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

The classroom reverberated with the sound of strained groans and stifled cries as Teacher Mia's oppressive mana pressure descended upon the students.

"Keuk,"

"Hak,"

"Argh,"

The fragmented sounds of discomfort echoed across the room, breaking the silence that had preceded them. The sheer weight of the pressure had sealed the mobility of the entire class, leaving most of the students trembling under its force.

Their bodies leaned heavily against the desks in front of them, using whatever support they could find to stay upright as beads of sweat formed on their foreheads.

Teacher Mia, standing calmly at the front of the room, continued to control the pressure with masterful precision. Her expression betrayed no hint of effort as she manipulated the mana.

Despite the overwhelming effect it had on the students, she kept the force at the lowest possible level, ensuring that it wouldn't harm their mental state. The mana pressure carried no tangible physical presence—its nature was entirely ethereal, a manifestation of power and will rather than brute force.

The technique itself was a display of immense mana control.

By releasing the mana stored within her core into the atmosphere and directing it to influence the surrounding natural mana, Teacher Mia created a field of suppression—a technique recognized among those of superior ranks.

The untamed natural mana, now resonating under her control, exerted pressure on everything within its radius. While the technique didn't cause direct physical harm, it was a psychological weapon often used by higher ranks to assert dominance and instill fear in those below them.

For high-ranking individuals, however, this technique held little effect. The purer mana within their cores shielded them from such suppression, rendering them immune to the external pressure.

This made the technique a symbolic display rather than a tangible threat among the elite.

Teacher Mia's decision to release pressure comparable to that of a D Ranker was intentional. It served not only as a demonstration of her prowess but also as a test—a challenge for the students to face their limits and confront the reality that one day, they would inevitably encounter opponents far stronger than themselves.

The exercise, though subtle in its execution, was designed to gauge their willpower, their resilience in the face of overwhelming odds.

The oppressive atmosphere deepened as Teacher Mia's mana pressure rose to the level of a C Ranker.

The effect was swift and brutal—ten students who had already succumbed at the D Rank level were spared further torment as the pressure on them was released. However, the remaining students felt the weight double, and the response was almost immediate.

Twenty-nine more heads slammed down onto their desks, the pressure too overwhelming for their untrained wills to endure.

Groans and gasps of exertion filled the room as the majority of the class collapsed under the crushing force. These were students who, while possessing notable talent, were products of privilege.

Most of them were nobles who had spent their lives in the comfort of luxury, their bodies and spirits untested by the demands of genuine hardship.

Their ranks—peaking at F or E—had allowed them to withstand the earlier D Rank pressure through sheer willpower, but the leap to C Rank was an insurmountable wall for many. Faced with such a gulf in strength, their resolve crumbled.

Teacher Mia's cold blue eyes scanned the room, her gaze sharp and unforgiving. Seeing the slumped forms of the students before her, she muttered a single word that carried across the silent classroom like a dagger. "Pathetic."

Her tone was filled with disdain, but her expression remained eerily calm. She assessed each defeated figure with a detached air, her piercing gaze a silent reminder of the standard she expected them to reach.

No one dared meet her eyes; the icy beauty that had bewitched the students moments earlier was now a source of paralyzing fear.

Teacher Mia's gaze sharpened as her eyes fell upon the handful of students who remained upright, their strength and resolve setting them apart from the majority of the class now slumped over their desks.

'Now these are true gems,' she thought, her cold blue eyes narrowing as she studied them closely.

Among the few who endured were three standout figures: Leon, Althea, and Gideon. Despite their lack of noble lineage, these three commoners had proven themselves far superior to the majority of the privileged, pampered nobles in the room.

Leon, the Hero raised by the Saintess of Light, stood as the embodiment of natural power and resilience. As the only student in the class who had already reached D Rank, his innate strength set him apart completely from his peers.

Althea, the Prodigy of the Magic Tower and wielder of four elemental affinities. Althea had already cast a delicate mana barrier around herself, its translucent glow shielding her from the raw suppression of Mia's technique.

Her skill with magic was undeniable, a testament to her prodigious talent.

And then there was Gideon, the top scorer of the Academy's Admission Test. His presence, though less dazzling than his peers, was no less impressive.

A beacon of sheer determination, he sat upright with no magical defenses to assist him. His resolve alone was his shield against the crushing pressure, his willpower unyielding despite the visible strain in his muscles.

Mia's cold, calculating gaze swept across the classroom, shifting from one row to the next as she silently analyzed the remaining students who had thus far managed to hold their ground—or at least, keep their composure.

Her sharp blue eyes landed on Alina Cindergarde, the heir of the Cindergarde Duchy, and a small flicker of nostalgia tugged at Mia's usually stoic demeanor. 'Alina... she reminds me so much of her elder sister, back when we were students here together.'

Next, her gaze shifted to Isolde Ironhart, a figure of quiet authority. Unlike her brother or the Western Duchess, Isolde's commanding presence felt wholly natural—a trait inherited from her deceased father, a man Mia had once respected deeply. 'A strong personality, untouched by the layers of ambition that cloud her family's reputation.'

Elira Liraeth Greenvale, the Princess of the Elves and the youngest child of the Elf King, sat rigidly in her seat.

Then there were the Beastkin siblings, Zog and Mira. The first of their kind to ever gain entry to the Academy. 'Because of their race they would be ones who would suffer harshness even more than the students in the Wyrd Class.'

Seated in the middle rows was Varnok, the hulking barbarian of the Northern Mountains, his massive form a natural outlier.

Finally, her gaze rested on Elara Von Thalrin, the Imperial Princess. She was the second in line to the Imperial Throne, a position that brought with it both prestige and peril.

Mia's thoughts on Elara were cautious. 'Admitting her here was not a decision I would have supported, especially with the Crown Prince already at the Academy. This will only turn the Academy into a battlefield for succession—a conflict I detest.'

But she sighed inwardly, for the decision wasn't hers to question. Her Master's will was absolute.

Then, her piercing gaze moved to the last benchers, her brows furrowing slightly.

Roan, Lilia, and Lyssa—three figures who stood out not for their reputations, but for their anonymity. Even with access to the comprehensive records of every student in the Aether Class, these three were enshrouded in darkness.

Their backgrounds were obscured, their origins deliberately hidden from scrutiny.

'Finally, the Special,' Mia thought, her sharp eyes narrowing as she studied Adlet. Despite her vast experience, she couldn't quite place Adlet. His very presence in the Academy remained a curiosity.

'Two hours late, unbothered by the expectations of the schedule, yet here he is. Just what did he do to secure his place in this classroom?'

Her attention lingered on his crimson eyes, which, unlike the others, lacked the strain or determination evident in the rest of the class. Instead, they carried a subtle yet unmistakable glint of disdain.

For a fleeting moment, an unsettling thought crossed Mia's mind—'He's looking down on me.'

But Mia swiftly dismissed the notion. 'Impossible. How could a mere student—any student—look down on me?'

She steeled herself, erasing the thought as quickly as it had formed. Whatever the truth behind Ashok's apparent indifference, it was irrelevant in the face of her authority. She had a test to complete and an example to set.

Without hesitation, Mia elevated the intensity of her mana pressure to the level of a B Ranker. The room seemed to groan under the added weight as the air thickened with crushing force.

The effect was instantaneous and dramatic—every remaining student, save for two, collapsed forward, their heads striking the desks with an audible thud. Even the previously unyielding members of the first row were forced to bow under the new weight, their resistance finally reaching its limit.

The room had fallen deathly silent, save for the occasional strained groan. The classroom now held only two figures still sitting upright: Leon, the Hero of Light, and Ashok, the enigma.

For Ashok, however, the oppressive weight meant little—nothing, in fact. His posture was as relaxed as ever, his arms crossed casually over his chest, projecting a sense of effortless authority that only heightened the stark contrast between him and the struggling students around him.

'When will this end?' Ashok mused lazily, his crimson eyes fixated ahead on Teacher Mia. The boredom gnawed at him more persistently than anything in the room.

Unlike the others who were enduring varying degrees of discomfort, Ashok felt nothing—not even the faintest resistance from the mana suppression. He wasn't fatigued, nor was he strained.

If anything, the constant activation of his False Monarch trait was the sole annoyance, forcing him to maintain an outwardly commanding demeanor when all he truly wanted was peace.

A flicker of movement caught his attention, drawing his gaze downward. Shifting his eyes slightly, he glanced toward the Imperial Princess seated beside him. Her previously proud and composed figure had now yielded to the crushing pressure;

Her golden hair cascaded across the desk, and her head rested against the cool surface, turned in his direction. Her striking golden eyes—so brilliant and defiant even under the weight of suppression—met his piercing red ones, locking them in an unspoken exchange.

Ashok's lips curved slowly into a faint, mocking smile.

Boredom had gripped him long enough, and with little else to occupy his mind, he decided to take his revenge by mocking the one who disturbed his peace.