I CHOSE to be a VILLAIN, not a THIRD-RATE EXTRA!!-Chapter 227: Mana Control Training(6)

Unlike the two unfortunate Wyrd students who had been tossed into the infirmary purely on the teacher's whim — their names erased from the register and their future student life already tainted before it even began — Isolde stood on a completely different ground.

Her demeanor alone made it clear why. She sat upright, calm and unbothered, the faint light from the mana stones reflecting off her blue eyes that showed neither fear nor irritation.

Even with a thunder serpent lazily circling around her neck, her expression didn't waver for a second.

Her Commander Trait was at work, shaping her presence, holding her emotions in perfect control.

It wasn't as domineering as Ashok's False Monarch, but unlike his purely charismatic aura, hers had a practical edge.

"Teacher," Isolde began, her voice clear and steady, "I seek this class because it will lead to the increased mastery and development of my Bloodline Magic."

The words were simple, direct, and without any trembling. For a moment, Frederick didn't answer.

He simply stared, his wrinkled face unreadable, while his fingers began tapping the armrest of his chair.

Tap!

Tap!

Tap!

The sound was soft but somehow carried a strange weight that filled the whole room, pressing down like invisible chains.

Yet Isolde didn't lower her head. Her breathing remained steady, eyes fixed forward without even a flicker of unease.

Frederick finally leaned forward and asked in a flat tone, "Anything else?" 𝗳𝚛𝗲𝕖𝚠𝚎𝚋𝗻𝗼𝕧𝗲𝐥.𝚌𝚘𝐦

The question would have been a sort of surprise if those two infirmary sent student were present in the class.

To them, it was shocking that he even asked — after all, he hadn't given the Wyrd students a single chance to explain or correct themselves.

If those two poor souls had still been in the room, they would have probably fainted from rage rather than fear.

The answer of Isolde was similar to the second student and was nearly the same — sincere but simple — yet he was electrocuted and sent to infirmary without even a word, while Isolde was being given another chance.

But that was just how Frederick worked.

Fairness was never his rule.

His judgment shifted with the person before him, and the difference between being trash and being worthy could depend on nothing more than a single glance.

To Frederick's question, anyone with a trace of common sense would have paused — maybe thought ten, even twenty times before answering.

After all, in this class, words were not just words; they could decide whether one would walk out a student… or a failure.

Some might have tried to decorate their response, adding one or two clever-sounding reasons in hopes of appearing thoughtful, because everyone in that room already understood this single question carried the weight of their standing within the Academy.

Having your name struck from a course wasn't a small matter. It was, in many ways, a brand of shame.

The Academy allowed students to select their courses only once — at the very start of the semester — and even that process was considered a test of judgment and foresight.

Once the choice was made, there were no second chances, no reassignments, no begging for re-entry.

To be expelled from a class midway meant losing more than just a few credits. It would drag down one's overall evaluation at the end of the semester and, more importantly, ruin their Ranking.

And in this Academy, Ranking was everything.

It wasn't just a number; it was a measure of worth.

A student from the Aether Class could fall into the Wyrd Class if their rank dropped too low, while someone from the Wyrd Class could rise to Aether if their performance outshone expectations.

It determined privileges, access to rare resources, and even the teachers who would be willing to guide you. Losing a class wasn't just an inconvenience — it was a door closing on one's future limiting it harshly.

Even though all these thoughts must have passed through Isolde's mind, she didn't take long to decide. Her gaze never wavered, her voice remained calm, and when she finally opened her mouth, only one word came out.

"None."

The word was sharp and simple, slicing through the silence like a blade.

For a brief moment, Frederick's eyes caught a faint glimmer — not surprise, not anger, but amusement. A small sparkle shone in his gaze, and then, very slowly, his lips curled into a knowing smile.

"Good," he said at last, his tone almost approving.

"Next."

Seeing that faint sparkle in Frederick's eyes, Ashok could only curse the Commander Trait inwardly.

Even though it was a Personality Trait, the Commander Trait had an absurd way of amplifying rational thought and composure.

It sharpened a person's ability to make decisions under pressure, turning them into a natural leader — calm, strategic, unshaken no matter the circumstance.

But unlike False Monarch, it didn't enforce any kind physical restraint. It didn't control one's expression or posture.

Isolde's unnervingly steady composure wasn't the trait's doing — that was something drilled into her from childhood, a product of family training and upbringing that demanded perfection from the start.

'This old crook sure knows how to spot talent even from a single glance,' Ashok thought bitterly, suppressing the urge to sigh.

'As if my life isn't miserable enough, the next one to open her mouth will be that so-called prodigy — and she'll probably make the situation even worse.'

He mentally cursed Althea in advance, preparing himself for the wave of praise that was about to come her way.

As if on cue, the serpent of flame and thunder slowly uncoiled from Isolde's neck and slithered through the air toward Althea. Its blazing body cast rippling lights across the white walls before wrapping gently — almost teasingly — around her throat.

But unlike the trembling Wyrd students or the tense Isolde, Althea didn't flinch.

Instead, her eyes followed the serpent's glowing form with focused curiosity.

For several seconds, she didn't even look at Frederick; her gaze remained fixed on the snake as if she was dissecting it layer by layer.

Her brilliant mind was already analyzing what lay before her — how a spell could simultaneously bind two elements, one Primitive and one Derivative, without losing stability.

The core thunder pulsed like a living heart, while the flame coiled around majorly in the mouth, acting as both restraint and reinforcement.

It was, in every sense, an impossible construct.

Even for a prodigy like her, the Mana weaving of two elements and even achieving this high level of bonding and stability through pure gesture casting was beyond comprehension.

She felt a deep itch of curiosity clawing inside her — the urge to understand, to replicate, to master it. But she suppressed it quickly.

First, because she knew she couldn't yet grasp such high-level weaving.

And second, because her thoughts were still tangled with what had happened last night.

For the moment, even the glowing serpent took a back seat to the mystery haunting her mind.

From Isolde's composed reply and Frederick's faintly approving reaction, Althea quickly pieced together what the Teacher was truly looking for — not excuses, not forced cleverness, but the nature behind one's choice.

The calm in Isolde's demeanor together when she answered the same as the previous student just by putting everything into Bloodline Magic and the flicker of interest in Frederick's eyes had been enough for someone like Althea to deduce the pattern in a heartbeat.

So when her turn came, she smiled — that quiet, confident curve of lips that always seemed to carry both arrogance and grace — and said,

"Teacher, the reason I don't have a particular reason for choosing this class is simple. I picked it naturally during the course selection. I chose every course the Academy offered under the Magic Department, and this one just happened to be among them."

For a brief moment, silence filled the room.

'Ha! I knew it would be something ridiculous,' thought Ashok, barely restraining his grin.

'As expected from a genius, her logic is something straight out of a lunatic's handbook.'

Her answer might've sounded simple, but to anyone who understood what it meant — it was utter madness. There were fifteen courses under the Magic Department for first-years.

Fifteen.

Some were heavy with theory, meant for scholars who spent decades buried in research scrolls.

Others were advanced disciplines only meant for specialists, too deep for even seasoned mages to handle all at once.

And she, this so-called "Magic Prodigy," had picked all of them.

Not out of necessity. Not out of strategy.

Simply because they had the word Magic attached.

A Next Level learning desire.

It was the kind of decision that would make a normal student faint and an administrator question the sanity of their enrollment system.

Ashok could only shake his head inwardly. Compared to her, his own selection — just five courses, chosen with careful practicality — suddenly looked too mundane, almost lazy.

'This girl's brain doesn't work on human logic it works like a book,' he thought, watching her sit there with that bright, satisfied expression as if she had just recited a profound philosophical truth.

Frederick, on the other hand, didn't so much as twitch. His face remained calm — no surprise, no irritation, just that faint, unreadable look of evaluation. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and steady,

"Anything else?"

The question was identical to the one he had asked Isolde earlier — tone perfectly neutral, expression perfectly blank.

But Ashok, having known this old man's games far too well, could already sense the gears turning behind that calm smile because though the question was same the intention behind it was entirely different.

'Here it comes,' Ashok thought grimly. 'The old bastard is really going to wring out everything from words.'