How to Survive as a Trash Extra Villain

Chapter 2

“Such insolence!”

A heavy impact twisted my head. The patriarch swung the shotgun in his hand, striking my cheek. Then he hit the other side.

My head spun, my body swayed, and one foot lifted off the ground. But I… braced my core, stepped forward, and thrust my face closer. An unknown emotion flared like wildfire.

Hit me more! Do you think I stepped up just to back down?!

The shotgun struck my cheeks again and again.

I locked my eyes on the patriarch’s, matching each blow, refusing to step back.

“….”

After five strikes, the patriarch stopped. He stared at me silently, as if acknowledging my resolve.

It meant he’d allow me to speak.

Now was the real challenge. Every word, every tone had to be calculated. What to do? I had to be respectful. But I also had to reflect Martin’s arrogant, reckless personality.

“Patriarch, please forgive my and my maid’s transgressions.”

“Have you forgotten why you’re in shackles?”

A sordid tale befitting a trash extra villain.

“Our family has been ridiculed in high society because of you.”

The shackles suggested this was after that incident.

I know… I know all too well.

The stage was the Imperium Academy, the premier educational institution in the world of The Fallen Crown Prince of the Cosmos Empire.

At seventeen, Martin enrolled in the academy, intending to live an ordinary school life. Given his arrogant and reckless nature, “ordinary” meant delinquent behavior. Right after enrolling, Martin gathered like-minded noble scions to form a social club. In reality, it was a criminal organization, a mafia in all but name, minus the guns.

Though small, it was backed by wealthy noble heirs, connecting to major illegal cartels.

Why did he do it? Simple. It was fun. Bullying and extorting those he deemed inferior, seeing them cower in fear, crushing anything that displeased him—it was all satisfying.

At the same time, the novel’s protagonist enrolled alongside Martin and displayed unparalleled talent.

Martin, envious and jealous of the commoner protagonist gaining attention from prominent noble families, targeted him.

His violent circle acted like venomous snakes, openly harassing the protagonist for being a commoner, throwing his textbooks in toilets, and ostracizing him.

They insulted his lowborn parents, scrawled vile insults on his belongings, and even planned to secretly gang up on him for a beating.

Naturally, they were thoroughly crushed by the protagonist’s allies and dealt a final blow by the protagonist himself, leading to their downfall. They were disciplined.

Their crimes spread through the academy and high society, socially burying them.

The academy was in a panic. Such a disgraceful incident at the continent’s top institution, widely known in high society and noticed by the four ducal families, was catastrophic.

The academy issued a harsh verdict.

Martin was ordered to issue a public apology, perform 200 hours of community service, pay a 50-gold fine and 100-gold compensation, or face expulsion—an unprecedented punishment.

But Martin, refusing to accept it, was protesting. That was the current situation.

…I’m screwed.

Reflecting on it, there was no hope.

No wonder I deserved a beating for pushing past the patriarch’s soldiers and demanding the maid’s release.

If I had a son like this, I might’ve disowned him, family or not.

“There’s one condition to remove your shackles, Martin. Fulfill the academy’s punishment diligently, return to school, and live quietly.”

The final ultimatum followed.

“Or you’ll be expelled from the family.”

Expulsion from the family. Stripped of noble status.

It wasn’t a trivial matter, so even the guards paused to watch the patriarch and me.

The maid’s eyes trembled with anxiety.

“…That’s simple enough.”

Exactly what I wanted.

“Then do it. Expel me.”

“What?!”

“Would you leave, Patriarch? I need time to pack my belongings.”

The patriarch’s face visibly flushed with anger.

“Fine… It’ll be a good lesson for you to realize how many privileges you’ve enjoyed.”

His trembling mustache, the growl through gritted teeth.

“Wander without a home, go hungry, sleep on cold floors, wear tattered clothes, and realize no one will care for or respect you. Learn the weight of the Ulvhadin name and the immense power of the noble rights you were born with! Then come back and knock on the gate again!”

The rifle in his hand spun.

Bang! A shot rang out.

The bullet grazed my left cheek, tearing a hole in the green curtain.

My ears rang, and my cheek stung.

Shooting at his own son—the Ulvhadin way of disownment.

“Do as you please! Take the maid with you! She’s your responsibility since you brought her! You wretched fool!”

The maid? Martin brought her?

The patriarch stormed out with angry strides.

It was done. This was it.

With the sound of the door slamming shut, the maid began to sob.

“Young… Young Master…”

“What’ll you do?”

“Pardon…?”

“If you want to leave, use me as an excuse and go.”

“I’ll follow you, Young Master. You saved me, so I’ll follow you forever…”

“Then go pack my essentials.”

“Yes, Young… no, Master.”

As the maid rummaged through the wardrobe, I pressed a hand to my forehead. The die was cast. Spilled water couldn’t be gathered again.

I tightly clutched the note Recola left.

Did I regret it? No.

You asked me to change Martin’s fate. Staying here would be the worst choice.

In the original story, Martin’s end came while staging a protest in his room, reportedly by suicide. But that wasn’t true. It was later revealed to be murder by the family’s butler.

The motive was revenge for Martin’s long history of misdeeds and loyalty to the patriarch, who was tormented by Martin’s existence.

When the patriarch mentioned expulsion, I thought, What a golden opportunity.

It’s a shame, but I have to discard what needs discarding.

Sure, he was just a background figure against the protagonist’s party, but an earldom was a powerful mid-to-high-ranking noble house. I, a fantasy novelist, knew well the privileges an earl’s son could enjoy.

But it was also an invisible shackle, restricting my movements and threatening my life.

A shiny but hollow fruit.

Everything’s still confusing.

It was wise to cut off anything that might become a shackle.

One thing’s clear.

This was the world of The Fallen Crown Prince of the Cosmos Empire, a novel I wrote but wasn’t mine—Recola’s creation.

Was that good news? No! The novel was a desperate world where 99.9% of the population perished through countless apocalyptic clichés!

As the one who toiled in that quagmire, I vividly remembered how miserably the world ended.

At least there’s a silver lining.

In other words, it was the novel I knew best.

Knowing the destined apocalypse, I had to secure a path to survival.

I had to survive to return to my world or dream of a future.

The surest way to survive was…

Cliché and obvious, but it’s sticking close to the protagonist.

The problem was this!

Martin had bullied the protagonist and was socially buried!

Damn it…

But there was no choice! It was the only certain way!

Of course, I couldn’t rely solely on that. The main reason this shitty world spiraled into chaos was that the protagonist was forced into a reactive role against the approaching end.

In other words, I had to flip the board. I needed to take an offensive position against the apocalypse.

That was the decisive reason for leaving the Ulvhadin earldom. Avoiding assassination was secondary; I needed to actively intervene in the coming apocalypses. I’d preemptively tackle the disasters threatening this world and seize treasures that would fall into villains’ hands.

For that, a free environment was essential.

As I’d just seen, the Ulvhadin patriarch was a rigid, prideful noble, as sharp as his angular mustache. Living in the Ulvhadin household would mean no sleepovers, let alone free outings.

Leaving the Ulvhadin earldom was non-negotiable.

I’d ruined Martin’s family ties, but honestly… I didn’t feel sorry.

Let’s not kid ourselves. This was a novel. No matter how real it felt, it was a fictional world, mere illusion.

What mattered wasn’t catering to NPCs made of digital code.

Using them all to survive and return to my world—that was what truly mattered.

Hah…

No. Let’s not look too far ahead. I might wake up tomorrow back home.

And there was Recola. I didn’t know how, but the note suggested they wanted to help. Let’s trust Recola.

Despite my increasingly heavy shoulders, time kept moving.

My belongings were packed into the maid’s backpack, and the loyal Sebastian refused to leave my side.

Me, the maid, and the dog. The three of us left through the main gate without anyone seeing us off.

It was as if they were avoiding us, the mansion silent like a haunted house.

It was truly over. As an Ulvhadin by blood, I could still use the family name, but nearly all noble privileges were gone—a hollow title.

“Master… shall I call a carriage?”

“Save the money.”

“Yes. I’ll guide you. Where are we going?”

Good question. Where should we go? The vast medieval fantasy world unfolded before me, its reality hitting me intuitively. It was wondrous and beautiful but also daunting.

I wished Recola would show up soon. If they didn’t, I’d be in trouble.

Damn it, they’ll come before Part 1 ends, right? They have to!

I’d written the original story up to Part 1, and I practically had it memorized. But from there, the full-scale disasters and the story to the end were only vaguely remembered in broad strokes.

This world’s apocalypse was guaranteed. Even I didn’t know how long I could survive.

…Recola, what were you thinking?