The Extra Who Shouldn't Exist
Chapter 86 : Getting scolded by someone hot

Chapter 86: Chapter 86 : Getting scolded by someone hot

Alex slowly opened his eyes.

His blurry vision gradually focused on the sterile white ceiling above him. For a long second, he simply stared at it, blinking slowly, as if his brain was still buffering reality. The steady hum of fluorescent lights filled the silence, oddly calming.

Then the pain hit him.

A dull, throbbing ache bloomed at the base of his skull and radiated across his body like aftershocks from an explosion. He let out a groan, clutching his head.

"Aah—damn..."

His thoughts struggled to realign themselves. Where was he? Why did his body feel like it had gone twelve rounds with a mutant gorilla?

And then, the memories came crashing back.

"Oh right... I was in a duel with the Prez," he muttered to himself. "When nothing worked... I used the fifth form of my sword art."

He rubbed his eyes slowly, trying to sit up, only for a stabbing pain in his side to argue otherwise. With a grimace, he leaned back into the pillow.

"But... what the hell happened?" he muttered. "Did I win or lose?"

His eyes scanned the surroundings for answers—white walls, softly beeping monitors, faint antiseptic scent in the air. An IV was hooked into his arm, and his body felt like someone had parked a truck on top of it.

He sighed.

"Looks like I’m in the infirmary... and I got my ass kicked."

Despite himself, he gave a weak chuckle.

"Hah. All this trouble just for getting

hospitalized."

Then a thought crossed his mind.

A smirk crept onto his lips.

"Well, at least I landed a strike on her... she better keep her end of the deal."

The looking around as if he was looking for someone in the room.

"If I’m really in the infirmary, where is the hot-looking doctor who scolds you for getting hurt, just like in every anime and manga?" he said aloud, half-joking, half-hopeful. "Where’s my tsundere nurse with a clipboard and attitude?"

As if the universe decided to humor his suffering, the automatic doors to his left slid open with a soft hiss.

And in walked a woman.

She looked like she was in her mid-twenties, perhaps a little older. Her long, forest-green hair was pulled into a high ponytail, with loose strands framing a heart-shaped face that was strikingly symmetrical.

Her skin was pale and flawless, and her black eyes shimmered with a sharp, clinical glint that could probably dissect someone from across the room.

She wore a crisp white coat over a sleek navy uniform, tailored to fit her athletic frame—one that balanced grace and strength.

She had the kind of beauty that didn’t need makeup or accessories. A natural elegance, marred only by her aura of indifference.

Alex blinked. "Whoa... You’ve gotta be kidding me."

Without even sparing him a greeting, the woman strode toward his bed, holding a holo-clipboard. Her eyes flicked over his vitals before glancing down at him with clinical indifference.

"Well, congratulations," she said, voice sharp as polished steel. "You managed to break three ribs. Four cracked ribs. Torn deltoid and bicep on your right arm.

Hairline fracture in the left femur. Concussion. Severe mana overuse. Internal bleeding—now healed thanks to nanite infusion—and a shredded magical circulatory system that’s only barely reformed after external intervention."

She tapped her clipboard with a pen that appeared from nowhere, like a magic trick designed to intimidate patients.

"Also," she continued flatly, "your mana circuits were completely destabilized for approximately seven minutes, during which your nervous system partially shut down. Honestly, it’s a miracle you didn’t spontaneously combust. Or worse—explode like some overcooked mana chicken."

Alex stared at her, eyes wide.

Then, slowly, he brought his hands together.

And started to pray.

A soft, reverent smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. His fingers interlocked, his expression one of serene bliss—as if some cosmic wish had been granted.

The green-haired woman paused mid-sentence, momentarily thrown off. Her sharp gaze softened just a touch.

Was he... praying? Was he thanking the gods for surviving?

Her posture relaxed slightly. For someone who’d been through that much, it wasn’t surprising.

"...I suppose gratitude is natural after surviving something that ridiculous," she said, voice gentler now.

Unbeknownst to her, Alex was giving a very different kind of gratitude.

Yes. Thank you, Gods. I finally got the archetype—hot, scary medical lady with razor-sharp wit. I’m living the dream of an anime protagonist.

He fought the urge to grin like an idiot.

And failed.

Seeing his expression shift, she raised a brow, suspicious. But before she could comment, Alex blinked and quickly composed himself, giving her a sheepish grin.

"So uh... what’s your name, doc?" he asked.

Her eyes narrowed.

She replied, raising her clipboard again like it was a shield.

"Melissa Wizz. Lead Medical Officer, Zenith Academy. In charge of keeping reckless idiots like you from dying."

Alex gave a wobbly thumbs-up. "Nice to meet you, Dr. Wizz. Thanks for patching me up."

She exhaled through her nose, but there was a faint hint of a smile.

"Try not to end up here again. We have a limit on how many morons we’re allowed to resurrect per semester."

"Noted."

She looked at him for a moment longer, then tapped her earpiece. The automatic door behind her gave another soft hiss.

Alex blinked. "Someone at the door?"

Melissa gave a knowing look.

"Looks like they came again to check on you."

Alex tilted his head. "They?"

She smirked. "Care to take a guess?"

Realization dawned.

"Oh no... it’s my friends, isn’t it?"

She nodded.

"They’ve been visiting you almost every day," she said with a rare softness in her tone. "Even sat here while you were unconscious. You should talk to them—they’ve been worried sick."

That made Alex pause. His usual sarcasm faded.

"...Really?" he asked quietly.

Melissa nodded again.

"You’ve been out for three weeks."

Alex’s eyes went wide. "I’ve been here that long?!"

Melissa immediately scowled, poking him lightly in the forehead with her pen.

"Relax. You’ve only been unconscious for three weeks. But considering the condition you were in, that’s a miracle in itself."

Alex let out a breath of relief, laughing softly.

"Right... right..."

She turned toward the door. "Well then. I’ll leave you to it."

And with that, Melissa Wizz stepped aside, allowing the door to open fully.

---

Meanwhile, within the highest spire of Zenith Academy, the grand doors of the Headmaster’s office stood shut—insulated from the chaotic buzz of students.

Inside, Headmaster Aldric Verlane sat behind his ornate obsidianwood desk, fingers interlocked in thought. The warm afternoon sun filtered through tall arched windows behind him, casting long golden shadows across the room.

Shelves stacked with ancient tomes, relics in stasis-crystals, and a wall-hung broadsword that once belonged to a war hero decorated the space with prestige and power.

Across from him stood Selena Vega—homeroom teacher of Class 1-A, dressed in her standard black-and-silver instructor’s coat, arms crossed and expression sharp as ever.

"Are you sure about sending these footages, Headmaster?" Selena asked, brows drawn together. "Some of these duels were... intense. And publicizing them might draw attention."

Aldric looked up from his desk and offered a calm, reassuring smile. His silver-rimmed glasses caught a glint of sunlight as he leaned back in his chair.

"Don’t worry, Selena. Sending these recordings to the major guilds will only help the students—especially those struggling financially," he said, voice smooth but commanding. "They’ll gain access to training opportunities, mentorship, resources. Many of the guilds have already pledged sponsorships. And they also promised me to keep it confidential."

He steepled his fingers.

"I’ve made it very clear their safety is the top priority. And they know better than to cross me."

There was a glint in his eye—a subtle reminder of his reputation. Aldric Verlane was not just the Headmaster of Zenith Academy. He was a Transcendent-rank powerhouse of the highest importance in the world, once known as Bane of the Abyss. The guilds wouldn’t dare go against his word.

Selena nodded slowly.

"Very well. And what about the duel footage of the top cadets in Class 1-A? Shall we send those as well?"

Aldric gave a firm nod.

"Yes. The top guilds are especially interested in seeing how our prodigies performed against second-years. It gives them an early grasp of who might be worth getting trained by their guild master—or who might become their disciple if their talent shines too bright."

He tapped a crystal interface on his desk. A series of duel clips played for a few seconds in the air above them—flashes of steel, elemental magic, powerful exchanges between students.

"In fact," Aldric added, "the Sword Emperor himself personally requested footage of Ethan’s duel."

Selena’s eyes flickered in surprise.

"The Sword Emperor... I see. Then I’ll include it in the priority batch."

She turned as if to leave, then paused, hesitating for a moment.

"And what about Alex Dragonheart? Should we send his duel footage too?"

At that, Aldric went completely silent.

A long pause stretched between them. The air in the room seemed to still.

Then, he leaned forward slightly, gaze focused and unreadable.

"No," he said at last, voice low.

"Do not send his footage."

Selena tilted her head.

"Is there a reason—?"

"That’s not for the guilds to see," Aldric cut her off gently but firmly. "Not yet."

Understanding she wouldn’t get more than that, Selena gave a small bow.

"As you wish, Headmaster."

She turned and strode toward the door, her coat fluttering softly behind her. The doors slid open with a quiet hum and closed again behind her, leaving Aldric alone with his thoughts.

The sunlight had shifted. Shadows now stretched longer across the room, darkening the edges of the polished floor.

Aldric sighed.

He closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair, letting the silence settle.

"That kid is really going to be trouble."

He didn’t say it with malice.

He said it with a strange mixture of weariness... and anticipation.

---

A/N:

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