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

The brisk wind carried the faint hum of magical resonance across the floating bridge, adding a surreal backdrop to the unfolding encounter. Henry, despite his initial shock at Ashok's brazen dismissal, quickly composed himself.

Years of experience had taught him the importance of maintaining his poise, even when faced with unexpected challenges.

As he straightened his tie and adjusted the band around his arm, his thoughts turned practical:

'The Vice Dean informed me that this newcomer is special, admitted late due to certain reasons. It's clear he lacks an understanding of the power dynamics within the Academy. I should take it upon myself to educate him.'

Henry's expression shifted into one of enthusiasm as he cleared his throat and addressed Adlet once more. "Don't worry, Adlet. As a newcomer, it seems you're lagging behind compared to others. Allow me to broaden your knowledge about the crucial role the Student Council plays in the Academy's workings,"

Henry declared with gusto, his neck tilting slightly upward with pride. "I shall also explain to you the importance of the Student Council."

Henry's words were spoken with a mix of confidence and eagerness, his posture hinting at the satisfaction he derived from delivering such speeches.

He was prepared to launch into a detailed explanation, reveling in the opportunity to assert his position and educate the seemingly oblivious first-year.

Without giving Henry a chance to launch into what he deemed a wasteful tirade, Ashok spoke with a commanding tone, each word sharp and unyielding. "You might have time, but I don't have time to waste on listening to meaningless ramblings."

As the words sank in, Henry's earlier enthusiasm evaporated, replaced momentarily by a frown.

Ashok's dismissive remark had undermined not just his attempt to educate, but also the authority tied to his position as a Student Council member.

Still, Henry was no stranger to arrogance from newcomers. He had encountered many students who thought themselves special upon joining the Academy, and this latest one was no exception.

With a deep breath and years of experience tempering his pride, Henry regained his composure. 'Newcomers are like this,' he thought. 'Full of arrogance. He'll learn his place soon enough.'

Meanwhile, Ashok casually took his hand out of his pocket, revealing the Identity Card now in his grasp.

The action concealed the use of his 'Inventory' Soul Trait—a subtle ability to summon and store items seamlessly, without attracting unnecessary attention.

With deliberate calmness, he extended the card toward Henry, who, by now, had let out a small smile.

Whatever irritation Henry felt was hidden behind a mask of practiced professionalism.

Henry retrieved the card and reached into his own storage ring. From it, he produced an elaborately designed book, its cover etched with glowing magic circles that hinted at its enchanted purpose.

Opening the book with practiced ease, he placed Ashok's Identity Card onto the exposed page.

Henry extended the glowing book toward Ashok with practiced precision. "Place your hand right above your card," he instructed, his voice neutral but firm.

Ashok, knowing the protocol from his experience in the game, complied without hesitation.

As his hand hovered above the Identity Card, a small magic circle materialized beneath it in the book.

The magic circles flared momentarily with shimmering light before fading into nothingness, completing the registration process seamlessly.

Despite the flicker of magic, Ashok felt no change—no surge of energy, no tingling sensation—just the silent efficiency of mana-based technology.

Retracting his hand, Ashok received his Identity Card from Henry, his expression calm but observant. 'According to the game this book is registering my mana signature into the Identity Card and syncing it with the Academy's database.'

His thoughts traced the familiar mechanics of the process, a known analysis that matched Henry's subsequent words.

Henry, his demeanor returning to one of authority, handed Ashok the card with a congratulatory tone. "Congratulations! You are now officially registered as a First Year at the Academy."

The slight upward tilt of his head hinted at his pride in overseeing the process. "Normally, I would have guided you to the Orientation Ceremony where the Vice Dean was supposed to give the speech and explain certain facts about the Academy. However, the ceremony concluded hours ago. So let me explain it to you in short."

Henry's face lit up with enthusiasm as he prepared to deliver his truncated version of the Orientation Ceremony speech.

Henry, with all the zeal he could muster, began his explanation with eyes closed, his voice carrying a rehearsed confidence.

"Your Identity Card serves many purposes..." he started, his tone authoritative. Yet, as he opened his eyes mid-recitation, the sight before him—or rather, the absence of it—stunned him.

The spot where Ashok should have been standing was empty, and in the distance, the newcomer was already walking away, his back turned and posture utterly indifferent.

The sound of steady footsteps echoed faintly on the cobblestones, growing softer as Ashok moved toward the bridge.

"WAIT!" Henry's voice rang out, tinged with both disbelief and urgency. Without hesitation, he broke into a run, determined to catch up with the arrogant first-year.

Ashok, however, didn't bother stopping. The shout was acknowledged only with a momentary flick of his ear and no more.

His thought was as sharp as his demeanor 'Who is this overly enthusiastic idiot trying to teach? I know more about this Academy than the Dean herself could ever hope to know in her entire career. Not just the Academy—the whole damn world.'

Ashok glanced down at the newly engraved number on the back of his Identity Card. The digits '444' stared back at him, a sequence that carried an air of foreboding in many cultures.

His brows furrowed slightly as he thought, 'Is someone seriously playing a prank on me? What's with this set of unlucky numbers?' He knew the number marked his assigned dorm room, but its implications left him mildly irked.

The Academy was either oblivious or intentional in its choice, and neither option sat particularly well with him.

The sound of hurried footsteps approached, and soon Henry was walking briskly at his side, his earlier frustration masked by a rehearsed smile. "Newcomer, why the hurry? Your classes don't start until tomorrow," he said, his tone a mixture of politeness and a subtle jab.

Henry's eyes drifted to the back of Ashok's Identity Card, catching sight of the number that had captured the first-year's attention.

"Wow!" Henry exclaimed, his expression a mix of amusement and feigned sympathy. "Someone actually got such an unlucky number. But don't worry—there's no such thing as bad luck in the Academy. You're completely safe."

Ashok didn't so much as glance at Henry, his stride steady and deliberate as he crossed the floating bridge.

Henry, ever the optimist—or so he liked to think—seized the opportunity to continue his explanation. "Let's pick up where we left off. The Identity Card of the Academy is multipurpose. It..."

Ashok suddenly came to a halt, his footsteps ceasing midway. Henry's stride followed suit, his momentum interrupted by the unexpected pause.

Confused, he glanced at Ashok and asked, "What happened, newcomer? Any…" but his words froze in his throat as he felt a firm hand grip his shoulder.

His gaze moved instinctively upward, only to be met by two piercing red eyes behind the glint of spectacles.

Those eyes, intense and unyielding, bore into him with such commanding force that it felt as if the entire bridge itself had dimmed in reverence.

"Now listen carefully, blabbermouth," Ashok began, his voice steady yet cutting, each word dropping like a hammer. His posture towered over Henry, casting a shadow on his confidence.

"Some fucker has been stalking me using surveillance magic ever since I took my first step here, and they think I wouldn't notice." His tone held a sharp edge, his command slicing through the air as Henry's breath caught in his throat. "I know everything."

Ashok's words hung heavily between them, leaving Henry to process the revelation in stunned silence. Yet the sharpness didn't stop there. "And if that monitoring gaze isn't enough, your voice is grating on my nerves. So, Shut Your Crap and quietly return to your work."

The grip on Henry's shoulder shifted with deliberate intensity. Ashok's hand moved down toward the knot of Henry's tie, while his other hand reached toward the narrow end, his movements slow.

"You're the Treasurer of the Student Council," Ashok continued, his tone smooth yet commanding, as though he were stating an irrefutable fact. "Surely, you have plenty of work to do. Go focus on that. You don't need to worry about me."

Ashok's grip on Henry's tie tightened ever so slightly, enough to make his point without crossing the line. His piercing red eyes locked onto Henry's, radiating an unspoken authority that left no room for argument.

"Now, Do not irritate me any longer," Ashok said, his voice calm yet laced with a quiet menace. "You see, I don't want rumors spreading that a newcomer assaulted a blabbermouth senior on his first day at the Academy. That wouldn't look good for either of us, would it?"

Ashok's tone shifted slightly, adopting a mockery of politeness that only deepened the weight of his words. "So, focus on your work. You'll remain happy, and I'll remain happy. Understood?"

Henry's mind raced, still reeling from the audacity of being called a blabbermouth by a mere newcomer. Yet, as his gaze remained locked on Ashok's piercing red eyes, a chill crept through his body.

Those eyes seemed to strip away his composure, leaving him frozen in place. The longer he stared, the colder he felt, as though the very air around him had turned frigid.

His legs trembled slightly, a subtle but undeniable sign of his growing unease. When Ashok tightened the tie around his neck, the pressure made breathing increasingly difficult, but Henry found himself unable to muster the strength—or the will—to resist.

When Ashok's commanding voice cut through the silence with a single word—"Understood?"—Henry's response was immediate and instinctive. He nodded his head repeatedly, the motion almost frantic, as though his very survival depended on compliance.