Shattered Innocence: Transmigrated Into a Novel as an Extra

Chapter 987: Not happening

’So this is what you meant…’

She remembered one of their earliest conversations—him standing just outside the mess hall, tossing an apple into the air like he didn’t care where it landed.

“They don’t care how smart you are. Or how strong. Not if you weren’t born with the right ink stamped on your name. You think it’s a meritocracy. I think it’s a really pretty lie.”

At the time, she’d thought he was exaggerating.

Over-dramatic.

Performative.

But now…

Now she wasn’t so sure.

It wasn’t just suspicion in these students’ voices. It was certainty. Not the kind earned through facts—but through entitlement. The belief that because they had followed the rules written for them, everyone else had to follow beneath them.

And Lucavion…?

Lucavion had never bowed once.

She could feel the crowd brimming now—ready to tip, not just with words but action. Anger and pride were dangerous when they had a rhythm.

And then—

Clap.

One, single, echoing clap.

Crisp.

Deliberate.

Mocking.

All eyes snapped to him.

Finally—finally—Lucavion moved.

He stepped forward with easy, unhurried grace, one hand sliding into the pocket of his long coat, the other brushing back his fringe like he’d just woken up from a nap and found himself center stage at a drama he hadn’t paid to attend.

And on his face?

That infuriating, perfect smirk.

Not defensive.

Not smug.

Just Lucavion—as if the last ten minutes had been a particularly boring prelude to his actual entrance.

“Here I thought I was the one who made scenes all the time…” he drawled, voice smooth and amused, pitched just loud enough to carry through the still air. “But I guess it’s my fate to be the star of the show.”

Valeria didn’t move.

But her mouth did.

Just a twitch.

Not from his words—but from the sheer timing.

That performer’s instinct. Always knowing exactly when to speak to get the maximum reaction.

And the reaction came.

“Star?”

“Did he just say star—after all this?”

The disbelief snapped into outrage with terrifying ease.

A ripple of movement broke through the front row—shoulders turning, feet stepping forward.

House D’Rion.

The boy who had spoken earlier, the one whose voice had carried with the weight of unearned certainty, now squared himself fully in Lucavion’s direction. His expression was taut with indignation, lips curled like he was tasting something sour.

“How dare you stand there and smirk after all this?” he said, voice sharp and theatrical, the kind that had been trained for court declarations more than battlefield commands. “You’ve embarrassed the Academy, violated the honor of the exam, and insulted every one of us who got here honestly. And now you—what—joke about it?”

Lucavion tilted his head slightly.

Not in apology.

But in interest.

Like he was genuinely curious what flavor of outrage would come next.

“Why not?” he said, cool and even, voice carrying despite its softness. “Am I wrong in what I said?”

There was a pause.

Tension strung so tight it trembled.

And the D’Rion boy did exactly what Lucavion had baited him into doing.

He stepped forward.

“You’re a shameless lowborn.”

The word snapped like a whip.

A few students flinched—not from shock, but from how fast the mask had slipped.

And Lucavion?

He blinked once.

Then raised a hand to his chest like he’d just been struck by poetry.

“Oof. There it is.”

He sighed—loudly, dramatically.

“See, I was wondering when someone would use the ’L’ word. You nobles always save it for when you run out of original insults.”

He turned slightly, eyes scanning the crowd now, as if surveying them for participation points.

“’Lowborn this, lowborn that.’ It’s like a verbal tick at this point. Really. Get a bit more creative, will you? Birth this, bloodline that. Has it ever occurred to anyone here that obsessing over who popped out of whose womb is the least impressive measure of ability?”

Gasps.

Sharp, indignant.

Some students turned red. A girl clutched her pendant like she might faint from offense.

Lucavion let the silence breathe—just enough for discomfort to settle.

Then, he smiled wider.

“And also,” he added, almost lazily, “why am I shameless again?”

D’Rion snapped back, voice tight with triumph like he’d been waiting for the opening.

“You cheated the exam!”

Lucavion raised a brow. “Did I?”

“Yes!” came the response, sharp and full of vindication. “You’re using an artifact to fake your flame—everyone knows it!”

Lucavion tilted his head, that amused light never quite leaving his eyes.

“Are you sure about that?”

His voice dropped slightly on the last word.

And something shifted.

Nothing obvious.

No crackle of mana, no visual pulse, no ripple in the air.

But D’Rion flinched.

Slight. Barely perceptible.

But it was there.

And Valeria saw it.

More importantly—she understood it.

Her eyes narrowed just slightly as she watched Lucavion’s expression shift. The curl of his mouth didn’t change—but his eyes had narrowed. A fraction. Enough to sharpen the smirk into something colder.

’He’s gotten better at it.’

Lucavion wasn’t flaring mana.

He was lacing intent.

And not even enough for the average mage to sense. Just a whisper of pressure, aimed only at the boy who stood across from him. Controlled. Targeted. Measured.

Valeria had seen him do this before. During their spars. During offhand encounters with arrogant challengers in the training fields. It was one of his quieter habits—one she’d come to recognize.

’He does that when he’s bored… or done pretending to be harmless.’

D’Rion staggered half a step—then caught himself, teeth clenched.

But it was too late.

Everyone had seen it.

A few students exchanged looks.

One even muttered, “Did he… flinch?”

D’Rion’s face went red.

He opened his mouth to recover, to say something—but before he could, a low voice cut across the air, smooth and stern.

“That’s enough.”

It didn’t echo like the previous instructor’s command. It didn’t rise like Elir’s theory-laced murmur.

It simply landed.

Weighted and final.

All heads turned.

An examiner who had, until now, remained seated behind the side table had risen—tall, lean, with slate-gray robes marked by the Academy’s seal of adjudication. His eyes were the quiet kind that missed nothing.

He didn’t look at Lucavion.

He looked at D’Rion.

“Whether you are right or wrong, you will not be permitted to provoke conflict during an official Academy trial.”

His tone was firm.

Measured.

But light.

Not dismissive—but careful.

As if very intentionally not turning this into more than it already was.

D’Rion stiffened.

“But—”

The examiner raised a hand.

The examiner raised a hand.

A quiet motion, but it landed—and D’Rion fell silent, jaw clenched.

“Enough, Cadet D’Rion,” the examiner said, with just enough firmness to reassert order, but not enough to leave a mark. “You’ve said your piece. Let us proceed.”

It was phrased as discipline.

But Valeria, sharp as ever, didn’t miss the angle of his gaze—the pause before he spoke again. The way he looked at Lucavion after neutralizing D’Rion.

It wasn’t warning.

It was… weighing.

And though neither she nor D’Rion realized it in the moment, the instructor’s restraint wasn’t meant to silence accusation.

It was meant to protect reputation.

House D’Rion was a founding family. The kind whose name was stitched into the Academy’s east wing. A public argument—especially one he was losing—would reflect poorly. Best to wrap it in formal language and move on.

But D’Rion didn’t see it.

He stepped back slowly, stiff with unresolved pride, still burning from the humiliation.

The examiner exhaled quietly, then turned toward Lucavion.

His tone shifted again—neutral now, with the kind of clipped professionalism one used when addressing anomalies best contained rather than explained.

“Student Lucavion’s case will be formally reviewed by the Arcane Committee and overseen by a designated evaluator from the Rune Block. Artifact authentication and affinity resonance testing will be repeated under controlled conditions.”

He gave the crowd a glance—sweeping, impersonal.

“For now, the Crystal Hall examination must continue. Any further disruptions will be considered obstruction of process and subject to penalty.”

That silenced the room more than anything else had.

“Tch….”

Though a click of tongue echoed into Valeria’s ears….