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

RINNNNNG!

RINNNNNG!

The piercing sound of a bell echoed through the Academy's vast halls, cutting through the early morning silence with relentless clarity. It reverberated across every floor and every corridor, ensuring that even the most stubborn sleepers would be stirred from their slumber.

Within the Aether Class dormitory, where students of exceptional promise resided, the ringing was particularly sharp, a deliberate reminder of the Academy's structured discipline.

Ashok jolted awake, his groggy state evident as he rubbed his eyes, struggling to shake off the remnants of sleep.

The large clock mounted on the wall ticked steadily, its hands resting perfectly at six o'clock, signaling the start of the day.

Ashok from his knowledge of the Academy's routines knew that another bell would ring at seven. But instead of lingering under the comfort of his blanket, he made the decision to rise.

He headed toward the bathroom, his movements sluggish yet deliberate.

For Ashok, mornings had never been his strong suit. Even in his previous life, he had been notorious for his late nights spent indulging in games and alcohol. These priorities had often led to marathon gaming sessions, some stretching as long as 36 to 40 hours without rest.

Sleep had always been secondary, a luxury he occasionally forgot in pursuit of virtual victories. As a result, waking up early was less of a struggle for him—it was a lifestyle he had begrudgingly adapted to over time.

The dormitory bathroom was pristine, equipped with enchanted plumbing that ensured constant cleanliness and comfort. Ashok washed up, shaking off the lingering drowsiness, and changed into his Academy uniform.

Though bathing with his glasses on was mildly uncomfortable, Ashok chose practicality over inconvenience. Since there was no presence concealment magic in the dorms, he did not want to wake the entire first year by revealing the Aura of a SS Ranker.

Emerging from the bathroom, he looked sharp and composed. His glasses rested neatly on the bridge of his nose, and his uniform seemed to radiate a polished brilliance.

This wasn't surprising, given the dormitory cupboard's enchanted cleaning magic, which refreshed the uniform overnight.

The tracksuit he had worn earlier was carefully hung in the enchanted cupboard, its pristine fabric glowing faintly as the cupboard's cleaning magic went to work.

The Academy dormitory was quiet, save for the subtle hum of the breeze that slipped through the magically sealed windows. Sitting on his bed, Ashok took a moment to enjoy the calm of the morning.

Ashok thought of his Inventory, and with a flick of his hand, he retrieved a bottle of Spirit Wine.

The bottle gleamed faintly in the soft morning light. This drink—perfect for the early hour—was one of Ashok's indulgences. Unlike ordinary alcohol, Spirit Wine came with an unusual property: it caused no damage to the organs, leaving his liver unscathed no matter the quantity consumed.

To Ashok, this was a drink devoid of consequences, and he enjoyed it without hesitation. As he finished the bottle, he placed the empty container inside the crate near its predecessor.

By seven o'clock sharp, Ashok was ready to leave for the classes. Without encountering anyone in the hallways outside his room—an outcome he appreciated—he made his way toward the Grand Castle, where lectures and lessons would unfold.

As Ashok stepped out, he noticed groups of senior students returning to the dorms after their morning training sessions. Clad in sweat-soaked tracksuits, their expressions bore the marks of discipline and effort.

Some of them glanced in Ashok's direction, acknowledging the newcomer in passing. Yet Ashok, uninterested in forming connections, did not gave any kind of greetings and simply ignored them.

As Ashok strolled past the Wyrd Dormitory, its large stone facade casting shadows over the Academy courtyard. Near the gates, the courtyard was starkly silent, as rows of first-year students stood motionless, their postures rigid and their faces blank with submission.

Just meters away, seated on a chair that stood as a mockery of authority, was a third-year student adorned with a red-colored tie—a symbol of seniority, and perhaps superiority, in the Wyrd Dormitory.

Ashok's gaze lingered briefly on the scene, his thoughts drifting back to the game.

'This cycle of bullying won't end until the Hero picks a fight with a fourth-year from the Wyrd Dormitory. And if the events follow the original timeline, that'll happen after the Ranking Evaluation. So there's still time.'

With a dismissive glance, Ashok turned away, continuing on his path without intervening.

The massive silhouette of the Grand Castle stood proud and imposing as Ashok approached. He couldn't shake the peculiar feeling of luck that followed him today—a sense of expectation born from the game's mechanics.

Typically, by this point, any playable character in the game would have encountered another, sparking interactions that led to building Affinity points, a critical tool for forming parties. Ashok considered himself extremely lucky because he didn't encounter anyone.

Crossing the threshold of the Grand Castle, Ashok took in the architectural grandeur of its interior. The ground floor was modest in comparison to the castle's exterior, featuring polished stone walls and faintly glowing magical engravings along the floorboards.

The space was divided into two rooms positioned opposite each other on either side of the grand staircase.

One room bore a board etched with the words "Quest Hall," while the other room had no board at all, its function left a mystery for now. Both doors were firmly shut, and Ashok didn't linger to investigate further.

His steps echoed softly as he ascended the broad staircase to the first floor, where the layout mirrored the ground floor.

Two rooms stood on opposite sides of the stairs, separated by a wide hallway. Ashok's gaze swept over the left room's board, which read "WYRD" in bold lettering, before turning to the right side, where another board proudly displayed "AETHER."

Ashok pushed open the wooden door to his assigned classroom, the faint creak of the hinges cutting through the quiet corridor outside. The room itself was nothing elaborate—a simple yet functional classroom designed for purpose over grandeur.

The polished stone walls, devoid of embellishments, gave the space a stark and disciplined feel. The benches were the kind often seen in schools: a dual desk combination, each capable of seating two students.

There were five rows and five columns, totaling twenty-five benches, neatly aligned in perfect order.

Ashok's eyes quickly scanned the room as he stepped inside, taking in the simplicity of its layout.

'The Academy only takes a hundred students per year,' he thought as his gaze flickered over the benches, 'fifty in Wyrd and fifty in Aether. The number might sound small, but when you consider all four years, that's 400 students in total. No insignificant feat, given that this place is built to train the best of the best.'

The room had two entry and exit points—one near the blackboard at the front, and the other at the rear, where Ashok had entered. His gaze shifted toward the students present. The classroom wasn't empty, but it was far from full.

There were only two others seated inside, both seemingly lost in their own worlds.

The first student, sitting on the last bench near the door Ashok had used, immediately caught his eye.

His head was resting on the desk, face obscured by folded arms. His slow, rhythmic breathing and the gentle rise and fall of his back made it clear—he was fast asleep.

The sound of the door opening hadn't stirred him in the slightest, and Ashok couldn't help but smirk faintly at the sight.

'Roan' thought Ashok looking at his back, the playable character who had dominated the early stages of the game with his unparalleled strength.

Though his stats fell short of the Hero of Light, Roan's Job Class ensured his superiority in any potential clash, especially at this point in their respective arcs.

Ashok's gaze shifted to the second student—a side character sitting in the second row, someone whose presence was familiar but unremarkable compared to Roan's significance. With both individuals accounted for, Ashok turned his attention back to the classroom itself.

The seemingly mundane task of choosing a seat suddenly loomed large in his mind. The arrangement of seats within the Academy was steeped in tradition—after the ranking evaluation, seats would be assigned based on rank.

Until then, students were free to choose their spots, a temporary freedom with long-term implications. Ashok's memory from the game painted a clear picture of where each main character would sit, a detail he debated using to guide his decision.

However, his mind wandered to a more pressing question: the existence of Adlet.

Adlet's presence in the Academy, and more specifically in the Aether Class, was a stark deviation from the established narrative of the game. In the original storyline, Adlet had no connection to the Academy, let alone this class.

His unexpected inclusion wasn't just a curiosity—it carried consequences. If Adlet had taken a seat within the prestigious Aether Class, it meant that one of the original students had lost theirs.

'Who was that student?' Ashok pondered. The thought gnawed at him as he considered the ripple effects of his presence here. Every deviation from the game's storyline brought with it unknown ramifications, subtle shifts that could cascade into significant changes.

Though Ashok had already prepared in his mind for the butterfly effect from the moment he decided to sacrifice Adlet. It was still better to have more information about what happened to that the student.

'Had they been relegated to the Wyrd Class, or had their admission to the Academy been revoked entirely?' The question lingered in Ashok's mind as he moved to his chosen seat.