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

As the door clicked shut behind Frederick, Ashok let out a long, drawn-out sigh.

Things had escalated far more than he had initially intended. What was supposed to be a simple bit of fun—perhaps even a harmless provocation—had spiraled into something far more involved.

He hadn't expected Frederick to scrutinize him so closely, let alone pay enough attention to notice the new Merit Points added to his ID Card.

Still, he had managed to turn the situation to his advantage.

The old man's curiosity—bordering on obsession with gossip—had played right into Ashok's hands.

He'd milked it for all it was worth and walked away with a hefty pile of credits in exchange for a simple tale.

'Even so… it's not enough. I still need more.' Ashok's red eyes narrowed, his thoughts drifting toward the days ahead.

The reason behind his insatiable hunger for credits wasn't luxury or laziness— that he was usually into, it was preparation.

The Intra-Academy Auction was approaching, the prestigious mid-month event that took place every month for both teachers and students.

It was more than just an auction.

It was a battlefield.

Each month, the various divisions of the Academy—Research Labs, Artifact Forgers, Combat Guilds, and even independent Student Clubs—presented their best creations, discoveries, and innovations.

Rare potions crafted through experimental alchemy, enchanted scrolls imbued with unpredictable effects, refined magic artifacts, and, on rare occasions, even coveted Skill Books.

In the upcoming Auction—scheduled for the end of the Second Week—Ashok had already set his sights on a very specific item.

Not just any random artifact, but one with a dark history and a unique purpose.

It was slated to be put forth by none other than the Occult Research Division—an artifact salvaged from the corpse of a long-dead cultist who had once worshipped an Outer God and was killed by a student of the Academy.

Ordinarily, anything even remotely connected to cults or eldritch worship would be forbidden—not just by Academy law, but by imperial decree.

Artifacts tainted by such heresies were either destroyed or locked away in vaults beneath layers of sealing spells.

To even speak of selling such an item in public would be enough to trigger an Church's inquisition.

But this time, things were different.

The Occult Research Division was struggling they were desperate for funding and currently even a single extra credit was important for them.

And desperation made people reckless.

The artifact in question had already undergone exhaustive testing.

The researchers had stamped it "harmless," claiming its has no longer any kind of curse or corrupting properties.

'Idiots,' Ashok thought coldly, a glint of amusement in his eyes as he leaned against his headboard.

'They have no idea what they're holding in their hands. Since the artifact was a utility type never meant to be threating in the first place.'

He couldn't afford to miss this opportunity.

It was essential.

It would greatly enhance his physical development, especially when used in conjunction with the Herbal Protein Powder he had already secured.

A synergy of forbidden relic and modern supplement—unconventional, yes, but devastatingly effective.

Even back in the game, this particular item had been indispensable.

He had acquired it for every single character he played, regardless of class or build.

It wasn't optional—it was practically a requirement.

And now, in this world, it was about to surface.

Ashok's lips curled into a faint smile.

He would get it.

No matter the cost.

Though the Cultist's Artifact was his primary objective at the upcoming auction—and one he could afford with his current Credit reserve—Ashok knew better than to grow complacent.

Preparation wasn't a luxury; it was a necessity.

The world might mirror the game he once knew, but it wasn't bound by its limits and surprises are already showing themselves.

Someone else might seek the same artifact.

Or worse, something not listed in the game—something unknown—could surface at the auction.

Surprises were inevitable, and considering his luck together with God of Fate himself as his enemy, surprises were expensive.

'I'll need more Credits,' Ashok thought, eyes narrowing. 'A lot more. Just in case.'

A slow, sly grin tugged at the corner of his lips as he sank into his bed.

'I wonder who I should rob next.'

With that pleasant thought lingering in his mind, Ashok drifted into sleep, the warm weight of ambition wrapping around him like a blanket.

RIING!

RIIIING!

The shrill screech of the alarm tore through the silence like a blade, jolting Ashok awake.

It was 5:00 A.M., and the magical timepiece on his nightstand rang with relentless enthusiasm.

Ashok groaned, his eyes still red from lack of sleep.

He'd gone to bed far too late, and the night had offered little rest.

His hand shot out from beneath the covers, slamming the alarm into blessed silence.

He stared at the ceiling, still half-buried in the warmth of his blankets.

A powerful temptation tugged at him to ignore the morning, to pull the covers over his head and surrender to sleep once more.

But then his mind whispered a familiar warning.

If you give in to sleep now… you might not wake up again in upcoming days.

A cruel world didn't wait for the lazy.

Dragging his weary body out of bed, Ashok slipped into his training suit with the slow, robotic precision of someone still half-dreaming.

He splashed cold water on his face, blinking away the stubborn remnants of sleep, and made his way to the roof.

The early morning air greeted him with its usual crispness, but today, instead of feeling refreshing, it pricked at his skin like tiny needles.

The chill gnawed at his bones—a mild but persistent annoyance brought on by the lack of proper rest.

Clicking his tongue in irritation, he took his stance and began the Morning Session of his External Art.

His body groaned under the motions at first, but the resistance faded as warmth and strength returned to his muscles.

One Hour Later…

The cold wind now felt divine.

Where it had once bitten at his skin, it now swept across his sweat-soaked body like a balm, cooling him and wiping away the last traces of fatigue.

Ashok stood upright, chest rising and falling steadily, sleep utterly banished from his system.

His crimson eyes were sharp once more, vibrant and unclouded.

He tilted his head back, looking directly into the pale blue canvas of the sky above.

The golden glow of dawn stretched across the horizon, blending with faint streaks of white clouds.

Around the Academy, a thin veil of morning mist clung low to the ground, mingling with beads of dew on rooftops and hedges, turning the entire campus into a quiet, silvery world that shimmered under the rising sun.

'Now it's the perfect time.'

Ashok inhaled deeply, the cool air filling his lungs. His heart began to pound—not with effort, but with exhilaration.

This was it.

The first time he would attempt it under the open sky, beneath the vast expanse of the waking world.

'Don't lose focus now. Timing is everything.'

Ashok's inner voice cut through his excitement, steadying him.

He inhaled deeply, letting his long breaths slow the pounding rhythm in his chest.

His knees bent slightly, his heels lifting just a fraction off the ground—every muscle in his body aligned, coiled like a spring waiting to release.

One last glance at the sky to confirm his orientation.

Then he began the mental countdown.

One.

Two.

JUMP.

The instant his feet left the ground, Ashok activated his Supernatural Power:

Gravity. Negative. 1x.

And in that moment—he soared.

Instead of a gentle, balloon-like ascent he was used to, his body rocketed into the sky like a launched arrow, slicing through the morning air.

The sudden surge of speed caught even him by surprise.

His trajectory was smooth, sharp, clean—an eagle let loose into open sky in a single straight line.

The wind howled around him, fierce and alive.

It tugged at his clothes, whipped his hair wildly in every direction, and pressed against his face with unrelenting force.

But he didn't resist.

He welcomed it.

He could feel everything—the rush of altitude, the sting of chill air on his skin, the intoxicating freedom of flight.

Every nerve in his body was lit with exhilaration.

His heart thundered in his chest, not from fear, but from sheer euphoria.

A brilliant grin threatened to break across his face as he tilted his head slightly, his crimson eyes wide with wonder.

The urge to scream with joy burned in his throat, but he held it back, teeth clenched with effort as he rode the ascent higher and higher.

Within seconds, Ashok had climbed to a height of ten meters above the ground.

The powerful ascent had slowed, and his momentum gradually waned.

From soaring like a shot arrow, he was now gently drifting—his motion becoming more like a floating hot-air balloon, the effect of his Jump tapering off.

But Ashok wasn't done.

The very moment he sensed the change in speed, he twisted his body mid-air.

His form rotated fluidly, bringing his face downward, eyes locking onto the rooftop of the Dormitory far below.

And then—without hesitation—he cut his power entirely.

In that split second, the world yanked him downward.

Ashok's body stalled in mid-air for the briefest fraction of a second, a silent beat of tension—then gravity reclaimed him.

He dropped like a missile.

The shift was sudden, brutal, exhilarating.

His arms spread wide, feet pointed and locked together, slicing the air like a falcon diving on prey.

The wind roared past him, fierce and unrelenting, tearing at his clothes and lashing against his skin.

The cold resistance intensified with every passing moment as the rooftop below surged up to meet him.

Still, he didn't panic.

His crimson eyes remained fixed on his target.

Focused.

Unblinking.

'Not yet.'

The rooftop drew closer, the details sharpening—the texture of the tiles, the glint of morning dew, the shadow cast by a passing cloud.

'Not now.'

His body screamed through the air, feet from disaster, but Ashok didn't flinch.

And just before the crash—

Gravity. Negative. Zero.

The momentum vanished.

Like a spell dispelled, the overwhelming speed dissolved into nothingness.

The violent descent ended in eerie calm as Ashok's body floated gently down.

With controlled precision, he extended his arms downward and landed perfectly on his hands in a stable handstand position atop the rooftop.

Then, with deliberate grace, he lowered one foot, then the other—returning upright, standing tall.