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

"Fair Degree?" Ashok repeated, his eyes narrowing as he regarded the old man with a suspicion.

Ashok tilted his head slightly, the flicker of a frown playing on his lips. 'Is this geezer mocking me? Or is he drunk? Because Fair Degree… is somewhat way too much to even for Frederick give out like that'.

Ashok knew full well that the title Frenzied Mage was whispered was equal to no different from a Lunatic—feared, but never trusted.

"What's with those eyes, brat? I can feel it—you're thinking something foul about me, aren't you?" Frederick snapped, his voice sharp and affronted.

Frederick can't believe that after he offered such a favor, and still this brat had the audacity to look at him that look?

Ashok did not recoil.

"Then if I am not wrong," he said, voice calm and deliberate, each word delivered with the precise weight of command.

"Any punishment I say shall be honored, so long as it falls within the bounds of this so-called 'Fair Degree.'"

"Do you want me to take my words back? You know what, leave—"

"Break his neck," commanded Ashok, cutting Frederick off mid-sentence.

The sudden command dropped like a hammer in the still air. Frederick, who had just started to retract his words, flinched as if struck.

His eyes widened in disbelief as he turned toward Ashok, hoping he had misheard.

But there was no mistaking the cold finality in that voice.

Adlet stood silently, still facing the slightly twitching body of the Third Year.

His gaze hadn't moved, fixed on the boy who lay crumpled on the stone floor, legs twisted grotesquely beneath him.

"What did you say?" Frederick asked, his voice unsteady because he truly couldn't believe his ears.

Ashok didn't blink.

His expression remained still, his eyes sharp and emotionless like polished obsidian.

His words fell slowly, each one heavy with iron will.

"Did you say any punishment is accepted within a Fair Degree? Then break his neck."

"How can he casually ask to break someone's neck?"

"The Third Year wasn't even trying to rob anyone—and now that warrants a broken neck? That's fair?"

"Does he even realize what he's saying?"

Murmurs rippled through the gathered students—whispers that quickly grew louder, sharper.

They had all remained silent until now, cowed by the presence and authority of Frederick.

But this was different.

This was something else entirely.

A student—empowered by a teacher's permission—had just ordered the death of another.

That line was not only crossed, it had been shattered.

A sense of disbelief clung to the crowd of students among different years.

Some stared at Ashok in horror, others in stunned awe.

A few even turned their eyes toward Frederick, silently wondering: 'Would he actually do it?'

After all, the Third Year's legs had been shattered without hesitation—who was to say a neck wouldn't follow?

Tension coiled through the air, thick and suffocating.

"Do you even know what you're talking about?" Frederick finally asked, his voice low but taut, as if restraining the storm building inside him.

Ashok met his gaze without flinching. His tone was steady, almost indifferent, as though he were pointing out a rule written plainly on paper.

"I only did what you said—any punishment is accepted within the Fair Degree."

"Is there something wrong with your sense of judgment?" Frederick snapped, his voice rising with disbelief.

"How is an attempt to theft punishable by death? Brat if that is fair maybe I should really open up your mind?"

Ashok tilted his head slightly, the gesture calm—almost thoughtful.

A faint glimmer of realization flickered in his eyes as he spoke, voice composed and unwavering.

"I see now where the problem lies," he said, as though making a simple observation rather than standing in the center of growing tension.

Then, with a turn of his gaze, he asked plainly, "Old man, weren't you the one who broke the legs of that beggar? The Third Year who tried to break into my room when I was not present—an act you yourself labeled as theft?"

"And since that punishment was decided by you, then surely, it must be fair... Am I right?" he asked, tone sharp and pointed—yet delivered with a disarming politeness that only made it more cutting.

"So?" Frederick responded, frowning, still not grasping the direction this was headed. His tone was defensive now, uncertain.

Ashok gave a faint shrug, his voice steady as ever.

"Well, I don't know if you're aware of this, but the human legs contain thirty bones."

Frederick's brow twitched.

A thick vein pulsed at his temple as anger began to boil just beneath the surface.

He stared at Ashok with mounting fury, jaw tight.

Was this brat mocking him?

"Do you want me to break yours?" he growled through clenched teeth. "I'll make sure to count—thirty—as I snap each and every one."

"Now, before you get to breaking my bones," Ashok said smoothly, eyes gleaming with cold logic, "you broke both legs of that beggar—effectively rendering sixty bones in his body useless."

"If my calculation is correct, that's sixty broken bones for a single act of theft. Fair, wouldn't you say?"

Frederick stiffened.

The question struck deeper than he expected.

He hadn't considered the punishment in such precise terms before—two legs were just that: legs.

But when broken down to the number of bones... sixty sounded grotesque, excessive.

And worse, it sounded unfair.

Even though sixty bones made up two legs.

The murmurs among the students began again—quiet but growing.

Dozens of eyes turned toward Frederick, waiting for his response, weighing him.

He couldn't show weakness now.

Couldn't contradict himself.

"Yes," he said at last, his voice flat.

It tasted bitter in his mouth.

He couldn't reject what was already done, not with so many witnesses watching him for consistency.

Ashok's lips curled into a thin, satisfied smirk.

"Then tell me," he said, his tone almost playful now, "how is my punishment not within a 'Fair Degree'... when I'm not even asking for sixty—just seven?"

"Seven?" Frederick repeated aloud, the word slipping from his mouth before he could catch it.

Ashok's grin widened, cold and deliberate.

"The human neck," he said, his voice laced with mock innocence, "has seven bones. You broke sixty—as a teacher—and I, merely a student, am requesting to break just seven."

He let the words hang for a moment, letting the weight of the math land where it needed to.

"By your logic, not only am I being fair... I am being lenient."

A chill swept through the surrounding students.

The once murmuring crowd now stood in breathless silence.

In their eyes, the smirk on Ashok's face was not one of amusement—it was a crown of calculated cruelty, worn with the confidence of someone who already knew the outcome.

Frederick opened his mouth to speak—but no words came.

He shut it again, jaw tightening as a realization crept over him like ice crawling down his spine.

There was nothing he could say to make this right.

No argument to turn the tide.

Because hadn't he been the one to break—no, shatter—the Third Year two legs? Sixty bones.

Sixty.

And now this silver-tongued brat was simply echoing his own logic, turning it like a blade.

Only now did Frederick grasp the truth that made his blood run cold—Ashok had known all along.

From the very moment he asked for confirmation, he had already set the stage, laid the trap, and watched patiently as Frederick stepped straight into it.

And worst of all... he had agreed.

'Just what am I hearing?' Leon's mind reeled as the words echoed in the heavy silence.

'Did he really just justify taking a life… as fair?' It was almost unthinkable.

Not only had Ashok shown no mercy, but he had calmly, systematically proven his point—using twisted logic that hinged entirely on the actions of a teacher.

'What kind of reasoning even is that?' Leon clenched his fists at his sides, stunned.

'Seven bones in exchange for sixty?' He struggled to wrap his head around it. 'He's not thinking like a human at all.'

Roan stood stone-faced, but inwardly, disbelief churned in his chest.

'What sort of absurdity is this?' he thought grimly.

'Seven bones fair for sixty?' The idea alone made his stomach turn. 'There is no limits to his madness, there really are no boundaries that tie the thought process of a madman.'

Elara, who had kept quiet until now, felt an invisible line shift in her mind—one she hadn't realized existed until Adlet crossed it.

Her expression was unreadable, but her eyes burned with clarity.

'Just to prove he's right, this madman came up with something so cold... so inhumane.' She swallowed hard, the weight of her realization sinking in like lead.

'With that reasoning alone, he's shown he'll go to any length to justify himself—no matter who stands in front of him.'

In her eyes, Adlet was no longer just another student.

Adlet's words struck a deep, unwelcome chord within Elara. They reminded her—uncannily—of her brother.

The same brother who would twist logic, bend rules, and do anything necessary to place himself above everyone else. Whose thirst for Superiority and control was unending together with that impeccable foresight.

That cold, calculating drive… it was identical something that can be seen within the eyes and words.

And that realization made her jaw tighten, her teeth grinding together in silent frustration.

Because if her mind had even entertained the idea of comparing Adlet to her brother—if she had instinctively made that connection—then it could only mean one thing:

Somewhere, deep down, she saw Adlet as superior just like she saw her brother.