How to Survive as a Trash Extra Villain

Chapter 9

It was definitely the exam paper of the cadet from the garden.

“No idea how they did, but they’ll get good time bonus points. Let’s grade it.”

Expecting a bloodbath of red ink, she picked up her red pen.

“Huh?”

And then.

“What?”

The pink chick.

“Wha-what?”

Hit a wall.

“I don’t get it.”

The red pen she gripped rolled across the desk like tangled thread.

Out of 1,000 questions, she graded seven. Questions 1 to 6 were perfect 10-point solutions and answers.

The problem was question 7. For that one question, Hailey filled an entire notebook with attempts to solve it.

“Is this… possible?”

She couldn’t handle the solution.

Hoping for help, she looked around.

“No perfect scorers this time, right?”

“If there were, would they be human? No one’s ever done it. Maybe if all past and present knight commanders took it, one or two might.”

“Because they’re beyond human.”

Perfect scorers were impossible. The system didn’t allow it. Graders were knight commander-level, while test-takers were just students. Even the best student solutions were mere chick flapping to a knight commander.

It wasn’t called the world’s best and worst exam for nothing. It was littered with questions beyond student level—formulas taught only in specialized institutions, problems for active professionals, veteran-level challenges, even unsolved research questions with no known answers.

Why make the exam like this? Because it was necessary. Every decade or so, a genius appeared. Someone with unparalleled talent who solved questions not meant to be solved.

“Um… Head Teacher.”

“Hm? Teacher Hailey, what’s wrong?”

“I… don’t understand this…”

The head teacher comforted the dejected pink chick.

“Haha, it’s fine. Would the Imperium Academy be the world’s best for nothing? I cried from self-doubt as an apprentice too. Let’s take a look.”

The teacher’s expression hardened upon seeing the exam paper.

“…”

Another teacher, who’d asked about perfect scorers, chuckled.

“Oh, crying as an apprentice and now as head teacher? Let me see.”

That teacher’s smirk froze. After a long pause, their mouth opened.

“…This is question 7. It’s not meant to be solved, right? It’s the perfect-score-prevention question included for each year.”

“I recall it’s a problem even active veterans deem ‘unsolvable, requiring further research.’”

“This method. This substitution. It’s a solution only a master craftsman would produce. It’s beyond Teacher Hailey not understanding—it’s not a formula a mere student would use. Honestly, I don’t fully get it either.”

“We’d need to send it to active professionals to verify if it’s correct, but… for us, we have no choice but to give this score.”

The teacher graded question 7. Ten out of ten.

They continued checking answers one by one.

With three teachers intently focused, others grew curious and gathered.

An impromptu debate began.

“This formula… it’s an applied one not even in textbooks, learned only on the field. It’s wrong, though. There’s a required formula taught only in specialized institutions, so not perfect… 8 points?”

Opinions piled up.

“Of course, this solution is correct, but… it’s not something a high school cadet would produce. Twisting formulas and skipping half the process is how professionals work.”

Admiration grew.

The head teacher, holding the exam paper, gave a final assessment.

“It’s… like a magic circle problem.”

“A magic circle problem?”

Hailey asked, and the head teacher hummed, closing and opening their eyes.

“Yes. When we set magic circle problems, we draw an incredibly complex circle but leave out a few key formulas for the answer. This is similar.”

The head teacher pointed to a few questions as examples.

“Question 7 is a problem even teachers struggle with, yet it’s solved perfectly with a formula a veteran would use. But question 62 is a simple problem with an unfamiliar formula applied, and they couldn’t solve it. It’s like drawing an intricate magic circle but intentionally leaving out a few pieces.”

At that moment, something clicked in the head teacher’s mind.

“It’s almost… like the score was manipulated.”

Then—

“Excuse me.”

“Oh, Vice Principal!”

The teachers gathered around Martin’s exam paper stood and greeted. The academy’s second-in-command, effectively the top authority due to the principal’s frequent absences, had arrived.

“Where’s Teacher Hectia?”

The vice principal… was wary of someone.

“She’s not here. Called away for imperial business, I think.”

“Is she? Good. Is Cadet Martin’s exam paper here?”

“Cadet Martin? The troublemaker’s paper…”

The head teacher focused mana into their eyes, casting a decryption spell. The security magic hiding the cadets’ names was pierced, revealing them.

The head teacher nearly collapsed.

“…We were just grading it.”

The vice principal snatched the paper. Seeing the score, they flinched.

“…”

After a long silence.

“…Cheating.”

“What? No, cheating’s impossible…”

“Don’t you understand what I mean, teacher? Are you slow?”

The vice principal glared sharply at the teachers.

“Cheating.”

Silently, they handed a letter to the head teacher. The head teacher’s eyes trembled.

[Expel Cadet Martin.]

The letter bore the crests of the four great ducal families.

“Whether it’s cheating or not, from this moment, Cadet Martin has committed misconduct.”

***

“Yawn.”

Three sleepless nights of studying. After the midterm, exhaustion hit me like a tidal wave.

My steps toward the academy felt heavier than ever today.

When I arrived, the other cadets looked just as drained, and the apprentices and teachers weren’t faring much better.

“Good morning, everyone.”

Teacher Hectia’s eyes, shadowed with deep dark circles, were half-open.

Whispers spread among the students.

“Good morning… doesn’t seem like it for her…”

“She must not have slept.”

“They say she stays up all night grading exams.”

The Imperium Academy’s exams pushed both teachers and students to their limits, per tradition.

But there was a reason it wasn’t entirely bad.

“Quiet down. We’ll skip the morning assembly and distribute report cards. Afterward, we’ll skip the closing ceremony and go home.”

“Oh!”

“Wow!”

The tradition ended with “You worked hard yesterday, so rest today.” Cadets and teachers alike were exhausted.

Today’s curriculum was just handing out report cards.

Cadets and teachers could leave right after.

“Number 1, Gilbert.”

“Yes.”

My eyes instinctively turned, despite my fatigue.

The novel’s protagonist, Gilbert Offer Cosmos.

“Better than expected.”

“Thank you.”

The praise sparked hope among the students, but Gilbert was an exception.

Number 2 got a jab: “Do you walk with your eyes open?” Number 3 was stabbed: “Is this your limit?”

Hectia’s sharp tongue was relentless, even for top-ranking students, with comments like “Are you even trying?” or “Pathetic.”

Numbers were called in order.

“Number 14, Bord.”

“Yes!”

“A class president and heir of a great ducal family, and this is all you’ve got?”

“I’m sorry!”

“Critical issues in Magic Studies were evident. Fix them. Go.”

My turn was next.

A tense silence, like the calm before a storm, gripped the classroom.

Teacher Hectia stared at the report card without a word.

Finally.

“…Number 15, Martin.”

The air in Class A turned icy.

I could feel the eager sneers, cadets twisting in anticipation of Hectia’s verbal daggers aimed at me.

Honestly, I was prepared.

As I stepped forward, Hectia handed over the report card and whispered.

“…Well done.”

“Thank you…?”

The walk back to my seat felt unfamiliar.

The cadets’ expressions were pure bewilderment.

Sitting down, I glanced at the report card.

“What’s my rank?”

[Rank: 1st, Total Score: 8,874]

“Oh! Know-It-All! You did it!”

In my mind, I hugged an old, bespectacled, white-haired man with an empty head.

We sang, drank, and gorged on cake together.

“…Wait.”

Avoiding expulsion was great, but this wasn’t entirely good news.

8,874 points. Less than 90 out of 100, but as I recalled, the highest score in this exam…

“Number 32, Elisha. A performance worthy of a great ducal family’s eldest daughter. Well done.”

“Yes. Thank—”

Elisha’s face paled as she took her report card. A dazed voice slipped through her lips.

“Third…?”

An unstoppable murmur swept through Class A.

“Elisha, third? She was second at entrance!”

“No, she was close to Prince Kazaks, the top scorer… Wait, does that mean the top scorer changed too?!”

“Who’s first, then?! Prince Kazaks isn’t the top?!”

I stared at my report card with trembling eyes.

“I messed up. I really messed up. Hide it for now.”

The nail that sticks out gets hammered. I was the academy’s most hated, World Cup No. 1. And I was the top scorer…

But my racing heart wouldn’t calm down. I’d changed. I wasn’t the Martin they knew. I’d shown them. I hoped many would rethink their view of me.

“Quiet. If you’re curious about the top scorer, I’ve posted the rankings outside. Check it yourself.”

“Oh no!”

I gripped my shaking eyes. I had to stay sharp and handle this.

What would the reaction be when Martin—Violence Circle leader, school violence perpetrator, back after 80 days—took first place?

Honestly, I’d expected maybe 50th place…

In my mind, I clung to Know-It-All and sobbed.

“Know-It-All! You were too diligent!”

“Now, go home!”

“Let’s check the rankings!”

“What’s going on?!”

“Oh, ahh!”

Unlike usual, the cadets swarmed out like bees.

Elisha, who’d fallen from second to third, bolted out first. The protagonist’s party followed, offering words of comfort.

I started to run too, but—

“Martin von Targon Ulvhadin. Stay behind.”

“…”

Trouble. Of course, cadets might not know, but a teacher would.

Hectia’s expression was blank, but I saw a demonic fury flickering behind it.

“I said cheating is grounds for expulsion…!”