I Was Transmigrated As An Extraordinary Extra-Chapter 26

Running at speeds that defied normal perception, Annabelle arrived at the National Treasury of Weapons in mere moments. Just as she reached the entrance, she noticed a woman emerging, her dress tattered and stained with what looked like blood. Her appearance, coupled with the recent report, strongly suggested she was one of the students who had faced the Rogue.

’Wait... Is that an owl?’ Annabelle’s sharp eyes caught a glimpse of something perched on the woman’s shoulder. She quickly looked back to confirm. Indeed, it was an owl, and a remarkably majestic one at that.

Upon seeing Annabelle, the woman flinched for a brief instant before quickly bowing respectfully. "Hello," the woman greeted her, her voice calm despite the chaotic state of her attire.

’Have we met somewhere? How does she know me?’ Annabelle thought, a flicker of surprise in her mind.

Though a sense of strangeness lingered, Annabelle responded without overthinking it. "...Hello, miss. Did something happen inside?"

"Yes. There’s a Rogue who infiltrated the gallery out of nowhere," the woman answered, her gaze steady. "Also, you don’t have to worry since he’s already dead."

"I see... And you are?" Annabelle inquired, her eyes subtly scanning the woman for any signs of injury.

The woman smiled, a serene expression on her face, and answered.

"I’m a student at Glacial Sphere Academy. Rank 925 Remillia Lockhart at your service," the woman answered, her tone polite and self-assured.

’No wonder she knows me,’ Annabelle thought, the pieces clicking into place.

She was one of the most celebrated Heroes in Aeonia, her image and accomplishments widely known. As a result, most students from the Glacial Sphere Academy, or any academy for that matter, would typically react with awe, nervousness, or even freeze up in her presence.

"...Oh, I see," Annabelle said, acknowledging the introduction.

"I’ll get going then. The ones you’re looking for are still inside," Remillia said, a knowing glint in her eyes.

Remillia then walked away, still smiling, her gait unhurried and confident. There wasn’t a hint of the typical student nervousness Annabelle was accustomed to.

Annabelle watched her go for a few moments, a sense of intrigue settling over her. "She’s quite strange... There’s something different about her."

’How did she know my purpose in coming here anyway?’ The question echoed in Annabelle’s mind as she finally stepped through the grand entrance into the gallery.

The inside of the gallery was a scene of utter devastation. The once pristine tiled floors were cracked and shattered, and massive pillars lay in ruins, clear evidence of a fierce battle. An oppressive, almost tangible dark magic still lingered in the air.

"Angela!?" At that moment, a frantic voice echoed from the entrance.

Annabelle turned, her gaze sharp. Standing there was a middle-aged man, trembling slightly and scanning the wrecked gallery with wide, reddened eyes. It was a familiar face, one she recognized immediately.

Aamon Forbes.

"Sir Aamon Forbes?" Annabelle greeted, a touch of surprise in her voice. It was unexpected to see him here.

"Vice president Finley? You’re also here?" Aamon exclaimed, his voice laced with relief and anxiety.

"You must have been busy lately. It’s been a while," Annabelle said, her tone polite and professional. She understood the worry etched on his face. "Should we go together, Sir Forbes?"

Pointing deeper into the ravaged gallery with a polite smile, Annabelle extended the offer.

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

Sunset Coastal Vista

I was on the outskirts of Monfort, perched on a lonely bench, letting Macaron take in the scenery. While the Agents bustled around, cleaning up the aftermath of the gallery incident, a quiet panic was bubbling within me.

The story had changed. The narrative I knew, the one I had written in my previous life, was slowly, subtly, but surely, deviating. Me, changing the story is very minimal. No one can even notice it. Everything had also been fine until now.

I most certainly had not done major changes that could have affected-

Wait.

The email.

I remember, before I got transmigrated here, I received an unknown email where that person asks permission for revising my novel but I declined and that’s where my life turned upside down and got me here in this world.

’That fucking bastard!’ I cursed internally.

Why didn’t I think of this possibility? Why was I so relaxed this entire time? Live a comfortable life? No, that was impossible from the very start. Someone intentionally put me here and I’m going to find who this bastard is.

Whoosh!

Macaron landed swiftly and silently beside me on the bench, his large golden eyes fixed on me.

"Master, there are so many system notifications waiting for you." His voice, a soft hooting in my mind, broke through my internal turmoil.

I opened the system interface, my fingers hovering over the numerous notifications. I didn’t click on the usual blue ones. One notification, in particular, demanded my attention. It was glowing an ominous red, a stark contrast to the calming blue I was accustomed to.

————————————

Lack of Thrill

Problem: Lack of excitement for the main character and others. The readers get quickly bored by always easily winning the fight without a bit of struggle.

Solution: Make it harder, increase the stats of every villain the main characters will fight in the next upcoming events.

————————————

My mouth was agape, a silent scream threatening to escape. I couldn’t believe what I was reading. This was utterly, completely insane! So, if the readers were to abandon the story, the new author would just crank up the difficulty to an absurd degree, buffing the monsters and villains to the point where they could one-shot us? Was that it?!

So what if the readers got bored?! I didn’t even give a damn if they left a one-star rating or even cursed the entire story! This novel was already a mess from the start! I had finally run out of ideas, couldn’t continue it, and decided to drop it. And somehow, some random motherfucker decided to take it upon themselves to revise it?

That part, while annoying, I could almost stomach. What I absolutely hated was that this self-proclaimed "writer" had somehow transmigrated me into my own novel! How incredibly, utterly, undeniably fucked up was that?!

I couldn’t help it. The frustration, the anger, the sheer absurdity of the situation boiled over, and I let loose, cursing out loud.

"....This crazy dumbass motherfucker!!!"

"#$%!"

"$&+’*?!"

My sudden, violent outburst startled the people sitting nearby and those walking past. They began to subtly, and not so subtly, inch away. Even Macaron, usually unflappable, fluttered a few feet away, observing me with a concerned tilt of his head as I continued to cuss and began to kick and stomp the ground in my fury.

Some students who were milling around recognized me.

"Hey, isn’t that the girl who lit the trash can on fire?" one whispered, pointing.

"Hmm? You’re right," another replied, squinting.

"Why is she cussing in such a beautiful scenery?" a third wondered aloud, a hint of confusion in their voice.

"There are rumors about her, you know, that she’s crazy," a fourth student chimed in, a note of caution in their tone. "Let’s just leave her be."

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

Mercy Haven Hospital

The sterile hum of the hospital room was punctuated by the urgent voice of a news reporter emanating from a television mounted high on the wall.

"Breaking news!" the reporter announced, her voice tight with a mix of urgency and sorrow. "Around 2 P.M. today, monsters suddenly appeared in Monfort. Almost three hundred people were wounded, while ten of them were dead on arrival."

Aamon, his face etched with deep sorrow, let out a heavy sigh. His gaze was fixed on the patient lying in the hospital bed, his heart aching with each shallow breath she took.

Her pale complexion, devoid of its usual vibrant glow, felt like a physical stab to his chest. Despite the fact that she was now an adult, on the cusp of becoming a renowned Hero, in Aamon’s eyes, Angela would always be his little baby girl. The image of her, vulnerable and injured, was almost unbearable.

The television continued its grim report in the background. "According to the investigation, the group of monsters was led by a standard rank grade 4 Rogue, ’Razorthorn’. Apparently, this type of Rogue has just been newly discovered in Monfort, Aeonia. This Rogue’s features are of a human, but it has a purplish body, its arms are covered with thorns, and it can transform to any shape it wants to be. The Monfort’s Hero Association are now on the move, searching for the perpetrator, believing that the Rogue was brought in by a third party."

Just then, a flicker of movement drew Aamon’s attention back to the bed. Angela’s eyelids fluttered, and slowly, painstakingly, she began to open her eyes. Her gaze was unfocused at first, seemingly adjusting to the bright, artificial light of the room.

A wave of relief, mixed with continued worry, washed over Aamon. He immediately reached for the call button, his voice laced with urgency as he spoke into the intercom. "Doctor! She’s waking up!"

"Princess! You’re finally awake!" Aamon exclaimed, his voice thick with relief and concern. He rushed to her side, gently taking her hand. "How’s my baby feeling? Does it not hurt anymore?"

Angela’s voice was coarse, a dry whisper. "I-I’m... F-Fine Dad," she attempted to sit up, but a wince crossed her face, and she quickly gave up, sinking back into the pillows.

A doctor, who had rushed in at Aamon’s call, moved to check her pulse, but Angela gently pushed his hand away, a faint smile gracing her lips.

"I’m really fine, dad," she said, her voice a little stronger now. "Also, stop calling me princess, I’m already a lady." A soft chuckle escaped her lips, though it quickly turned into a cough.

"Alright, alright," Aamon conceded, though his brow remained furrowed with worry. "But just to be sure, we need to run a few more tests to make sure you’re really okay."

"It’s really okay, dad. I only have a minor injury. Besides, Awakened ones heal a lot faster than ordinary humans. Didn’t the doctor tell you?" Angela said, her gaze shifting towards the slightly flustered doctor.

"I-I did say it to Sir Forbes..." the doctor stammered, his words coming out unintentionally. He instantly regretted it, his eyes widening slightly. Aamon Forbes wasn’t just any concerned father; he was one of the most powerful figures in the country, a man who held a significant portion of the nation’s economy in his palm. The doctor knew that being on this man’s bad side would only make his life immeasurably more difficult.

Aamon’s gaze, which had been soft with concern for Angela, hardened as he looked at the doctor. The air in the room seemed to chill slightly. "Leave," he said, his voice low and devoid of emotion.

"Yes, sir." The doctor bowed his head hastily, a flush creeping up his neck, and practically ran out of the room, the door closing behind him with a quiet click.

Looking at the now-closed door, Angela spoke again, her voice softer this time. "...Dad."

"What is it, princess?" Aamon replied, his attention immediately returning to her, a flicker of anticipation in his eyes.

"Brother..." Angela trailed off, her voice barely a whisper, the word hanging in the air between them.