I CHOSE to be a VILLAIN, not a THIRD-RATE EXTRA!!-Chapter 141: Teacher Bully

The old man's eyes sparkled with unrestrained curiosity, a rare sight that made Ashok feel an odd sense of déjà vu.

'No matter who it is—that shorty or this old crook—they all have the same look in their eyes when they find something that piques their interest,' Ashok mused internally, resisting the urge to sigh at how predictable they could be.

Feigning indifference, he moved to pick up the Art Manuals and his ID card from the desk, his motions fluid, deliberate—only to be stopped short.

The old man's hand landed firmly on top of his ID card.

"Don't go acting all smart, boy. What is this about you rejecting the offer of being his Inheritor?" His voice, though controlled, carried an unmistakable edge of intrigue.

Ashok met his gaze without hesitation. "Why do you care now? Weren't you the one telling me to 'Get Lost'? So why take an interest in someone who's already on their way out?"

His tone was calm, but there was an unmistakable challenge beneath it.

The old man scoffed, shaking his head. "Sly brat! What do you want to open that damn mouth?"

"Diamond Pass," Ashok stated without hesitation.

A flicker of irritation crossed the old man's face. "Do you even know what you're asking?"

Ashok didn't flinch. "Forget it," he said, grabbing the Art Manuals, ready to take his leave.

But the old man didn't let go.

"Bronze Pass," he countered

"This is information about someone who stands at a caliber equal to yours," Ashok stated, his voice unwavering.

"Do you think a mere Bronze Pass is enough? A Gold Pass—anything less isn't even worth my time."

The old man scoffed, though there was a flicker of contemplation in his sharp gaze. "Silver Pass—or I can ask someone else."

"Deal," Ashok accepted without hesitation. If anything, the old man offering a Silver Pass without testing him first was already surprising.

A slow realization settled in the old man's mind as he found himself tricked by this kid, and his expression shifted.

A subtle smirk tugged at the corners of his lips. "You really don't feel like a student to me."

Ashok met his gaze evenly. "What do I feel like, then?"

"You look more like the offspring of a demon," the old man mused, his amusement barely concealed.

Ashok didn't react the way the old man had expected—no irritation, no defensiveness. Instead, he merely replied, "I should pity my parents, then."

The old man huffed, tapping his fingers against the desk.

"Explain everything in detail," he demanded, though Ashok was certain he saw the old man's ears twitch in anticipation.

"First, the Silver Pass," Ashok countered.

"I'm not running anywhere," the old man said, his voice edged with impatience.

"And I'm also not running anywhere," Ashok replied, his crimson gaze unwavering, locked onto the ID card still trapped beneath the old man's firm grip.

A brief silence stretched between them before the old man finally relented. "Fine!"

A small magic circle formed beneath his palm, its intricate patterns glowing for a brief moment before fading into Ashok's ID card.

The deal was sealed.

Ashok moved to check his ID card, but before his fingers could graze the surface, the old man swiftly swatted his hand away.

"What?" the old man asked, his voice edged with impatience.

"Let me check," Ashok replied, his tone calm, yet firm.

The old man scoffed. "What is there to check? You dare doubt a teacher?"

"I doubt everyone in the world," Ashok said without hesitation. "You're no exception."

Under the old man's stern gaze, Ashok picked up his ID card, flipping it over to inspect the change.

Beside the Golden Hammer symbol, a new insignia shimmered—a Silver-Colored Book, proof of his newly granted access.

"You better not start spouting nonsense now," the old man warned, his eyes narrowing.

"Fine," Ashok said, slipping the card away as he began to narrate his encounter inside the Weapon Hall.

The old man's reactions were priceless.

As Ashok spoke, the old man listened intently, snickering every now and then, offering intermittent commentary—his amusement evident.

"You truly said the weapons were good at best? HAHAHA! I should've been there to see that dwarf's face!

That fool treasures his creations like children—must've been a devastating blow to his pride."

Ashok continued, and the old man interjected again.

"You have knowledge of runes? Hah! Quite a surprise. Not that it matters much to me. Keep going."

Then came the moment that truly delighted him.

"You rejected him—even knowing he's a Grade 6 Blacksmith? HAHAHA! Serves him right! If only I'd been there… I would have recorded every second of his reaction!"

His laughter echoed through the room, filled with pure amusement at the thought of witnessing Hamiel's misery firsthand.

As Ashok continued narrating his encounter to the old man, the atmosphere in the hall subtly shifted.

One by one, students began to gather, drawn in by the unusual sight unfolding before them.

Eyes flickered toward Adlet, watching his interaction with the in-charge of the Arts and Spell Hall.

What caught their attention most, however, wasn't just the exchange—it was the reaction of the in-charge.

His complete focus on Adlet, his utter disregard for the growing crowd, sent an unspoken message: their conversation was of greater importance than the presence of dozens of students waiting their turn.

No one dared to interrupt.

They all remembered the wrath of Teacher Hamiel—and none wished to invoke the fury of another high-ranking teacher who, by all accounts, seemed to be enjoying the best moment of his day.

Among the observing students, opinions varied.

Alina scoffed internally, her expression unreadable. 'This bastard has no shame—bootlicking every single teacher', she thought, her annoyance growing as she watched the interaction unfold.

Roan's gaze lingered on Ashok, a mix of curiosity and frustration swimming in his mind. 'We all get the same amount of time, yet he somehow does something different from everyone—yet again.'

Elira's thoughts were colder, sharper. She looked on with distaste, her perspective of Ashok sinking further. 'Seeking favors from teachers… What truly insignificant beings'.

Mira and Zog, though silent, found the situation intriguing.

Teacher Mia arrived alongside the last remaining students, her sharp eyes scanning the gathered crowd with suspicion.

She had been with them the entire time, ensuring that no further disruptions occurred—but now, seeing this unexpected commotion, her thoughts sharpened. 'What is going on?'

Despite each student that came with her held an Art Manual in their grasp, not a single one of them looked satisfied.

The frustration was palpable.

Their precious time had been squandered—first by Ashok, then by Mia's announcement of their punishment.

As a result, they had the least time to carefully choose their manuals, and now, the bitterness of wasted opportunity gnawed at them.

A free Art Manual was not something to be taken lightly. To have that chance stripped away so carelessly—it was enough to stoke resentment.

Moving past the students, Mia's gaze landed on Adlet, deep in conversation with Senior Frederick.

The scene unfolding before her was strange—Adlet, casually recounting the events inside the Weapon Hall, while Frederick listened intently, laughing at his words.

Her brows furrowed.

"Senior Frederick," Mia said, stepping forward, inserting herself between them.

"What!?" Frederick barked, his irritation flaring. His piercing gaze locked onto Mia with a clear look of displeasure on his face.

Mia flinched inwardly, the force of his stare catching her off guard—but she steeled herself, refusing to show weakness in front of the gathered students.

"Senior," she said firmly, "the students are waiting for registration."

Frederick exhaled sharply, his amusement vanishing. Without a word, he reached beneath his desk, pulled out a thick book, and tossed it at Mia.

Mia instinctively caught the thick book, the weight of it pressing against her palms.

Her eyes flickered up in shock, unable to mask her surprise at Senior Frederick's sudden behavior.

He had tossed the registration ledger at her as though it were nothing more than an afterthought.

Her mind raced, but she quickly reined in her expression.

In terms of hierarchy, Frederick was the superior of her direct superior—he stood at a level she could never openly challenge.

She knew better than to question him, even if his indifference was unexpected.

What unsettled her even more was a revelation she hadn't considered before.

Unlike Teacher Hamiel, Mia had never had many chances to interact with him, so she didn't knew that he liked gossiping.

He was a man of solitude, known for keeping to himself, rarely making his presence known unless absolutely necessary.

She had assumed he preferred silence, discipline, order.

And yet—here he was, completely absorbed in Ashok's words, his attention solely focused on the student instead of his responsibilities.

Frederick barely spared her another glance as he waved her off.

"What's with the shocked look on your face?" he asked, his tone dismissive. "You handle the registration procedure—I'm busy."

Busy?

Mia clenched her jaw, suppressing her irritation. He was completely ignoring his duty—all because of a student?

From the sidelines, the gathered students watched in silence, unable to believe what was unfolding before their eyes.

'The teacher is being bullied… by a student?'

The thought rippled through the crowd as they observed the exchange.

A Senior Teacher had completely disregarded another teacher just to indulge in idle conversation. The blatant favoritism, the hierarchy of influence—it was undeniable.

Mia exhaled sharply, composing herself. There was no point in arguing.

With a cold, detached expression, she flipped open the ledger and began the registration process herself.

None of the students dared to speak.

They could see it—her restrained frustration, the rigid movements, the sharpness in her gaze. She wasn't simply annoyed.

She was furious.