I CHOSE to be a VILLAIN, not a THIRD-RATE EXTRA!!-Chapter 105: I Don’t Care

The Vice Dean's observation carried both intrigue and begrudging respect. "Quite a brazen kid we got here," he remarked, eyes narrowing as he listened Ashok's words through the surveillance orb.

It was then that his gaze landed on the communication orb in Ashok's hand that the boy took out from the storage ring, and the realization hit him. "We have to open the gates, Dean, or he'll call the Duke," he urged, his tone quick and insistent.

But the Dean remained unmoved, her silence stretching long enough to test the Vice Dean's patience. Then, almost as an afterthought, she spoke in a low voice, her command succinct and resolute. "Open."

The moment the single word left her lips, the gates within the surveillance orb began to shift. Slowly but surely, they moved inward, revealing the path beyond.

The Vice Dean observed this with a mix of relief and curiosity, while the Dean rose from her chair, her ice cream momentarily forgotten.

"Quite an interesting power he's got there," she commented, her expression unreadable yet tinged with intrigue.

The Dean, ever carefree and unbothered, casually announced, "I'm going to take a nap; take care of everything."

With that, she began strolling toward the exit, her demeanor relaxed as if she hadn't just left the Vice Dean to deal with the aftermath of Ashok's arrival.

The Vice Dean, still trying to make sense of her cryptic remark earlier, called out, "Dean! What do you mean by 'interesting power'?"

Pausing briefly, the Dean turned her head to look at him. Her face carried an expression of mild disappointment, as though the answer should have been obvious.

"You still haven't realized," she said, shaking her head and letting out a long sigh. With a faint laugh, she added, "You have a lot to learn. Forget about retirement for the next 50 years."

Before the Vice Dean could respond or demand clarity, the Dean disappeared, leaving behind a trail of shimmering blue mist that hung lazily in the air.

Her departure was as abrupt as her words, leaving the Vice Dean standing in the room, utterly still, like a mannequin abandoned mid-thought.

A few seconds passed as he processed the conversation—or lack thereof. Frustration boiled over briefly, and he clenched his fists as a rebellious thought crossed his mind.

'One day, I'll just run away from this place.' But the fleeting anger dissipated as quickly as it had come, replaced by the weight of his responsibilities.

Resigned to his fate, the Vice Dean returned to his desk.

He began the tedious task of informing the Academy's teachers about their new latecomer—a student whose arrival had already managed to stir enough commotion to leave its mark.

Meanwhile, the Dean coming to her room jumped on to the bed. Lying on the bed thoughts swirled in her mind as she reflected on what she had just witnessed.

'A power to manipulate listeners' emotions with words. It's subtle, low-level for now, but there was no sign of mana movement. That means it's either passive or condition-based. Could it be tied to his trait or even a soul trait?'

The idea intrigued her, tugging at her thoughts as she absentmindedly rested her head against the pillow.

Her gaze softened as she recalled the strange sensation from earlier—the faint pull of Ashok's words that seemed to linger even within her. 'The interesting part,' she mused with a small smile, 'is that it even started to affect me. How fascinating.'

Her thoughts then turned to another figure: the Young Hero, whose subtle charisma seemed eerily similar to Ashok's power.

'That boy used something akin to this latecomer's ability, though his words felt much more natural. He must have been using it unconsciously,' she thought, recalling the Hero's knack for unintentionally winning over others.

But the key difference was apparent. The Young Hero's words had primarily affected young women his age, likely linked to his physique and overly charming disposition—a classic womanizer.

Ashok, on the other hand, carried an entirely different air of defiance and arrogance.

A soft chuckle escaped her as she stretched out on the bed. 'A womanizer and now an arrogant latecomer. The Academy surely doesn't lack when it comes to problematic children.'

The Dean, now nestled comfortably in her bed, allowed her thoughts to drift before sleep claimed her.

Ashok's combination of the [False Monarch] trait and his undeniable Charisma stood out in her mind, a unique blend that, while not particularly intimidating to someone of her caliber, was enough to pique her interest.

It was this intrigue that had ultimately led her to accept him into the Academy.

Unlike the Vice Dean, the Dean's status as an Ascended, coupled with her vast experience and formidable power, gave her immediate insight into the subtle nature of Ashok's influence.

She had recognized, almost effortlessly, how his words carried an uncanny ability to nudge emotions, affecting even her own—an impressive feat. However, she dismissed any notion of danger.

In her eyes, possessing a dangerous power was not inherently meaningful; the true test lay in how such power was wielded upon its mastery.

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To the Dean, Ashok's abilities were intriguing but insignificant when compared to the overwhelming forces she had encountered throughout her life.

Her perspective as an Ascended gave her a broad view of the extraordinary, and Ashok, while compelling, was merely another player on the Academy's stage—a stage where she had seen legends and disasters alike.

…

As the massive gates swung open before him, Ashok's smirk deepened with his misguided assumption. 'Money works everywhere,' he thought, confidently crediting the Duke's fame for his swift entry into the Academy.

What he didn't realize, however, was that it wasn't influence but rather the unseen effects of his [False Monarch] trait coupled with his innate charisma that had prompted the gates to respond.

Once the gates parted, an entirely different world unfurled before his eyes—a scene so vast and grand it seemed almost otherworldly. Directly ahead lay a colossal castle, its towering spires reaching toward the heavens.

The structure stretched endlessly across the horizon, its grandeur accentuated by the enormous, glowing rings that floated around it.

These rings shimmered with ever-changing hues of light, casting a surreal glow that seemed to breathe life into the already majestic scene.

As his gaze swept to the sides, Ashok noticed the presence of other floating islands, their silhouettes suspended high above the sky like scattered jewels.

Though their distance rendered them small to his eyes, their mere existence spoke volumes of the Academy's magnificence. Each island seemed uniquely crafted, radiating an air of purpose and mystery.

Ashok couldn't help but marvel at how vastly different the Academy felt in reality compared to its virtual counterpart in the game.

The sheer scale and tangible depth of it stirred emotions that the pixelated version could never quite replicate.

A small smile tugged at his lips as he stepped through the gates, the cobblestone road beneath his feet a stark contrast to the illusory grass field outside.

The path extended forward to a floating bridge, its elegant design seemingly defying gravity as it connected the towering gates to the grandeur of the Academy itself.

The sound of the gates closing behind him echoed softly in the air, marking the transition from the world outside to the domain within.

Ashok glanced to the side and noticed the gates were attached to long, imposing walls—walls fortified with a faint shimmer of blue light.

'A Barrier,' he thought, his gaze lingering momentarily on the protective enchantment. The presence of such intricate defenses spoke volumes about the Academy's status, hinting at layers of unseen complexity and power.

Ashok paused mid-stride as the voice from behind reached his ears, clear and assertive. "You are Adlet," the voice stated, cutting through the ambient hum of the magical surroundings.

Turning around, Ashok's gaze settled on the figure addressing him—a fellow student dressed in the Academy's uniform.

Yet, there were noticeable distinctions in the student's appearance that immediately caught his attention.

The bright red tie stood out, vibrant and bold, signaling a level of distinction above the ordinary.

On the student's left arm, a visible band bore the words Student Council, an unmistakable mark of authority within the Academy's hierarchy.

The student's orange hair glowed subtly under the ethereal light surrounding the Academy, matching the striking irises that locked onto Ashok with calculated intent.

Henry's posture radiated self-importance as he introduced himself. "I am Henry, a Third Year and Student Council Treasurer," he declared, his neck tilting slightly upward, as if the title alone elevated him above mere mortals.

Ashok couldn't help but smirk inwardly. 'I can practically see his imaginary nose rising to the sky, all because of those two words—Student Council.'

To him, Henry's overt display of pride was almost amusing, if not outright predictable.

Without missing a beat, Ashok responded in his authoritative tone, "So?" The single word was deliberate, commanding, and laced with an air of disinterest that belied his scrutiny.

At that moment, a flicker of realization crossed his mind. 'The trait—it's still active. Just how long do they plan to observe me?' he thought, piecing together the likelihood of ongoing surveillance.

Henry stood frozen for a moment, his wide eyes betraying the shock that coursed through him.

This was far from the reaction he was accustomed to. When the Student Council President had tasked him with overseeing new arrivals, Henry had relished the opportunity.

The respect, the admiration, the envious gazes from awe-struck first-years—all of it fed into his sense of importance. Yet, here and now, the script had flipped in a way he couldn't have anticipated.

Ashok's posture radiated nonchalance, his gaze cold and indifferent, carrying an unspoken message: 'I don't care.' It was a silent but unmistakable act of defiance, and it hit Henry like a blow to his carefully curated self-image.