I CHOSE to be a VILLAIN, not a THIRD-RATE EXTRA!!
Chapter 192 - 192: Punishment(1)

As Frederick's voice lingered in the air, Althea closed her eyes and let her mind reconstruct the two spells—like threads weaving together in a delicate tapestry.

In her imagination, she saw the Impact Absorption spell shimmering faintly on the gate, its invisible barrier designed to absorb the force of a physical strike.

It was a clever piece of magic, a defensive ward that would instantly retaliate with a thunderous bolt of lightning once triggered.

But as she delved deeper into the mechanics, her brow furrowed in thought.

The spell's limitation was clear: it only responded to physical impacts.

Any magical attack, no matter how forceful, passed through the ward without setting off the Thunderbolt—the main trap's devastating trigger.

In effect, the spell was a perfect snare for those relying on brute strength, but a blind spot for any mage wielding spells to breach the gate.

This meant the trap was designed primarily as a defense against physical intrusions, leaving it vulnerable to magical assaults.

Yet even more puzzling than the spell's design was the question burning in her mind:

How had Adlet, without even being present, accurately predicted that the person who would approach his door would be an Aura user, not a mage?

Since Frederick had mentioned that Adlet was not inside his dormitory, it was clear to Althea that he had been waiting outside all along.

It wasn't difficult for her to connect the dots and realize that Adlet was the mastermind behind the entire setup.

'But how?' Althea's mind raced as she replayed the details. 'How did he know the person knocking on his door would be an Aura user?'

If it had been a mage, they could have easily detected the trap's presence through their magical senses and dispelled it without much trouble.

In that case, Adlet's entire plan would have crumbled to dust.

The precision of Adlet's foresight was almost unnerving.

Frederick broke the silence, muttering under his breath, "It's a pity, really. The mana signatures of the two spells don't match—he used Magic Scrolls to cast the spells."

He glanced at the faint, lingering traces of magic still swirling faintly around the gate, his tone tinged with a mix of disappointment and reluctant admiration.

Hearing Frederick's words, Althea's face tightened, nearly cracking under the weight of the realization.

Magic Scrolls were never intended for crafting durable traps—they were designed for quick, instantaneous spells.

A trap cast by a lower-ranked mage might persist for a week or two before gradually fading, but those created with Magic Scrolls were ephemeral, vanishing within mere hours.

This meant Adlet's plan had been set in motion only shortly before the party began, a carefully timed gamble executed with extreme precision.

The heavy silence in the stone-lined corridor was suddenly broken by Frederick's sharp declaration. "In the end, since I've caught a thief, it's time for punishment."

The Third Year's body stiffened, a cold shiver running down his spine. He was already struggling, his leg forced into an awkward, raised position that caused muscle cramps and trembling, but now the threat of retribution sent a fresh wave of fear coursing through him.

Frederick's gaze remained steady and unyielding. "Normally, the Disciplinary Committee would handle matters like this," he said, voice calm but laced with a hint of satisfaction. "However, since I'm present, I'll be skipping the formalities and proceeding directly to the punishment."

Though his words were measured, there was a faint smile hidden beneath his composed exterior.

Frederick knew that if he passed this mess over to the Disciplinary Committee, he'd be stuck running that tedious court—listening to the hearing, then counting votes, and delivering drawn-out judgments.

The mere thought of it made his patience evaporate. It sounded like a colossal pain in the ass, and honestly, he had better things to do.

"So," Frederick began, a sly grin tugging at the corner of his mouth, "since you decided to show your brilliant strength by kicking down the gate, I suppose I should return the favor by breaking one of your legs.

But, because I'm feeling unusually generous and the Disciplinary Committee isn't here to meddle, I'll let you pick—right leg or left leg? Make your choice."

The Third Year's face drained of color as his knees buckled beneath him. He collapsed to the cold stone floor, hands trembling as he covered his face.

Tears welled up and spilled over, tracing silent paths down his cheeks.

"P-Please forgive me…" he sobbed, his voice cracking under the weight of genuine panic. "I swear I'll never do it again… Please, Teacher Frederick, have mercy!"

Frederick let out a dry chuckle, shaking his head as he stepped closer. "Hey, why the sudden waterworks, idiot? I was just joking."

"T-Thank you, thank you, Teacher Frederick, for forgiving me," the Third Year stammered, a small, shaky smile breaking through as a single tear slipped down his cheek.

But before he could fully process his relief, the invisible force of mana around him gripped him even more tightly.

Raw mana surged through the air as His limbs stiffened as if held by unseen chains, and slowly, his body began to rise off the ground.

Suspended helplessly, he felt himself pushed backward—away from the safety of the handrail.

His feet left the solid floor, and suddenly, the cold, empty space of the compound stretched beneath him.

He was trapped in midair, four floors above the ground, with nothing but open space beneath his trembling form.

His wide eyes locked onto Frederick, who sat calmly on the handrail, a quiet expression of control etched across his face.

Frederick's voice carried across the open compound, laced with mockery. "Forgiveness? Who said anything about forgiveness, idiot?" He scoffed, amusement flickering in his sharp gaze.

"I was joking about giving you a choice. You get no choice. I will be breaking both of your legs."

With a deliberate motion, he raised his finger, then pointed downward delivering judgment.

The moment his finger shifted, the Third Year plummeted.

His body shot toward the ground as though an invisible force had seized him, dragging him down at an unnatural speed.

A bone-chilling scream tore through the courtyard. "AAAAAAAHHHHHHH!"

The agonized cry rang out, echoing between the Dormitory Building and the large compound.

All the spectators, the First, Second and Third Years flinched, instinctively averting their eyes as if turning away could soften the horror of what had just transpired.

He struck the ground with brutal force.

The impact sent dust billowing around his crumpled figure, his legs twisting at grotesque angles—limbs bent in ways they were never meant to be.

And yet, despite the terrible fall—from the fourth floor, no less—there was not a single drop of blood.

The realization dawned like an eerie whisper, unsettling even the most hardened onlookers. It was Frederick's handiwork.

His spell had safeguarded the Third Year's body, ensuring he remained intact except for the legs, which shattered on impact. A cruel, calculated precision.

Frederick had proved that he was a Man of His Word, nothing more was broken except of Two Legs.

"This shall serve as an example of what happens when you attempt robbery within the Academy," Frederick declared, his voice ringing through the corridor like the final note of a performance.

He clapped his hands once, the sharp sound cutting cleanly through the stunned silence. "Now, the show is over. First and Second Years—return to your rooms. Third Years, pick up your friend and take him to the infirmary."

His tone left no room for argument—only obedience.

As the students slowly began to disperse starting from the Second Years, still in shock from what they had witnessed, Zog stood frozen, his eyes fixed on the broken form of the Third Year sprawled out below.

'What kind of teacher is this guy? He's insane!' Zog thought, jaw slightly agape.

Frederick looked more like a whimsical executioner than an instructor.

Leon, meanwhile, remained quiet, his gaze locked on the unconscious Third Year whose body twitched faintly from the pain. Bloodless, intact, but ruined all the same.

'Did Adlet really intend for it to go this far… just from one message?' Leon wondered, disturbed not by what had happened, but by how little he felt.

No pity.

No guilt.

No discomfort.

Only the dull clarity of justice served.

He had been taught his whole life to help those in need, to offer a hand to anyone who had fallen.

But now, in the stillness after the storm, he asked himself something he never had before: 'Should I help someone who wanted to show tyranny over me? Someone who wanted to harm him in the name of protection'

His eyes lifted slightly to the sky. 'Is this truly your will, Goddess of Light?' he asked in silence.

Of course, there was no reply—only the fading echoes of a scream and the whisper of wind brushing through the courtyard below.

Meanwhile, the leading Third Year stood frozen, his body drenched in cold sweat.

Panic swirled inside him, not because of the punishment he had just witnessed—but because the First Years were being allowed to walk away.

He couldn't let that happen.

He had to report back to the Crown Prince.

But what was he supposed to say?

That he failed to impose the rules?

That he couldn't even collect the so-called "protection fees" from the new batch of students—all because of a single First Year who turned the situation completely upside down?

Even imagining the Crown Prince's cold, penetrating gaze sent a shiver down his spine.

That quiet, ruthless look that saw straight through people, as if measuring how much longer they were useful.

He knew what happened to those who weren't.

Serving the Prince was a choice—staying useful to him was not. The moment you lost your value, you lost everything. Power, status… even your life.

'Frederick may hold authority inside the Academy… but once we're outside those gates', the Third Year thought grimly, the Prince won't hesitate. 'He might kill me for failing something he had planned.'

'I should have taken responsibility for today's lead' thought the Third Year and Driven by desperation, and pushed by fear far greater than what Frederick had instilled, he swallowed hard and stepped forward.

His voice, though trembling, managed to carry across the courtyard.

"I… I would like to have some words with the First Years," he said, forcing himself to speak despite the storm brewing in his chest.

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