Shattered Innocence: Transmigrated Into a Novel as an Extra

Chapter 1019: Announcement ?

The night air outside the Grand Dining Hall felt cooler than it should have. The great chandeliers dimmed behind them, their glow replaced by the soft, suspended orbs of lamplight strung along the walkways.

The Academy grounds stretched wide and quiet—stone paths winding through manicured courtyards, the distant hum of mana wards pulsing like a steady heartbeat beneath the cobblestones.

Marian stretched her arms overhead as they stepped out beneath the open sky, letting out a sigh that was far too dramatic to be genuine. “Finally! I thought I’d turn into furniture if I sat there any longer.”

“You were sitting for barely an hour,” Selphine said, her stride measured, hands folded neatly behind her back.

“Exactly my point,” Marian replied with a grin. “Humans weren’t made for restraint.”

“Some of us were,” Aurelian murmured, brushing invisible dust from his sleeve. “We just evolved faster than the rest.”

Mireilla gave him a look. “You mean you were born like this?”

The twins’ laughter followed, echoing lightly through the stone corridor. “She’s got you there,” Quen said.

Valen grinned. “He’ll argue that’s a virtue.”

Cedric walked a little behind them, his posture still as disciplined as ever even though the night called for no formality. He glanced over his shoulder once—habit, not worry—and caught the faint gleam of light still spilling from the dining hall windows.

Elara noticed it too. Her steps slowed briefly, eyes following the warm gold against the glass before she caught herself and matched pace again.

The group turned down one of the main walkways toward the dormitories. The path forked several times—leading off toward different wings, each marked by glowing sigil-plaques. The air smelled faintly of stone, dew, and the ozone tinge of sleeping wards.

Students drifted past in loose clusters, some still in uniform, others already changed into lighter clothes. Laughter flared here and there—small bursts that broke the stillness of the campus.

“Hard to believe this is considered ’exam season,’” Marian said, gesturing around. “Half the students are planning picnics tomorrow.”

“Because half of them don’t care about rankings,” Mireilla replied, her tone pragmatic. “These aren’t mid-terms. They don’t even count toward evaluation weights.”

Selphine hummed softly, the sound thoughtful. “Not everyone’s chasing titles. Some are just here for the privilege of attendance. Names alone open doors.”

“Then they can have the doors,” Toven muttered under his breath. “I’ll take actual progress.”

Quen clapped him on the shoulder. “Spoken like a true commoner…”

Toven shot him a flat look. “Sopokon loko o toro commonor…”

Quen blinked once, then burst into laughter so sudden and explosive that two passing students jumped.

“Sopokon loko o toro commonor…” he repeated between wheezing breaths. “Gods above—Toven, you sound like my uncle trying to lecture the servants.”

Valen slapped a hand over his mouth, failing miserably to hide his grin. “You even did the accent. The Marquisate drawl.”

Marian snorted. “I’ve heard that voice before. Usually right before someone demands the bill be brought in gold, not silver.”

Aurelian gave an approving nod. “Remarkably accurate, actually.”

Toven looked around, confused for half a heartbeat—then scowled when he realized they weren’t mocking him but the impression he’d just delivered.

“Don’t laugh,” he muttered, though his ears were already going red. “That’s how all those highborn brats sound. Like their throats are allergic to consonants.”

Quen clapped him on the back again, still chuckling. “Yes, but you doing it makes it funnier. It’s like watching a wolf imitate a peacock.”

“Also,” Valen added, “if any other noble called you a ’commoner’ in that tone, you’d punch them.”

Toven grunted. “…Maybe.”

“It’s true,” Mireilla said without looking up, hands tucked calmly into her sleeves. “You nearly decked that Celinne girl for less.”

“That was different.” Toven huffed. “She meant it.”

“And Quen didn’t?” Aurelian asked with amusement.

“No,” Toven admitted, reluctant but honest. “Quen doesn’t… mean things. He just talks.”

Quen beamed. “See? He understands me.”

Elara watched the exchange with a quiet warmth blooming in her chest. This—this small, ridiculous moment—felt strangely grounding. As if the path beneath her feet wasn’t the polished stone of an ancient academy, but something more familiar. More human.

Mireilla walked slightly ahead, steps steady but gaze drifting—taking in the campus like she still couldn’t quite believe she belonged here. Toven stuck close to her side, muttering under his breath about snobs and accents.

Caeden and Elayne moved at the edge of the group—silent, sharp-eyed, absorbing every detail like they were still adjusting to the idea of being surrounded by nobles who weren’t

actively looking down on them.

Freshmen—all of them.

But only a few weeks separated commoner from noble, uncertainty from comfort, bewilderment from belonging.

Elara fell into step beside Cedric again. His posture relaxed just slightly, as though her presence smoothed out a tension he hadn’t realized he was holding.

Marian stretched her arms again. “Only one week of being here, and somehow it feels like we’ve been here for months.”

“That’s because the Academy makes everyone feel small at first,” Selphine said, gaze lifting toward a distant tower crowned with runic wards. “It’s designed to.”

“Then why don’t I feel small?” Quen asked proudly.

Valen snorted. “Because you’re too dense.”

Quen gasped in offense. “Excuse me?”

Aurelian hummed thoughtfully. “He means that as a compliment. Mostly.”

Laughter rippled through the group again.

Ahead, the split in the path glowed faintly beneath the lamplight—one archway leading toward the West Wing, another toward the East, another toward the central towers where the library loomed like a cathedral.

They slowed as the dormitory wings finally came into view—long, elegant structures layered with balcony railings and glowing sigils that pulsed softly along the stone like a sleeping heartbeat. The doors stood open to the night air, spilling warm lamplight onto the path.

“Hard to believe,” Marian muttered as they approached, “that we’re not even halfway done with exams.”

Toven groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Don’t remind me.”

“It’s ridiculous,” Valen agreed. “We haven’t even had proper classes. What are we being tested on, exactly?”

“Existence,” Aurelian said dryly. “I presume.”

Quen nodded sagely. “Ah yes—inhale with grace, exhale with dignity. The “existence.””

Selphine gave him a sideways glance. “You lack both.”

Quen clutched his heart. “You wound me.”

Elara found herself smiling at the exchange.

One written exam done. Dozens of trials ahead.

It was stressful—absurdly so—but somehow the chatter made the weight feel lighter.

“Look,” Mireilla said suddenly, slowing. “Something’s wrong.”

Not wrong—just strange.

The path leading toward the East and Central dormitories was clogged with students. A sudden crowd that hadn’t been there when they left for dinner. Voices overlapped in anxious whispers and sharp questions, forming an agitated hum beneath the lanterns.

Marian blinked. “What in the—? Why are there so many people at the bulletin boards?”

“There shouldn’t be any announcements this early,” Aurelian said with a frown. “Did something happen? Maybe the exams are already graded?”

“Maybe someone posted the wrong exam slots again,” Quen offered.

Valen shook his head. “No. Look at their faces. That’s not confusion. That’s… gossip.”

Toven muttered, “Wonderful. Just what we needed.”

Cedric subtly positioned himself half a step closer to Elara. A familiar, instinctive motion.

Elara’s gaze sharpened.

The crowd wasn’t just large. It was growing—students leaving their dorms just to join it, craning their necks to see the parchment posted behind the glass.

Selphine narrowed her eyes. “Let’s get closer. Whatever this is, it’s clearly important.”

The group approached, weaving through murmuring first-years and irritated upperclassmen pushing past one another.

Snatches of conversation floated to them:

“—Is that real?”

“No way. It has to be a prank—”

“But the seal—look, it’s official!”

“Why now? Why tonight?”

“Who posted it? A faculty member?”

“Who cares? Read it—just read!”

The closer they came, the more intense the whispers grew. Students clung to the railing, pointing, arguing, swearing under their breath.

Mireilla frowned. “What in the world could cause this kind of reaction?”

Marian swallowed. “Something big.”

Aurelian’s eyes narrowed as he caught sight of the crest stamped on the paper. “That’s the Academy’s administrative seal.”

Selphine’s voice dropped low, controlled. “A formal announcement… posted at night?”