Shattered Innocence: Transmigrated Into a Novel as an Extra

Chapter 1001: Written Exam

Lucavion’s room was quiet—dim, but not dark. The curtains were drawn just enough to let the afternoon light bleed through, casting soft gold along the desk, the far wall, the edge of the bed he hadn’t touched since morning.

The mana potion bottle was still uncapped, its contents nearly gone, and the faint medicinal tang still lingered in the air.

He sat on the edge of the bed, one arm braced against his knee, the other unfastening the remaining strap of his coat with careful precision. He winced—not dramatically, just the kind of wince you made when your body reminded you it hadn’t forgotten what you’d dragged it through.

The potion helped. But not enough.

His ribs still ached in that dull, blooming way that said something had definitely cracked under the strikes. The burns had numbed down to a manageable throb. The cuts, mostly closed. But the strain… the exhaustion… that was still very much present.

Not just from the spells, but from what he’d had to hold in.

He’d made it back without any fanfare. No one stopped him in the halls. No instructors loomed. No eyes followed him this time.

It felt like the kind that came after a storm passed through and left the walls standing—but nothing inside quite in place.

He exhaled slowly, letting his head tilt back, gaze catching on the ceiling.

Didn’t expect her to be there.

Selenne, of all people, appearing at the edge of that mess—reading the whole damn thing like she was already ten steps ahead.

Her eyes, sharp and cold, but not unkind. Not this time. She hadn’t offered comfort. But she’d offered something closer.

Recognition.

Lucavion’s gaze lingered on the ceiling, but it wasn’t the plaster he saw.

It was her.

Those calculating eyes. The precise way Selenne looked at him—not as a student, not as a problem, but as a point of interest.

Like she was fitting pieces together behind her gaze, quietly deciding which way to tilt the board next. She wasn’t fooled by the performance. She’d seen the blood and the silence and the smirk and understood exactly what it meant.

And more than that—she’d be there.

She hadn’t said it. Didn’t need to. He could read it in the slight tightening of her jaw, the tone when she’d thrown that potion his way, the way her words had curved not like dismissal—but like a warning.

She was going to be present for the next exam.

Lucavion exhaled through his nose, mouth twitching into a quiet half-smile. “Well, fine by me,” he murmured, voice low in the empty room.

If anything, it was long overdue.

He’d been playing along with their antics for too long. Letting them posture and snipe from behind the shield of bureaucracy and family names. It had been amusing, in a way—testing how far they were willing to go to protect their entitlement. Watching them squirm when subtlety wasn’t enough. Playing his part, pretending not to notice.

But if Selenne wanted to bring a little order into the chaos?

Let her.

A little light in the exam hall might be useful for once.

Let’s see how bold they are when someone actually starts taking notes.

Then—like a needle threading softly through the center of his thoughts—

[What happened?]

The voice wasn’t loud. It didn’t need to be.

It landed in his mind like a drop of water into still glass.

He turned his head.

There she was.

White fur faintly catching the warm afternoon glow, paws soundless on the stone. Golden eyes narrowed in that piercing way only Vitaliara managed—equal parts judgment and worry, wrapped beneath the illusion of restraint.

She stood beside the bed now, tail swishing once, her gaze locked on the crusted blood near his ribs.

Lucavion blinked. Then answered the way he always did when something wasn’t meant to be dwelled on.

“Nothing.”

Her ears flicked. That subtle, irritated twitch she reserved for when he was being deliberately impossible.

[This looks like nothing to you?]

He let his head fall back again, eyelids half-lowered.

“We’ve seen far worse, haven’t we?”

The pause that followed wasn’t just silence.

It was the kind that came with a memory.

Of broken stones, burning wards, cries in the night. Of things that had been worse. And yet—

[That doesn’t mean it’s okay.]

He didn’t answer at first. His fingers curled loosely over his knee, body still. Quiet.

Then, with a dry breath that might’ve been a chuckle—or might’ve been tired resignation—

“Heh. It’s okay. Don’t worry.”

Her tail snapped once against the floor.

Not hard.

But just enough to say she didn’t believe him.

Lucavion let the silence breathe a little longer, fingers absently brushing the edge of the dried blood where his coat still clung to his side.

Then, with the same flat, irreverent calm that seemed to drive Vitaliara up every wall—

“I’ll heal in the bath anyway.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly. He didn’t need to look at her to know it.

He stood slowly, body stiff from the strain, and reached for the clasp at his collar.

“They did at least get that part right,” he added as he moved toward the wardrobe, voice casual. “State-of-the-art facilities, remember?”

[You are deflecting,] she muttered.

“I’m limping,” he corrected. “Not deflecting.”

He tossed the coat across the back of the chair and glanced sideways at her, one brow lifting as the smirk returned. Faint, crooked.

“…Just don’t get caught peeping.”

Vitaliara didn’t dignify it with a response. She simply leapt up, her white form fluid and sharp, landing on his shoulder with the faintest thud of claws catching cloth.

[…Whatever.]

Her voice was flat. But her tail curled once, lightly, against his neck—like she’d already forgiven him for being annoying. Again.

Lucavion stepped into the bathroom and stripped off the rest of his bloodstained uniform in a quick motion, folding it in a loose pile at the edge of the bench. His ribs still pulled with every breath, but the worst of the heat had faded. The potion had done its part. Now, the enchanted water would do the rest.

He stepped into the basin as the water filled, warm and heavy with the scent of crushed herbs and iron-rich mana. The tension began to ease on contact—almost reluctant at first, as if his body didn’t trust it yet.

Lucavion let out a long breath and sank deeper, steam rising around his shoulders, the pain slowly untangling beneath the surface.

“A little time before the next exam.”

*****

Grand Lecture Hall A lived up to its name—too much, honestly.

Vaulted ceilings arched overhead like a cathedral had mated with a war council chamber. The walls were lined with old banners from the original houses that had “founded” the Academy—back when bloodlines and blade names were the only entry requirements.

A hundred desks stretched in neat rows down polished blackstone steps, each one isolated just enough to make collaboration inconvenient and cheating damn near impossible. Not that Lucavion needed to cheat.

He stepped into the hall without hesitation, boots echoing softly against the floor. Already, dozens of other students had taken their places, quills untouched, backs too-straight. The tension was thick enough to bottle.

Some looked up when he entered.

’Heh….’

And indeed.

They were pretty hostile.

Some looked up when he entered.

Lucavion didn’t return the glances.

Not right away.

He walked the central aisle like it belonged to him—which, technically, it didn’t. But no one was going to argue that right now. The boots were scuffed. His coat was clean, but barely. His face calm. And yet there was something in the way he moved that made people draw their shoulders in, just a little. Like they weren’t sure if they were watching a student or something coiled.

The kind of presence you couldn’t quite classify—and that made them nervous.

But then—

As he passed the eighth row down, his eyes flicked lazily to the left, just for a moment.

’Oh…’

And landed on him.

’What was his name?’

He asked to himself….

Then, the thought registered as more of an observation than a reaction.

Kaireth.