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

The mage glanced up as Ashok approached, his eyes quickly recognizing the unmistakable uniform of the Academy. He clicked his tongue in mild annoyance, and with a deliberate air of superiority, he addressed Ashok.

"You're late," the mage said, his tone dripping with condescension. His words were sharp, almost mocking. "The Portal to the Academy is closed."

"Go back and come again next year," he added, his tone mocking, as though the matter was settled and Ashok had no business being here.

But the mage's words were far from a mere dismissal. He wasn't content with simply speaking—he deliberately raised his voice, weaving mana into the words. The sound boomed, amplified with magical resonance, carrying across the square in a way that drew the attention of everyone nearby.

Some mages at the counters paused their conversations, looking over with interest. These mages, accustomed to the monotony of their daily duties, recognized the opportunity for entertainment when they saw one, especially when there was a crowd.

The crowd, already eager for any form of drama, quickly fell into a low hum of conversations. Whispers spread like wildfire as people exchanged amused glances and murmured about Ashok's apparent misfortune.

"Look, there really are people who miss their once-in-a-lifetime chance to attend the Academy," one voice muttered, dripping with disbelief.

Another voice chimed in, thick with disdain. "Stupid commoners. They don't know the true value of what they get."

A third, more dramatic voice joined the conversation, "Haha! If such a thing were to occur to me, I'd be sobbing in a corner with regret, for the rest of my life,"

"Idiot"

"HEHE! Stupid Fool."

"Mind your job, Mage. Keep your vile and filthy nose off places where it does not belong," Ashok stated, his tone commanding. Unlike the mage, who had relied on magic to amplify his voice, Ashok's charisma alone was enough to make his words sound with a powerful echo.

SILENCE

The mage's confident smirk faltered for a brief second as Ashok's words, each one carrying an unmistakable tone of disrespect. For a moment, he remained seated, flustered and momentarily speechless, caught off guard by the boldness of the young man before him. The public, too, had frozen in place, the usual buzz of whispers stilled as they all processed the audacity of Ashok's response.

The mage's face, already red with embarrassment, quickly shifted to an even deeper shade as his anger flared. His composure shattered in an instant, and he stammered in disbelief, his voice rising with fury as he stood up.

"H-HOW DARE YOU talk to me like that? Do you even know who you are speaking with? You lazy commoner!" To the mage, it was inconceivable that anyone of noble blood would ever dare arrive late on the first day of the Academy.

"You are a Pussy with a wand stuck inside," replied Ashok to his last question with a mocking grin, his eyes narrowing as he looked down upon him, the superiority in his gaze unmistakable.

Some in the crowd, who had been watching the escalating tension with bated breath, couldn't help themselves. A quiet, muffled laugh slipped out from a few individuals as Ashok's words echoed through the air. But that quiet laugh did not go unnoticed.

"I'LL KILL YOU, EVEN THE ACADEMY WON'T SAVE YOU FROM ME". The mage drew out his wand with a furious motion, the air around him crackling with elemental energy as he began to gather mana. The nearby mages, sensing the situation escalating far too quickly, reacted immediately.

They just realized how dangerously things have got out of control. The last thing any of them wanted was for an incident like this to spiral into something far worse, especially in front of so many onlookers.

"Stop him!" one of the mages called out, rushing forward to try and intervene.

The mage could be stopped from casting a spell by his colleagues, but who would stop Ashok's words?

"The wand must be sticky and smelly right now," Ashok said, a wicked grin playing across his lips.

The nearby mages, still scrambling to contain the mage's rising fury, looked at Ashok with a mix of disbelief and fury. They had been trying to prevent a disaster from happening, but Ashok was fueling fire into it.

"Silence!" the mage spat, his voice trembling with rage. "You—YOU!" He stammered, unable to form the harsh, biting words he longed to hurl at the man before him.

Ashok knew the personalities of such mages, they were just egoistic with an inflated sense of their own importance. From the moment Ashok laid eyes on the mage, he had noticed the color of his robe: a light blue. This detail spoke volumes to someone like Ashok, who knew about the hierarchy in the mage tower's ranks.

The robe color system was based on the spectrum of the rainbow, each shade corresponding to a mage's power level. Lighter blues signified B-rank mages. While deeper, more saturated blue signified an A-rank.

The mage, though restrained by two others, defiantly raised his wand to the sky. In an instant, a magic circle materialized, and a yellow fireball began to form and spin above the wand as the circle vanished.

As the magic circle dissolved, the fireball remained, spinning faster and faster, its rotation growing more frantic each passing second.

With a haughty tone, the mage declared," Get down on your knees and start begging for mercy before I lead you to your death, you F-Rank Commoner."

The mage had already used his mana to scan Ashok. The scan revealed the pitiful truth: Ashok's mana core was at F-rank, but not even that— it was F-minus, a level so weak it was barely even worthy of being called a rank. The realization struck him like a slap to the face, fueling his anger even more.

Meanwhile, Ashok remained utterly unaware of the mage's scan. How could he have known? He had no experience with mana usage—only a vague understanding of its existence from the game.

Instead, his focus was entirely on the mage and his display of power. 'Three seconds to create a fireball, and it's on the yellow side—meaning the mage's affinity with fire isn't very strong. The flames are flickering and weakening as time passes, which suggests his control is mediocre at best. Weak. Pathetically weak. Not even slightly close to the playable character that comes from the Tower. I have enough of this shit from someone who does not even comes close to the main characters.'

Ashok's fingers brushed against the fabric of his pockets as he withdrew his right hand and removed his glasses.

BOOM!

[Attention Level: Maximum]

[False Monarch]