The Cursed Extra: Bloodline of Sacrifice

[POV: Caspian]

---

Caspian stepped into his room.

There was a quiet stillness to it now.

The scent of fresh polish lingered. The bed was neatly tucked, the desk wiped spotless, the shredded curtains replaced with brand new fabric.

Everything was where it should be—maybe even better than before.

"…They cleaned everything," Caspian muttered.

But he didn't smile.

His hands moved calmly, unfazed, as he walked to the walls—tapping along wooden panels, frames, and one of the legs of his desk.

One by one, he retrieved three tiny lenses, each no bigger than a button.

He slid the memory cards into his terminal.

Moments later, the screen blinked alive.

The footage began to play.

Second-year students. Four of them. Laughing as they tore books apart, one urinating in the corner. Another drew obscenities with paint across his walls. One of them spat.

He watched the entire thing in silence, hands resting neatly on his lap.

Then, the second feed began.

It was the same room, hours later.

Darian entered first, carrying Caspian in his arms. Behind him came Oliver, Vera, Lyrius. Without a word, they began cleaning. No orders. No complaints.

Vera scrubbed the paint off the walls with his bare hands. Oliver used wind magic to carefully sweep the dust. Lyrius said nothing but washed the clothes quietly. Darian, clumsy as he was, burned a few shirts—but tried anyway.

He saw them.

And outside the window, the morning sun cracked over the academy rooftops.

Caspian sighed.

They didn't ask for praise. They didn't even tell me.

He stood up, eyes cold.

"Let's do something about these second-year pests."

---

"—and remember, your research submissions on magical theory are due by the end of the week," Professor Elara announced.

The bell rang.

The students began filtering out of the room like a rushing tide.

Caspian remained in his seat, waiting. When the last student left, he stood.

"Elara-sensei," he said calmly.

Professor Elara glanced up from her notes.

"Yes, Caspian?"

"I want to file a formal complaint," he said.

She blinked. "A complaint?"

"Yes. Against the principal. And the disciplinary committee."

She closed her book slowly, her brows furrowing.

"That's… a bold claim. May I ask the reason?"

"I was targeted," Caspian said flatly. "My room was broken into. My property destroyed. Personal items—violated."

"And you have proof?"

"Clear as daylight."

Elara frowned, then crossed her arms. "Even so, the principal is not someone students can approach directly. There's a process—"

Caspian reached into his bag and took out his phone.

"10,000 points," he said.

Elara's eyes narrowed.

"You said once," Caspian continued, "that points can buy anything in this academy. Even the time of those at the top."

She didn't reply.

He leaned forward.

"I'm not asking for favoritism. I'm buying a conversation. That's all."

"…You really know how to make a case," she said after a pause. "Fine."

She stood up.

"Come with me. But you'll wait outside until I speak with principal first."

Caspian nodded once. "Understood."

As she turned and began walking, Caspian followed behind her in silence.

.

The hallway outside the principal's office was too quiet—walls lined with portraits of previous heads of the academy, all stern-faced and long dead. Caspian stood still, hands behind his back, waiting.

The door opened with a soft click.

Professor Elara stepped out and nodded once. "She'll see you now."

Caspian walked in.

The room was spacious.

High ceilings. Expensive enchantments etched into the walls to preserve silence and privacy.

Large glass windows. And at the far end of the room, behind a wide desk of blackwood and brass, sat the principal.

Her nameplate read Selene Ravelhart.

She looked around 45, but everything about her posture radiated precision. Black robe, silver brooch. Not a strand of her dark hair was out of place. Her eyes were pale blue, almost colorless—like snow before a storm.

"Caspian," she said without looking up from her parchment. "State your purpose."

"I'm here to file a formal complaint," he said evenly, "against the Principal of this academy and the disciplinary committee."

Selene didn't look surprised. Nor amused. She simply set her pen down and finally met his gaze.

"And what exactly have I done," she said slowly, "to warrant such a complaint?"

"That's the problem," Caspian replied. "You did nothing."

She arched a brow.

"I was attacked. Bullied. Had my room broken into. Personal belongings destroyed. And when the first time I defended myself, you had 1000 points deducted from my account."

A pause.

The room grew quieter.

Selene leaned back in her chair.

"You're bold," she said. "But that doesn't mean you're not wasting my time. And if you are—this conversation will cost you. Twenty thousand points, to be exact."

Caspian didn't flinch.

"I'm aware," he said, reaching into his coat. "And I wouldn't be here if I wasn't prepared."

He placed a thin crystal orb on her desk and tapped it twice.

The recordings played midair—footage from his hidden room cameras. Four second-years, laughing, vandalizing, spitting, urinating. Every second displayed in cruel detail.

Then the scene changed.

His teammates entering. Cleaning. Washing. Oliver sweeping dust with magic. Vera scrubbing walls. Darian accidentally setting a shirt on fire. Lyrius quietly folding bedsheets.

Silence.

Selene didn't stop the recording. She watched it all.

When it ended, she looked at him again.

"...How did you get this footage?"

Caspian shrugged. "I like insurance."

Her fingers tapped the desk slowly. "Why didn't you submit this earlier?"

"I was unconscious when they cleaned the room. Before that, I didn't have proof. And before that, I was stupid enough to believe justice would happen on its own."

She narrowed her eyes.

"And now?"

"Now I know better," Caspian said.

He stepped forward, just slightly.

"You see, Headmistress, you may not have directly ordered anything. But your silence was permission. You deducted points from me without investigation. You gave power to your committee to act unchecked."

He met her gaze. "That is negligence. At best."

A long silence followed.

She didn't yell.

"I'm not asking for special treatment," he continued. "I'm asking for consistency. If you're going to run this academy like a meritocracy, then let it be one. Or stop pretending and hand the rulebook to the students."

Selene was still for a long moment.

Then she looked away and reached into her drawer.

She pulled out a small, violet token—a disciplinary override token—and set it beside his orb.

"Bring this to the committee," she said. "They'll review the footage. Your points will be returned, and sanctions will be placed on the second-years involved."

Caspian didn't smile.

He just nodded, picked up the token, and turned to leave.

"Caspian," Selene said, stopping him at the door.

He glanced back.

"Don't mistake this for sympathy. I'm cleaning a mess. Nothing more."

Caspian paused.

"I wasn't hoping for sympathy," he said quietly. "Just accountability."

And with that, he stepped out of the office, the door closing behind him with a soft but final click.