Shattered Innocence: Transmigrated Into a Novel as an Extra

Black fire.

The moment the flame bloomed from his palm, the entire hall seemed to exhale.

A sharp, collective breath—one held unconsciously—was finally released.

There it was.

Exactly as they had seen it during the entrance exam broadcast. The same black fire, strange and silent, laced with hints of violet that shimmered along its edges like bruised starlight. It didn't roar. It didn't flicker with instability. It hovered—steady, unnerving in its stillness, as though obeying something deeper than mere mana.

But as the awe settled… doubt crept in.

You could see it in the glances traded between students, in the furrowed brows of instructors, in the way admiration quickly twisted into something more skeptical—defensive.

"…I told you, no one can be that strong—"

"—it's too consistent, can't be natural—"

"—what, you think he has an artifact? That bastard—"

"I knew it. That commoner Lucavion—he must have been cheating."

The words came sharp, bitter.

Some out of jealousy. Some out of fear.

Because power without explanation was dangerous.

And if Lucavion had no affinity—none at all—then what was this?

A boy in the second row shook his head, arms crossed tight across his chest. "No one just makes fire like that. If he has no affinity, then it's gotta be an artifact."

"He's hiding something," another muttered.

This time, louder.

More confident.

It was the kind of certainty that didn't need proof—only agreement.

And in the Crystal Hall, agreement came quickly.

"He must've rigged the entrance test."

"There's no way that fire came from someone without an affinity."

"Maybe the broadcast was edited—enhanced. Or he used an external glyph hidden in his clothes. Some forbidden conduit—"

"It doesn't matter how he faked it. The spheres don't lie. They've never failed before."

That line stuck.

The spheres don't lie.

The orbs used in the Crystal Hall were some of the most advanced magical constructs in the empire—artifacts developed in the capital, refined over decades, blessed by the Arcanist Council themselves. Their precision was famed across all of Arcanis. Magisters had wagered reputations on them.

And now?

They had read nothing.

So for the gathered crowd, the only explanation left was the one they wanted to believe.

Lucavion had cheated.

Valeria could hear it in their voices—the shift in tone.

Less curiosity.

More contempt.

And not just for the mystery.

For him.

For what he represented.

Because no matter how polished his fire was, no matter how calmly he stood there beneath their suspicion, one truth remained written in their minds:

He wasn't one of them.

He hadn't been born in a house with a crest.

He hadn't grown up with private tutors or heritage sigils or family-bound relics passed down through blood.

He was a commoner.

A wildcard.

And now that the system couldn't explain his power, the nobles didn't question the system.

They questioned him.

Valeria's fingers curled slightly at her side.

She recognized that tone. That edge.

Not fear. Not reason.

Just the cold, brittle disdain of people offended that someone had dared to exceed the boundaries they thought were fixed.

'I've heard that tone before…'

She remembered how it was when she investigated before raiding the territories of the criminal nobles who were affiliated with the Cloud Heavens Sect's child trafficking network.

She remembered the secret reports passed to her by loyal aides—on lineage violations, forbidden summoning glyphs, unlicensed contracts with spirits from the outer realms.

She remembered dragging one noble heir by the collar through the eastern garden after catching him mid-ritual with blood on his sleeves.

The boy had screamed. Cursed. Claimed his father would "burn her whole unit to ash."

He hadn't.

She made sure of that with the support of the Marquis Vendor.

And yet—even after all that, even after everything—she hadn't expected this.

Not here.

Not at the Academy.

She had told herself this place was different. That these students—their generation—would be different. That, unlike the court parasites clawing for favor and position, the ones who came here came for a reason.

To rise.

To grow sharper, faster, stronger.

To test themselves.

Like her.

Like Lucavion.

And yet…

This.

These voices. This suspicion. This contempt that sounded so eerily like the courtyards of imperial palaces she'd once passed through with her blade still dripping.

'Maybe I was wrong.'

A bitter taste curled at the back of her throat.

The fire may have vanished from Lucavion's palm, but the tension was still burning—hotter now, more scattered, more dangerous. The noise was building. Sharp words growing sharper.

"You saw it! That thing doesn't flicker like normal flame—"

"If the sphere says he's null, he's null! That means he used something else—"

"He lied to get in. How many other tests did he rig?"

"I bet he bribed someone in the outer districts. Those commoner exams are barely proctored—"

"He should be expelled."

That last one rang out hard.

A girl near the front. Her posture perfect. Her robes trimmed with house colors.

She said it like it was an obvious conclusion.

Like this wasn't a debate.

Like this was justice.

"He should be expelled," she repeated, louder now, eyes fixed on the instructor's table. "The Academy cannot tolerate falsified entrance qualifications. If he's using an artifact, that's direct violation of Article 7—unauthorized enhancement during trials."

A few students nodded, murmuring in agreement.

"He's not even a real awakened!"

"Get him out—!"

The voices rose—louder, more urgent, more emboldened with every breath they took.

But then—

"Enough."

The word wasn't shouted.

It didn't need to be.

One of the examiners, a tall woman in silver robes with the sigil of the East Tower stitched along her sleeves, raised her hand. The air shifted—not violently, but with command.

The floor beneath her glowed faintly in a ring, casting a calm-binding spell across the immediate platform. The words died on several lips at once.

Even the loudest voices stilled.

"You are not judges," she said, her voice even, but edged. "You are first-year applicants. This is not a tribunal. You do not have the authority to call for expulsion."

A moment of quiet.

But it didn't settle.

It curdled.

You could feel it in the tension that remained—a pressure that had been compressed but not released.

"However strange this case may appear," another examiner added, a man with dark copper robes and ink-stained fingers, "it is not grounds for disorder. The artifact test results are being reviewed by Professor Varnen, one of the leading theorists in the empire. Let the faculty do their work."

He turned toward Elir, as if to reinforce the point.

But the silence didn't hold.

"I want answers."

The voice came sharp. Not loud—but clear. Cold.

Another student. Older-looking. His crest marked him as a member of House D'Rion—minor nobility, but prideful. He stood now, arms crossed, face set with imperious disdain.

"We all saw what happened. That student displayed power with no affinity. The spheres confirmed it. If the rules are to mean anything, then this isn't a matter for quiet review. It's a violation."

"He's right," someone else said, standing as well.

Then another.

And another.

"This isn't just theory anymore—if he's not an awakened, then what is he?"

"Why does he get to bypass the standards the rest of us are bound by?"

"Is he being protected? Did someone sponsor him?"

The examiners glanced at one another—and for the first time, uncertainty flickered across their expressions.

They hadn't expected this.

The strength of the reaction.

The focus of it.

Valeria could see it now, clearly.

This wasn't about the fire anymore.

This was personal.

Lucavion had made an impression the moment he arrived. He'd drawn attention like a match near dry parchment—not just because of his power, but because of his attitude.

The way he walked like the ground answered to him.

The way he looked at nobles like their names meant nothing.

The way he never flinched when he should have.

Some of them had likely waited for a moment like this. A chance to strip him down in public. To see him cornered. Outnumbered.

Small.

But he wasn't.

Lucavion hadn't said a word through all of it.

Still hadn't moved.

Still hadn't answered.

And somehow, that made the crowd angrier.

Valeria's eyes narrowed slightly.

'So this is what you meant…'