I Was Transmigrated As An Extraordinary Extra-Chapter 34

Friday’s first period class was on ’Domain Anomaly Analysis.’ From what the other students were grumbling about, it seemed we’d been assigned the most difficult theory class since we didn’t have any training today.

I sat down on a random seat near the back and immediately rested my head on my desk, intending to catch a few more minutes of sleep, when a voice jolted me awake.

"Sit down everyone," The professor walked in, a stack of papers in his hand. "Like I mentioned last time, you all will be having a written test."

A test was announced all of a sudden. Heartfelt groans and gasps were heard from all the students. It seemed that I wasn’t the only one hearing about this.

"What? Is there such thing?"

"How come I’ve never heard of it? How about you?"

"Really? I didn’t study at all!"

A series of panicked murmurs filled the classroom until the professor’s voice cut through the noise, "Quiet down now! We’ll begin in 3 minutes." The sound of rustling papers and frantic whispers intensified as students realized the test was imminent.

After what felt like an eternity, I finally received an exam sheet. My eyes scanned the page:

========================

Part 1. Test Description

Question 1. Describe the monster, ’Wyrmscale’.

Question 2. Name the three types of mana and describe.

Question 3. State the characteristics in which humans can manifest in the Domain Anomaly.

Question 4....

Question 5...

========================

It had a total of 20 questions. The problems’ difficulty and ambiguity were significantly higher than what I had imagined. A collective sigh went through the classroom the moment other students also read the problems, confirming that I wasn’t the only one struggling to make sense of them. This was going to be a long class.

’Psst. Macaron, can you hear me?’ I projected the thought into my mind.

"Master?" Macaron replied.

"Master?" Macaron’s familiar voice, though distant, echoed in my consciousness.

’Can you let me access the system even if you’re not beside me?’ I asked, hoping for a loophole to my predicament.

"Sorry but I can’t, Master. That’s beyond my power to do it," Macaron replied, his voice tinged with a hint of regret.

’...Okay, then I need you to be here but outside our classroom, can you do that?’ I pressed, a new strategy forming in my mind.

"Where are you sitting right now?" Macaron’s voice was closer now, a sign he was already on the move.

’Luckily, I’m seated near the window. Up here where I can see the training field,’ I described my location, hoping it would be enough for him to find me.

"..."

Silence. I hadn’t heard him answer back. A knot of worry began to form in my stomach. Had he been caught?

’Macaron?’ I thought, a little more urgency in my tone.

"Look here!" Macaron’s voice suddenly boomed in my mind, much clearer this time.

I instinctively looked outside the window I was sitting next to and saw Macaron waving his wings frantically as he clung precariously to a branch of a tree just outside the classroom. A wave of relief washed over me.

’Good! Now, open system window,’ I commanded in my mind, my gaze fixed on the small figure outside.

A soft hum resonated in my head, and a translucent hologram shimmered right before my eyes, visible only to me. It was the system interface.

’I know it’s cheating but I swear I’ll just do this once,’ I rationalized.

Of course, I knew I would get the problem wrong if any of my contents were changed, but that was even better. It meant I would learn more about the specific contents that the new author had altered. Besides, I didn’t want to perfect all my tests and arouse unnecessary suspicion.

"Huh?" I muttered, a frown creasing my brow.

The system window was flickering erratically. Lines of code blurred, icons distorted, and the text swam before my eyes.

’Macaron? The system’s glitching! What’s happening? Are you okay?’ I sent the urgent thought to Macaron outside.

"Mas— I don’t know— Sys—" Macaron’s voice was a jumbled mess of static and broken syllables in my mind. It was like trying to listen to a radio signal cutting in and out.

Then, with a final, abrupt flicker, the hologram vanished. The system shut down completely. The space in front of me was empty again. A cold wave of panic washed over me, and I felt a bead of sweat trace a path down my temple. I looked outside, my eyes scanning the tree branch where Macaron had been. He was gone.

’Macaron? Macaron!’ I mentally screamed, the silence in response amplifying my fear.

A desperate urge to bolt from my seat, to rush outside and search for him, surged through me. But the reality of the situation slammed into me. I was in the middle of an exam. I was trapped. All I could do was stare at the clock on the wall, the seconds ticking away with agonizing slowness, as I frantically try to finish my test.

’3 minutes more...’ I thought, the countdown a cruel reminder of my helplessness.

Just as the pressure was becoming unbearable, a soft hum returned, and the hologram reappeared, brighter and more stable than before. A new notification box popped up, overlaying the system interface.

[Congratulations for surpassing the initial day in surviving in this world! As a reward, the system will be updated!]

[Your gift has also been strengthened!]

[Updating... 1%]

...

...

’What’s happening right now? Where did Macaron go?’ I thought worriedly, the system update and the congratulatory message completely overshadowed by the disappearance of my pet.

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

3 PM, Sunrise Brew, Monfort

There was a regular meeting that is held every 3rd week of the Friday, which was called as ’Aristocrat’s Association’ which is organized by Whitney. The purpose of creating the Aristocrat’s Association was to create a network of important connections especially for Whitney. This will likely help her in her future endeavors and if she ever had a problem.

However, it was clear that Angela, who was considered a key figure in the group, didn’t entirely align with Whitney’s vision for the Aristocrat’s Society.

Where Whitney saw a platform for serious networking and professional advancement, Angela viewed the so-called meetings more as a casual reunion with her childhood friends.

This suggested that while Angela undoubtedly valued the social aspect of the group and the comfort of familiar faces, she likely didn’t attach the same importance to building professional connections or furthering her own career goals through these gatherings. For her, it was less about climbing a ladder and more about enjoying the company of those she cared about.

Today’s meeting was held at a famous coffee shop in Monfort. Sunrise Brew

Only Whitney and Edge were present so far. Whitney, ever the meticulous organizer, had, of course, rented the entire place out, ensuring their privacy amidst the usual afternoon bustle.

As usual, whenever Edge was around, Whitney’s reserved demeanor melted away, replaced by a more talkative style. She seemed to become a different person in his presence.

"How are your grades?" Whitney began, a hopeful lilt in her voice.

"Good," Edge replied, his tone flat and devoid of any particular enthusiasm.

Whitney pressed on, a hint of playful challenge in her voice. "Really? The Edge I know isn’t satisfied unless he gets first place."

"Like I said, it’s good enough," Edge reiterated, his gaze distant, suggesting his thoughts were elsewhere.

"...Okay," Whitney said, a slight deflate in her tone. She recognized the familiar wall he could sometimes put up. It was obvious that Edge wasn’t interested in engaging in pleasantries right now, and she wisely decided to stop pressing the matter.

Cling!

Clang!

The cheerful chime of the door announced an arrival, cutting through the quiet lull that had settled between them. Both Edge and Whitney instinctively turned their heads towards the entrance, anticipation flickering in their eyes.

Angela, as she walked into the scene, exuded a sense of confidence and androgyny. Her attire, which consisted of blue jeans and a black jacket over a slightly see-through white shirt, was quintessentially Angela’s style. The outfit was both casual and sophisticated, a perfect blend of masculine and feminine elements.

As she moved, her stride was unmistakably masculine - strong, purposeful, and lacking any unnecessary femininity. Yet, despite this boldness, her elegant figure was what truly stole the show. Her curves were subtle yet striking, accentuating the perfect blend of toughness and feminity.

"Angela? What a surprise, I didn’t know you would come today!" Edge’s voice, previously flat and distant, suddenly held a noticeable hint of excitement as he raised a hand in greeting.

Angela, having surveyed the unusually empty coffee shop with a curious eyebrow raised, walked over to their table.

"There’s something missing... Where did your ’servants’ go?" Angela asked, a wry amusement in her voice.

In Angela’s eyes, Edge was a person perpetually surrounded by a retinue of "lackeys." These individuals, often the scions of powerful corporations or influential guilds, were drawn to Edge’s inherent status and the aura of power that surrounded him. Despite his frequent assertions of genuine friendship with these people, Angela could see through the pretense; these so-called "friends" were clearly placing Edge on a pedestal, orbiting around him more out of deference than true camaraderie.

"They’re not my servants, they’re my friends. They can’t come since they’re busy training and studying," Edge said, a playful smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. He seemed to enjoy teasing her.

"Hah! I’m surprised! You’re so-called friends also prepare for exams?" Angela sarcastically commented before sitting down.

"Nevermind them, how did you do on the written test?" Edge said while smiling, quickly shifting the topic.

"Are you making fun of me?" Angela said, her eyes narrowing slightly, a hint of suspicion in her voice.

"No, it’s just that you asked whether the other guys were preparing for exams so... I also asked whether you did well on your exam?" Edge said, his smile widening, a picture of feigned innocence.

"...That’s different. I’m talking about the combat exam. Who cares if you’re good at history..." Angela said, dismissing the importance of the written test with a wave of her hand, her priorities clearly leaning towards the more practical and physical aspects of their studies. The contrast between her focus and Edge’s seemingly casual approach to academics was evident.

Unlike his interactions with Whitney, Edge seemed to radiate energy as he engaged in conversation with Angela, his attention was fully captured and his interest in hearing her responses were obvious. Angela’s replies, however, remained as usual — unremarkable and unresponsive.

Whitney just sat there silently drinking her coffee as she watched the scene unfold in front of her.

As Whitney observed Edge’s conversation with Angela, she couldn’t help but notice the subtle changes in his appearance. His soft smile and kind eyes, a warmth she rarely saw only seemed to appear when he talked to Angela. His usual carefully constructed mask of indifference seemed to crumble in Angela’s presence, revealing a more open and engaged side of him.

The look on his face, the genuine warmth directed at someone else, didn’t sit well with Whitney, leaving her feeling a sense of unease and a slight tinge of jealousy that coiled in her stomach. She gnashed her teeth tightly as she grabbed the cup of coffee she had ordered for Angela and, with a subtle surge of her magic power, intentionally heated it up. The ceramic cup grew warm in her hand then she simply pushed the near to Angela.

"By the way, do you know Remillia Lockhart?" Angela suddenly asked her.

Instantly, Whitney’s carefully maintained composure was completely destroyed as she unintentionally joined the conversation, the name catching her off guard. "Remillia?" she echoed, her voice a little too sharp, a hint of surprise in it.

"Yep. The girl who chose dagger," Angela said, providing a more specific identifier, though it wasn’t strictly necessary for Whitney.

"What about her?" Whitney said, trying to regain her nonchalant demeanor, though the edge of curiosity remained.

Angela’s face immediately severely distorted, the casual amusement vanishing instantly, as she suddenly stared at Whitney, her gaze intense and probing. "What do you think about that witch, Whitney?" she asked, her voice laced with venom, the word "witch" dripping with disdain.

Whitney’s mind raced back to their past encounters. She always saw Remillia as a nobody, someone who was best ignored. But now, she wasn’t so sure. There was something about her that seemed...different unlike the others.

Her instincts told her to keep her true thoughts hidden, so she forced a nonchalant tone into her voice.

"Oh her? She’s just a nobody," Whitney lied, shrugging slightly, trying to appear dismissive.

"Ugh! She’s hiding something, I’m sure of it," Angela said, her frustration palpable. She grabbed her cup of coffee with a rough, aggressive motion, as if trying to crush it in her hand.

Whitney’s eyes widened in surprise as she watched Angela’s face contort with anger, her pupils dilating with a mix of fury and frustration. The coffee, already heated by Whitney’s magic, splashed dangerously inside the cup.

Edge just stared at Angela, seemingly amused by her cute angry reaction, a slight smile playing on his lips, and asked her a question, his tone still light despite Angela’s sudden shift in mood. "Why? Did she do something to you?"

"You really don’t know? The incident at the National Weapons Gallery?" Angela spat, her voice low and menacing, the casual atmosphere of the coffee shop suddenly feeling charged with tension.

"There’s a Rogue that suddenly appeared. Then, Remillia here—" Angela paused, the frustration evident on her face, then swallowed the coffee with a gulp, a large, hurried swallow. However, as soon as the coffee hit her mouth, her eyes widened instantly, and she immediately spat it out, the hot liquid spraying onto the table.

"Aaack! Fucking fuck, it’s hot! Why didn’t you tell me this is coffee?! I need water! Water!" Angela cried out, her voice hoarse and raw from the burn, her eyes wide with pain and surprise, as a tear fell down her cheek.

Whitney quickly moved, trying to console Angela, reaching out a hand, trying to calm her down with soothing words.

But Angela still hasn’t calmed down. She looked around frantically, still panting from the shock and pain, her eyes darting around the cafe until she spotted a glass of cold water on the table.

She quickly grabbed it and gulped it down, the cool liquid providing instant relief. "Ugh! That witch must have heard that I’ve been talking about her," she groaned, wincing in pain, blaming Remillia for her misfortune.

As Angela sat back down, her face still flushed with embarrassment from the incident, Edge couldn’t help but tease her gently, a playful glint in his eyes. "You still haven’t changed, have you?" he said with a smile, referring to her dramatic reactions.

Angela shot him a dark look, her still stinging tongue making her words slightly slurred, and muttered, "Shut up," still wincing in pain and annoyance.

Coughing slightly, clearing her throat. Angela continued where she left off, trying to regain her composure and the thread of her story. "Obviously, the Rogue that attacked us was a bit stronger than we thought so I—" She stopped in her tracks, a sudden wave of embarrassment washing over her. She didn’t want to tell her embarrassing moment of that day, that day where she was humiliatingly choked by a Rogue and she can’t do anything about it that time, a moment of weakness she preferred to keep hidden.

"...I— I mean we struggled a bit in killing that Rogue but how can an ordinary student like her deal such lethal damage to a Rogue?" Angela continued, carefully editing her story to exclude her own vulnerability, focusing instead on Remillia’s actions.

They couldn’t fully understand what she was saying, the details of the incident still unclear, so Whitney asked again, her tone flat and matter-of-fact, cutting through Angela’s rambling. "We didn’t understand a thing. What are you saying?"

"I don’t want to repeat it again! It’s like telling a bedtime story!" Angela protested, waving a hand dismissively, clearly not wanting to recount the entire embarrassing ordeal. "But just so you know, she was far away from the Rogue but she somehow, accurately, targeted the Rogue’s heart and killed it with just one hit! With just a dagger! A dagger! How crazy is that?" Angela’s words tumbled out, leaving a stunned silence in their wake as the weight of her statement settled on the two.

The room was filled with an uncomfortable atmosphere as they tried to wrap their minds around the absurdity of Angela’s statement. Targeting a Rogue’s heart with a dagger? It was almost unbelievable, something that sounded more like a fantastical tale than a real-life event, especially coming from an "ordinary student." It was hard to believe without seeing it in person.

Whitney rubbed her chin thoughtfully, her eyes furrowed in concentration, her earlier dismissal of Remillia as a "nobody" suddenly feeling insufficient. She had seen Remillia fight before, during training exercises, and it was true that she was quick and agile but she couldn’t quite imagine her having the raw attack power to kill a Rogue with just a dagger. It defied conventional understanding of combat.

Just as the tension was starting to build, Angela suddenly spoke up again, her voice laced with a new, unsettling thought. "Ah wait," Her eyes darted nervously between Whitney and Edge, a hesitant question forming on her lips. "Could it be that she’s... a Rogue herself?"

The air in the cafe seemed to freeze. Edge’s smile, which had been lingering from his earlier teasing, faltered, replaced by a look of serious consideration. Whitney’s eyes widened in shock. The idea was preposterous, yet Angela’s description of Remillia’s impossible feat made it linger uncomfortably.

"Angela, don’t say such things!" Whitney pointed out, trying to inject reason into the sudden, wild speculation. "If she was a Rogue, she wouldn’t have attacked her fellow Rogue, would she?" Her argument was sound, based on the known behavior of Rogues, who rarely turned on their own unless provoked or challenged for dominance.

Angela sighed, the initial shock of her own suggestion fading as she considered Whitney’s point. She decided to end their conversation about Remillia, the topic feeling increasingly unsettling. "I guess... You’re right. However, there’s really something about her, I just can’t quite point it out."

"So you don’t like her then?" At that moment, Edge, who had been listening without a word, his expression unreadable, broke his silence. His question was simple, yet the two girls immediately understood the hidden meaning behind his words.

Edge’s interest in someone, or lack thereof, held significant weight. His favor, or disfavor, could drastically impact a person’s standing and opportunities.

Angela thought long and hard on how to answer. She knew his personality well, his tendency to be decisive and influential. Depending on her answer, that girl’s future would change drastically. A simple "yes" could potentially lead to Remillia facing scrutiny, suspicion, or even active opposition from Edge and those who aligned with him. A simple "no" might lead to Edge leaving the girl alone.

After a bit of consideration, weighing the potential consequences of her words, Angela replied briefly, choosing a carefully ambiguous response. "Yes and no."