewing storm, Gideon couldn't help but grin. A silent chuckle rumbled in his chest as he gave an imaginary thumbs-up in his mind.

'As expected of Mr. Special,' he mused with no small amount of admiration. 'He doesn't even need to speak to flip the entire stage on its head. The man just insulted royalty with a glance at his wrist.'

Before Elara could recover from the blow of being completely disregarded—before she could unleash the dramatic tirade clearly building in her throat—she took in a sharp breath and began: "Remaining silent won't reduce the act you—"

"It's starting," Ashok said flatly, his voice cutting clean through hers like a blade through silk.

And then, perfectly on cue, as if summoned by Ashok's interruption—

"EVERYONE! ATTENTION OVER HERE!"

A voice thundered across the training field, loud enough to jolt even those who had tuned out the surrounding chaos.

Heads turned in unison, drawn toward the commanding presence at the center of the field.

There, standing tall amidst the open space, was a broad-shouldered student in the same standard-issue training uniform.

But unlike the rest of them, he bore a distinguishing mark: a thick armband strapped securely to one bicep, the words 'Teaching Assistant' embroidered in bold, unmistakable letters.

The student in the center lifted his arm, the thick armband catching the morning light and glinting like a badge of unspoken authority.

The words 'Teaching Assistant' stitched boldly into the fabric gleamed for all to see.

His voice followed immediately after, deep and steady, yet enhanced with a subtle coating of aura that made it ripple through the air with unmistakable command.

"My name is Robert," he declared, his voice sharp and unwavering, cutting clean through the murmurs that lingered after the earlier exchange. "I am a Fourth Year of the Wyrd Class. As you can see from this band, I'm currently appointed as a Teaching Assistant. And until the instructor arrives, you will follow my instructions to the letter."

He paused just long enough for the words to land, scanning the rows of students as if daring someone to object.

"Now," he continued, his tone turning firmer, "every single First Year—regardless of whether you're from Aether or Wyrd—stop whatever you're doing and form up at the center of the field. Immediately."

The order struck with the weight of a hammer, echoing across the courtyard.

And for a moment, there was hesitation—both from the Aether students who weren't used to being commanded by Wyrd, and the Wyrd students who were stunned by the sudden emergence of one of their own taking charge before the formal teacher even arrived.

None of them had expected this.

Eyes darted around uncertainly.

But One figure had already begun to walk toward the center without hesitation, not waiting for anyone's reaction or permission.

It was Adlet.

Ashok had begun walking the very instant Robert's voice had boomed through the field.

He didn't glance back, didn't spare a look for Elara's fuming expression or Gideon's barely suppressed grin.

'What's the point of wasting time standing around these 'main characters' when the real scene has already shifted?' he thought, internally rolling his eyes.