Shattered Innocence: Transmigrated Into a Novel as an Extra

Chapter 906: Bet baiter

“Let us make a bet.”

Marisse’s brow arched, suspicion and curiosity briefly threading through her expression.

“Oh?” Her tone was smooth, but the faint tightening at the corners of her eyes betrayed caution. “And what bet would that be?”

Lucavion’s smirk deepened, the kind that suggested he already knew the next five moves.

“A bet,” he said slowly, “where we both get what we want.”

That earned a small tilt of her head, the faintest shift in posture that hinted she was listening despite herself.

“…?”

“You,” Lucavion continued, “are going to pick a student for me to fight.”

A faint ripple of reaction passed through the gathered crowd—some startled murmurs from the nobles, low scoffs from the commoners who recognized the provocation for what it was.

Marisse’s eyes narrowed slightly, but he pressed on before she could interrupt.

“This won’t be rushed. I’ll give you as much time as you need—days, weeks, whatever—to choose the one you believe is best. Study them. Train them. Pick the one you find most talented.”

“And then,” his smirk widened just enough to bare a hint of teeth, “I’ll fight them.”

Marisse gave a soft, humorless laugh. “And what exactly is at stake, Lucavion? What happens if, against your own… inflated expectations, you lose?”

Lucavion’s answer came without hesitation.

“I’ll just drop out of the Academy.”

The words struck like a bell.

Several students stiffened, the weight of the declaration sinking in almost instantly. A few nobles exchanged sharp glances, while in the back, Caeden’s eyes narrowed in something between disbelief and concern.

“…Eh?” The small exclamation slipped out of more than one person in the crowd, and even Marisse’s polished composure wavered for the briefest moment.

He didn’t blink.

He didn’t retract.

Just stood there with the same unhurried calm, as if announcing his own potential expulsion was no more consequential than noting the weather.

“You’re serious?” Marisse asked at last, her voice dipping a fraction lower.

Lucavion gave a single, deliberate nod. “Completely. If I lose, I walk away, no arguments, no second chances. You can tell everyone you were right about the quota system—that I was a mistake. That’ll be your proof, your neat little ribbon to tie it all together.”

The murmurs swelled again—low and rapid, threading between excitement and shock. Elayne glanced at him sharply, lips parting as if to speak, but she stopped herself. Toren’s hands had curled into loose fists, his expression unreadable.

Marisse’s eyes searched his face for any sign of bluff, but Lucavion met her stare without flinch or falter.

“And if you win?” she asked finally, her voice sharp enough to cut the noise around them.

Lucavion’s lips curved again, slow and deliberate, as if the next words had been waiting on his tongue from the start.

“If I win…” he said, drawing the pause just long enough for the attention to settle back on him, “then I get a one-time ticket from you.”

Marisse’s brows drew together slightly. “One-time ticket?”

“Yes,” Lucavion replied, the smirk sharpening. “A one-time ticket that you are going to do a favor for me. Without questioning it.”

Her smile thinned almost instantly. “No.”

He tilted his head, the expression on his face half amusement, half challenge. “Scared?”

“No,” she said evenly. “This simply isn’t fair. Your existence in the Academy does not equal a favor from me.”

“Really?” His tone carried a mock surprise, like a man humoring a faulty argument.

“Yes,” she said firmly.

Lucavion gave a soft laugh, low in his throat. “Good argument. But… why are you speaking as if you’ll lose? That’s something you only need to consider if you can see the possibility of losing.”

Her gaze narrowed, but he wasn’t done.

“For instance…” his voice turned almost casual, “if dear Lucien were here, he would have already agreed.”

The name left his lips with the ease of an old acquaintance, and the effect was immediate—Marisse’s face twitched, a brief crack in her perfect composure.

“Oh? Did I strike a nerve?” Lucavion went on, as if testing the edge of a blade. “No need to be shy. I’m sure our illustrious crown prince wouldn’t mind hearing about this little wager, though I imagine he’d have far less hesitation than you. He’s quite sporting like that.”

The murmurs from the crowd deepened, now tinged with intrigue at the casual way Lucavion spoke of Lucien—as if they were equals.

Marisse’s smile returned, tighter than before. “You are playing a dangerous game, boy.”

“Only if you think you can lose,” he replied smoothly. “But… if you want everyone here to think you’re refusing because of the terms, rather than the challenge…”

Her gaze flicked to the surrounding students, the weight of dozens of expectant eyes pressing in. It was one thing to dismiss a commoner—another to appear as though she was backing down from him in front of witnesses.

She exhaled through her nose, the sound quiet but sharp. “Fine. I’ll accept your condition.”

Lucavion’s smirk turned into something a little brighter, a little more dangerous. “Excellent.”

He turned slowly, letting his gaze sweep over the gathered crowd. “I’m fairly certain everyone here has witnessed this.”

The agreement hung in the air, solidified by the attention of every onlooker.

Then his eyes stopped on someone in particular—black hair, sharp features, and storm-gray eyes that watched the exchange with an unreadable calm.

Lucavion raised a finger and pointed directly at him.

“Prince Adrian of the Lorian Empire,” he said, voice carrying with ease. “You’d make a fine witness, wouldn’t you?”

Prince Adrian’s gray eyes locked onto Lucavion the moment his name was spoken.

It wasn’t a heated glare—not the kind one gives to an enemy—but the sharp, deliberate look of someone who had just been pulled into a game he hadn’t agreed to play.

Lucavion, of course, didn’t flinch. He simply stood there, the faintest curve at the corner of his lips, as if savoring the fact that the board had shifted exactly how he wanted.

Adrian’s posture didn’t change, but behind that calm mask was something else—calculation, maybe even quiet irritation. The Lorian prince had been sent here under a shadow. His empire’s defeat at the hands of Arcanis meant that every step he took in this Academy was under a watchful eye. He had to measure his words, his actions, everything…

One wrong move, and it wouldn’t just be his reputation that suffered—it would be the perception of his empire itself.

And now Lucavion had spoken his name.

In front of everyone.

There was no walking away from that.

Lucavion’s gaze didn’t waver. “Wouldn’t you?” he repeated, the question like a soft nudge toward the edge of a cliff.

Adrian’s jaw tightened, but his voice, when it came, was steady and clear.

“…Very well.”

He stepped forward just enough for the entire courtyard to hear him.

“I have witnessed the agreement between the two beneficiaries,” he said, each word precise, deliberate. “I, Adrian Lorian, shall serve as witness to this wager—and I shall be fair.”

The declaration carried a weight beyond the duel itself. Everyone here understood the implication: the prince of a defeated empire had just promised impartiality in a matter involving one of Arcanis’s own nobles. It was a statement of integrity… and a risk.

Lucavion’s smirk deepened, his tone just shy of mocking politeness.

“Much appreciated, Your Highness.”

He let his gaze drift deliberately between Marisse and Adrian before stepping back, as if the scene were already decided.

The bet was struck.

The witness was named.

And the entire courtyard knew—this wasn’t just a fight anymore.

It was politics with a blade.