I Was Transmigrated As An Extraordinary Extra-Chapter 22

The discussion finally concluded about thirty minutes later. I had managed to keep my yawns in check, as I didn’t want to get attacked by his crazy fan girls. As soon as the session ended, I got up and was eager to get out of there.

I was just about to slip out the door when I saw Sylvester making a beeline for Whitney. My instincts flared. He was up to something. I quickly ducked back and flattened myself against the wall behind the door, just out of sight but close enough to hear.

"Miss Owen?" Sylvester’s voice was smooth, almost too smooth.

"Yes?" Whitney replied, turning to face him. Her voice was polite, but I could sense a subtle shift in her tone, a hint of guardedness.

"You forgot this," Sylvester said.

He extended his hand, holding out a single sheet of paper. My eyes narrowed. A paper? This wasn’t something I had written into the original narrative. Whitney wasn’t supposed to forget anything. This felt... off. A cold suspicion settled in my gut. He probably hadn’t found the paper; he had likely conjured it, a small manipulation using his black magic. What was on it? What was he planning?

"Ah, yes, thank you," Whitney took the paper with a polite smile and that seems to be the end of their conversation.

I waited a few moments after Sylvester walked away, letting the other students disperse. Then, I made my move. I walked to a nearby vending machine, bought a can of soda, and positioned myself around the corner, waiting for Whitney to emerge.

I counted down in my head.

3...

2...

1...

Crash!

I timed it perfectly, intentionally colliding with Whitney as she rounded the corner. The impact wasn’t hard enough to hurt her, but it was enough to make her stumble and drop the paper Sylvester had given her.

"Oh my gosh! I’m so sorry!" I exclaimed, feigning shock and concern. I made sure my voice sounded genuinely apologetic, a little flustered even.

I held out my hand to help her stand up, offering a hopefully convincing expression of remorse. Whitney was smiling at me, her usual polite and composed smile, but I knew that beneath the surface, she was probably fuming. Colliding with someone, especially someone as poised as Whitney, was a minor inconvenience, but it was a disruption she likely didn’t appreciate.

She didn’t accept my outstretched hand. Instead, she elegantly straightened out her uniform, her movements graceful despite the minor collision.

"Next time watch out where you’re going okay?" she said, her tone polite but with a clear undertone of mild irritation.

She turned to leave, but I wasn’t done yet. I followed her, extending the can of soda I had just bought.

"As a token of apology, this is for you," I said, offering it to her with another apologetic smile. It was a small gesture, but it was an opening. A way to extend the interaction, to get closer, and perhaps, to get rid of that paper.

Whitney’s polite facade crumbled. Her eyebrows furrowed, and her lips protruded in a clear display of annoyance, or rather, suppressed rage. "Do you think I’ll drink something like this?" she snapped, her voice dripping with disdain.

I inwardly smirked. Oh, I knew she wanted it. Whitney, the image of elegance and refinement, secretly harbored a deep love for all things considered "commoner food."

Carbonated drinks, greasy hamburgers, crispy fried chicken, instant noodles – she craved them all. But her upbringing, her mother’s disdain for anything less than aristocratic, and her own need to maintain a perfect image meant she could only indulge in secret, usually through her long-suffering childhood butler, and even then, only once a week.

Her reaction wasn’t genuine disgust; it was pure, unadulterated frustration at being offered something she desperately wanted but couldn’t publicly accept.

"Awww. Come on!" I said, leaning into the friendly, slightly naive persona. "Besides, I’m in the same team as you in our monster hunting class, and we’re in the same club? I would like to become your friend." I poured on the charm, making sure my voice sounded sincere and a little eager.

"It’s fine. You can have it," she said, pushing the can back towards me. "And also, don’t talk to me so casually. We’re not that close." Her words were still polite, but the forced calm in her voice was evident. I could practically feel her glare, even though she was trying to hide it.

"Whitney..." I began, drawing out her name.

"What?!" she said, her voice rising, bordering on a half-yell. She was clearly losing her composure, which was exactly what I wanted.

"How come you’re still beautiful when you’re angry? I want to be like you!" I gushed, my eyes wide with feigned admiration. This was a trick I knew would work. Complimenting her beauty, especially in a moment of frustration, always flustered her.

"Wha-huh?!"

Her cheeks immediately flushed a vibrant red. She sputtered, clearly caught off guard. She tried to cover her face with her hands, a rare display of vulnerability, as she quickly walked away from me. This was my chance.

I, of course, followed her, not because I genuinely wanted to give her the soda, but because I needed to get my hands on that paper. Destroying it was my priority.

"Wait! Your apology gift!" I called out, extending the can of soda towards her retreating back.

"Urgh! Fine! Give it to me!" she huffed, stopping abruptly and snatching the can from my hand with more force than necessary.

"Does that mean we’re friends now?" I pressed, a playful smile on my face.

"Huh? No!" she retorted, but the redness in her cheeks hadn’t faded.

We were speed walking down the hallway now, Whitney trying to escape and me following close behind, while other students looked at us with puzzled expressions. I didn’t mind them; my focus was solely on the paper now safely tucked away in Whitney’s hand.

I stopped when she finally snatched the soda, her muttering quietly to herself as she walked away, a picture of flustered indignation. My objective was achieved.

I went in a different direction, making sure she was out of sight before I pulled out the paper she had dropped during our planned collision. My eyes scanned the handwritten words.

Meet me at the same club room if you need help tutoring,

-Sylvester

I cringed. Tutoring? This was Sylvester’s attempt to create a reason for Whitney to be alone with him. A classic villain move. It was simple, yet effective, preying on Whitney’s dedication to her studies.

I ripped it to pieces then threw it at the trash can and left. However, I went back again and lit the trash can to fire. I’m worried that there’s still black magic left in that paper.

The students walking stopped in their tracks as they watched me widened their eyes in shock.

"Is she crazy?"

"What is she doing?!"

"Is she purposely burning down the academy?"

"Someone stop her!"

Several students tried to stop me but before they could, I emptied pouring water on the trash can then leaving as if nothing happened.

"She’s crazy..." I heard one of them mutter as I walked away.

Crazy? I was protecting all of you! I wanted to shout at them but I knew it was useless so a little bit of public spectacle was a small price to pay for ensuring that piece of paper, and any potential lingering magic, was utterly destroyed.

After my dramatic exit from the hallway, I spent the rest of Friday evening in my room, training. I wanted to go to the training facility but I’m sure it’s packed with students again.

~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~

Sunday

It’s the orientation day for the wandering club. We were instructed to meet at the Glacial Sphere’s Express Station, a marvel of magical engineering that served as a portal hub, connecting to other designated stations across the realm.

Getting ready was, as usual, an exercise in compromise with Macaron. I tied my hair into a neat half ponytail with a ribbon tie – a touch of femininity I usually avoid but indulged in for Macaron’s sake. My first choice of attire, a comfortable loose shirt and leggings, was met with immediate disapproval from my fashion-conscious familiar.

<Too bad to look at, Master!> he’d shrieked, flapping his wings dramatically.

So, under his tyrannical guidance, I ended up in a white casual midi dress. It was surprisingly comfortable, light and flowy, but it felt a little... exposed compared to my usual practical wear. Finally, I secured my thigh knife holster, a necessity since my daggers wouldn’t fit in my small sling bag.

"Macaron do I look okay now?" I twirled around in front of him, feeling a little silly.

"Of course, Master! Lucky for you, I chose that dress to make you beautiful," he puffed out his chest feathers, clearly pleased with his work.

"So you mean I’m ugly?" I deadpanned, raising an eyebrow.

"Your words, not mine," his tiny owl face was annoyingly smug.

I glared at him, a mischievous thought entering my mind. "Sometimes... I wish to know what fried owl tastes like."

His feathers immediately ruffled, and his eyes widened in mock horror. "I’m just kidding, Master! Of course, you’re beautiful!"

I couldn’t help but grin as I ruffled his soft feathers, making him look like a rather indignant, fluffy stuffed toy.

"The chocolate is in the refrigerator, make sure to not make a mess again, alright? I’m going now." Bribery was always effective with Macaron.

"Alright, take care, Master! Just mind link me when you need me," he gave a little salute with one wing.

With that, I finally set off for the meeting place. As I approached the Express Station, I saw them – the main characters. Cypher, Angela, Christian, and Whitney are already here.

Looking at them, I felt a familiar pang of inadequacy. They were all so impossibly pretty and handsome, emanating an aura of protagonist energy. They seemed completely unaware of my existence, lost in their own little bubble of main character interactions. It was a sharp reminder of my place in this story – a background character who knew too much.

Today, in Monfort, a surprise incident was set to occur. This would be the story’s first major incident, a turning point that would set the plot in motion. My mind raced, reviewing the details I remembered from the novel. I needed to be prepared, not just for my own safety, but to potentially influence the outcome.

While I was lost in thought, the club president arrived. He was of average height with a gentle face and kind eyes behind his glasses, which had a tendency to slide down his nose. He adjusted them, looking around at the assembled students with a warm smile.

"I really can’t believe it when I saw so many club applications," he said, his voice mild and pleasant. "Who knew that such wonderful students would join my club?"

He gave out a genuine smile, his gaze sweeping over us. "Hello once again, My name’s Zachary Taylor, and I’ll just give a short introduction about our club."

He paused, then continued, "Once or twice a month, we’ll leave the academy to travel. The purpose of this club is to relax. So training during trips will be strictly forbidden. It’s also why our club is called ’Chill Retreat’."

He gestured towards a box sitting beside him. "Today, as part of the orientation, we’ll just take a short trip to Monfort," he announced, his voice still pleasant and welcoming. "But let’s add a twist."

"As you can see, I have a box with your names on it," he continued, indicating the box. "I hope you familiarize with each other since you’ll be paired up by drawing lots. Okay, who’s first?"

My mind immediately went into strategic mode. Pairing? I needed to be near the characters who would be directly involved in today’s incident. Cypher or Angela. They were the ones most likely to be in the thick of it. Getting paired with one of them would give me a front-row seat and a chance to potentially intervene or gather information.

I was about to step forward, to volunteer to go first and try to influence the outcome with a bit of well-placed ’accidental’ maneuvering, when Christian beat me to it. He stepped up to the box, his usual charming smile in place, and reached inside.

He pulled out a slip of paper and handed it to Zachary. Zachary unfolded it, scanned the name, and then announced, "Christian will be paired up with Remillia." ƒгeewebnovёl.com

My heart dropped immediately. Remillia. My name. Paired with Christian.

Of all the people. Christian. While he was a main character, his role in the first major incident in Monfort was less central than Cypher’s or Angela’s.

My mind screamed in frustration. ’Shit. Why? Why?!’ It was the absolute wrong timing to be paired up with Christian.

Outwardly, I maintained my composure. There was no change in Christian’s facial expression at the announcement; he simply looked around the group until his eyes landed on me. When he saw me, he gave me a small, polite nod, acknowledging our pairing.

I forced a small smile in return, trying to project an air of pleasant acceptance. I guess I need to change my plan.