The Useless Extra Knows It All....But Does He?
Chapter 37 - Eyes of the World

Chapter 37: Chapter 37 - Eyes of the World

The door creaked open.

The figure that stepped in was... almost comically out of place.

A tall, lanky old man with wispy white hair tied loosely behind his head, a slightly oversized robe with tea stains down the front, and slippers—actual slippers—on his feet. His spectacles drooped halfway down his nose, and he held a steaming mug in one hand, the other tucked behind his back like he was out for a midnight stroll.

For a moment, the room just stared.

"...Dean?" Seraphina was the first to speak, her voice dipping into a tone far more respectful than she used with most.

The man gave a small, lopsided smile and lifted his mug. "Good evening, Professor Seraphina. Children."

Everyone blinked.

Even Luca—who knew exactly who this was—took a second to process it.

Grandmaster Erion Asterhold.

The Dean of Arcadia Academy.

One of the five strongest living beings in the world.

And right now... he looked like someone’s quirky old grandfather who had wandered into the wrong hospital wing looking for his newspaper.

Of course, Luca recognized him instantly. His appearance, his voice—it was all burned into his memory from the game.

But that’s what shocked him.

He’s here. Now? Already?

In the game, Dean Asterhold didn’t appear until much later. After the second arc was formally concluded. After all quests had been cleared and the players had moved on.

But this...?

Luca’s thoughts raced.

The second arc wasn’t supposed to end like this.

It was supposed to be a drawn-out series of faction missions, inter-academy duels, political negotiations, and minor corruption cases culminating in a slow-burning finale that took a week to wrap up.

But here?

It had ended in two days.

With death. With the reawakening of forbidden power. With Emeron’s tragic fall.

And worst of all—with the appearance of a Blood Crystal.

Something that never even showed up until late in the fourth arc of the game.

Luca’s fists clenched slightly under the sheets.

The butterfly effect is real. And it’s only getting stronger.

He hadn’t just stepped into the story as a bystander. His presence—his actions—were reshaping events on a fundamental level.

And now...

The Dean was here.

That meant things were changing fast.

Because no matter how eccentric and lazy he might seem, Luca knew the truth buried in the lore files of the game.

Erion Asterhold was a monster.

Not in cruelty or temper—but in raw power. The kind of mage who bent dimensional laws without a second thought. A man who once erased a demon lord from existence simply because it interrupted his research nap.

He was said to have "outlived history" more than once. No one knew his actual age. No one really knew what he was researching either.

He rarely appeared in public, and even in the game, he only showed up a handful of times—always when the situation had escalated beyond comprehension.

And now, here he was.

Casually sipping tea, slippers and all, in a room full of bedridden students.

Luca swallowed hard.

This isn’t a cutscene anymore.

This was reality.

And reality didn’t pull its punches.

The Dean took a few slow steps into the room, the click of his slippers barely audible over the soft hum of the medical ward. He took a sip of his tea, then let his gaze drift across the room—pausing, lingering, observing each face.

In that moment, his casual demeanor seemed to fall away.

"I see... everyone here survived," he said softly.

No one replied.

His eyes moved from Vincent to Kyle, to Aiden, then over to Selena, Liliane, Elowen, and finally, to Luca.

"I came," he said, "to thank you all."

The words fell into the room like a stone dropped into still water.

"You risked your lives. Fought a force that most students wouldn’t even comprehend. You protected not just yourselves—but the academy, and perhaps far more than that."

His voice was calm, yet resolute. A deep stillness to it, like the echo of mountains long since eroded.

"But still..."

He paused. The old man looked down into his mug of tea as if trying to read something hidden in the swirling steam.

"There were six casualties."

The entire room tensed.

The weight in the air became unbearable.

Luca’s breath caught in his throat. His hands trembled slightly against the bedsheets, curling into fists.

Six people. Dead.

Because I was here. Because I changed the story.

His knuckles turned white.

Because I’m the variable. The anomaly.

The silence in the room became suffocating.

No one responded to the Dean’s gratitude.

Not out of rudeness.

But because none of them felt worthy of it.

Not when six families had lost someone. Not when blood had been spilled in a place meant to nurture youth and promise.

The Dean sighed quietly. Not disappointed—just tired. A different kind of weariness. The kind only those who had seen centuries of repeating tragedy could wear so gently.

"It could have been more," he continued softly. "Much more."

He raised his head and looked straight at Luca.

"But it wasn’t. Because of all of you."

He gave them a small nod.

"You will be awarded for your bravery, of course. And starting tomorrow, you’ll be asked to give formal statements about what happened. Tell the truth. That’s all that will be asked of you."

He smiled faintly—like a grandfather who hated giving bad news, but knew it was necessary.

"There’s no need to panic. No accusations. The matter will be handled with care. But the world is watching now. So take your time. Rest. Heal."

Then, without any flourish or spell circle, without any chant or gesture—

He vanished.

Just like that.

As if he were never there to begin with.

Only the soft clink of his empty teacup remained on the windowsill.

The room was still for several heartbeats.

No one moved.

No one spoke.

Even Kyle, who had just joked minutes ago, remained silent.

Elowen lowered her eyes. Aiden let his head fall back against the pillow. Selena’s fingers tightened around the hem of her blanket.

And Luca...

He stared at the ceiling.

The six names he didn’t even know echoed in his mind like gravestones carved in silence.

No matter what the Dean said.

No matter what rewards came.

This weight... was his to carry.

The next day arrived with the quiet rustle of shifting blankets and the muffled sounds of boots echoing down the ward’s hallway.

By morning, the infirmary was no longer a quiet refuge—it had become a center of attention.

Officials from the Empire arrived first, their armor polished to a sheen, crests gleaming on their cloaks. They bowed politely, but their eyes were sharp, calculating. They asked questions in rapid succession—about Emeron’s strength, the corrupted mana, and the structure of the dungeon. Not out of concern, but strategy.

Then came the delegates from the Holy Kingdom, robes embroidered with gold, their eyes somber behind ceremonial hoods. The first thing they did was offer prayers for the fallen... and then asked if Emeron had said anything about the Goddess before the end. If any sacrilege had occurred. If any divine revelation had been heard in his final moments.

And finally, the envoys from the Mage Tower—a group clad in sleek robes that shimmered with layered enchantments, their presence humming with passive mana. Cold, curious, detached. They asked questions like scholars, scribes floating behind them recording every word. What color was the mana around the blood crystal? Did anyone feel a spatial disturbance? How long had Emeron resisted before the crystal consumed him?

No matter who asked—the questions remained the same.

Over.

And over.

And over again.

What happened?

How powerful was the corruption?

What did Emeron say?

Where is the blood crystal now?

Each of them answered honestly, as instructed. And by the time the sun began to dip beneath the horizon, it felt like they’d repeated the same story a hundred times—until it had been etched into their tongues, drained of all weight and meaning.

By twilight, exhaustion had begun to smother the room.

Luca, still bandaged but able to walk, quietly slipped out. The ward air had become too heavy—crowded with whispers, the scrawling of quills, and the too-sharp gazes of people who had never lifted a sword but now judged every swing they hadn’t seen.

He wandered into the corridor outside, the quiet coolness a brief relief.

But just as he rounded a corner, a voice halted his steps.

"...The Tower Master asked about your well-being."

Luca paused.

The voice belonged to one of the mages from the Tower—a tall man with sharp features and dull gray eyes, speaking in that unnaturally neutral tone all Tower envoys seemed to use.

And standing across from him—

Was Selena.

Luca hadn’t meant to eavesdrop, but the tension in her posture was impossible to ignore.

Her arms were folded tightly, her body rigid. Her long hair spilled down her back, but even that seemed to bristle with restraint.

Her voice was quiet.

But it cut through the hallway like ice.

"Tell her," she said flatly, "to not act like she actually cares."

The mage hesitated for only a second, then gave a silent nod and turned to leave.

Selena stood there for a moment longer, facing away.

Then slowly, as if sensing him, she turned—

Her eyes met Luca’s.

He opened his mouth, unsure of what he was even going to say.

But she looked away before he could speak.

With a swirl of her cloak, she vanished around the corridor.

Luca remained frozen for a few seconds, then let out a sigh.

That’s right.

Selena didn’t have a good relationship with her mother.

The Tower Master—one of the most powerful figures in the world of magic. Revered. Feared. Untouchable.

But to Selena... she was just someone distant. Absent. Cold.

And no one knew why, not even the game covered the reason.

Luca stared down the empty hallway where Selena had disappeared.

From tomorrow, the visitors were allowed to come in to visit us as we will be able to get discharged 3 days from now on.

But why is she visiting at all...?Is she actually serious about this marriage...?