I Was Transmigrated As An Extraordinary Extra-Chapter 304

Satisfied, I turned to the last totem.

The Random Upgrade.

I stared at it for a solid three seconds. "This is either going to be amazing," I said, "or emotionally devastating."

I crushed it anyway.

[Random Upgrade Totem used.]

[Player UnluckyExtra’s system will be upgraded.]

"...Eh?" I blinked. "That’s it?"

My shoulders slumped. "Useless..."

[So ungrateful.]

I jumped slightly as the system text snapped back at me, the font somehow managing to convey offense.

[Don’t you know that I offer more benefits than—]

"I like it much better if my skill or item was upgraded," I muttered, already losing interest.

[You’re lucky you’re the one who got this reward instead of—]

"Yeah, yeah, just upgrade already," I cut it off, waving my hand.

The system went quiet.

For exactly half a second.

Then—

[WAITING ROOM LEVEL UP]

[INVENTORY LEVEL UP]

[STORAGE CAPACITY EXPANDED]

[COMMUNITY CHAT ACCESS UNLOCKED]

[SYSTEM RESPONSE SPEED ENHANCED]

[MINOR QUALITY-OF-LIFE FUNCTIONS ADDED]

[...]

The notifications slammed into my vision like a PowerPoint presentation fueled by spite.

"HEY—" I snapped. "ONE AT A TIME—"

Too late.

They kept coming.

I swiped them away aggressively, as if that would teach the system a lesson, and finally looked around.

My room had... changed.

The walls had expanded, the ceiling lifting higher than before. The cramped, barely-livable waiting room had transformed into something that actually resembled a living space. Sunlight streamed in from a newly added window. The floor looked sturdier. Cleaner.

I stood up slowly, turning in place.

"...Okay," I admitted. "That’s kind of nice."

A corner of the room now held extra storage slots, neatly labeled. The air even felt warmer, more comfortable—less like a glorified holding cell between life-threatening events.

I exhaled and stretched.

"With the stuff I picked up from the island," I muttered, eyeing the empty space thoughtfully, "I can finally make my own bed."

I opened my inventory again and immediately froze.

"...That’s new."

There were way more slots than the last time I checked. Where my inventory used to feel like an overstuffed suitcase that threatened to explode every time I opened it, it now looked... organized.

I scrolled.

And scrolled.

’Oh wow. So this is what it feels like to have storage privilege.’

I started pulling things out one by one.

First, monster fur—thick, soft, and surprisingly clean. I had obtained it through a highly strategic, definitely-not-reckless operation involving a sleeping pack of Lycans and my soul briefly leaving my body every time one of them twitched in their sleep.

I laid it down carefully. "Worth it," I whispered, even though my heart still remembered the fear.

Next came high-quality wood, neatly bundled. Kairos had chopped it for me under the excuse that it was "for cooking." Technically, I never specified what I was cooking. Beds are just horizontal food for exhaustion, right?

Then I pulled out the thick, sturdy vines—the ones I had collected after being chased through the jungle by several huge, very angry Mandrills who clearly did not approve of me harvesting their home décor.

I stared at the vines.

"...You cost me three near-death experiences," I told them. "You better hold."

I got to work.

I arranged the wood into a stable frame, tying the joints together with the vines. My hands moved with more confidence than I expected—maybe a system bonus, maybe muscle memory from sheer survival instinct. Either way, the structure slowly came together.

Once the frame was solid, I spread the monster fur over the top.

It was... soft.

I pressed a hand into it and immediately felt my knees weaken. "Oh no," I muttered. "This is luxury."

I added another layer of fur for warmth, securing it tightly so it wouldn’t slide off in the middle of the night and betray me. I used the remaining fur and carefully spread it across the floor, turning it into a makeshift carpet.

When I finally stepped back, I stared at my work.

A real room with a bed.

I gently sat on the bed.

Then immediately flopped backward.

"Oh," I breathed, staring up at the ceiling. "Oh this is dangerous. I might never leave."

The system immediately responded.

[Correction: You will leave.]

I closed my eyes for one second.

Just one.

[Warning.]

"I’m awake," I mumbled.

[Your breathing pattern suggests otherwise.]

I cracked one eye open. "I’m resting."

[You were resting during the second level too. You nearly died 37 times.]

"Keyword: nearly."

I shifted, getting more comfortable despite myself. The bed hugged me like it was my favorite sweater. My muscles loosened one by one, exhaustion finally catching up now that nothing was actively chasing me.

"I deserve this," I muttered. "I survived islands, sea monsters, killer birds, and you."

[Debatable.]

"Especially you."

Silence followed.

Then—

[Countdown initiated.]

My eyes snapped open. "What countdown?"

[Teleportation to next level will commence upon full unconsciousness.]

I shot upright so fast the bed squeaked in betrayal. "YOU SAID TEN MINUTES LAST TIME."

[This time is different.]

"How is it different?!"

[You are too comfortable.]

I stared at the system interface in disbelief. "You’re punishing me for good interior design?"

[Correct.]

I clenched my fists. "Fine. I won’t sleep."

[You said that 14 times already.]

I stood up, paced the room, slapped my cheeks, did three squats out of pure spite. My body wobbled, protested, and then very rudely reminded me I hadn’t slept properly in weeks.

I sat back down on the bed.

Mistake.

The fur was warm. Inviting. The pillow cradled my head like it had been waiting its whole life for this moment.

"Oh no," I whispered.

[Oh yes.]

My eyelids grew heavy. My thoughts slowed. The room blurred at the edges.

"If I wake up surrounded by monsters," I slurred, "I’m haunting your code."

[Noted.]

The last thing I registered was the system’s cheerful notification popping up as darkness swallowed me whole.

[Player UnluckyExtra has fallen asleep.]

[Teleportation in progress.]

"...I hate you..."

~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~

When I opened my eyes again, I was standing in the middle of a street.

Cobblestone pressed against the soles of my boots. The air smelled like baked bread, horse sweat, and fresh air. Stone buildings lined both sides of the road, their wooden signs creaking gently in the breeze. Somewhere nearby, a blacksmith was hammering metal with enough enthusiasm to suggest unresolved anger issues.

Yep. It looks like I’m in a medieval city.

[Did you have a good rest?]

I stretched my arms lazily, joints popping like bubble wrap. "I’m surprised you waited for me to have a good rest before teleporting me here?"

[I was just joking. You still had an hour left to rest. I’m not that evil...]

"Fair poi—"

[Unlike you.]

"...."

I slowly turned my head to stare at nothing in particular, counting to five in my mind so I wouldn’t commit system homicide.

I shook my head and exhaled. "Fine. Whatever. What’s the mission for this stage anyway?"

The familiar red screen slid into view.

[In ten days, you must earn 1000 Gateway Points to clear this Stage: Trial Run]

[All points earned will be yours to keep]

I blinked.

"...That’s it?"

[That is not a small amount.]

"It is when you refuse to explain how Gateway Points even work."

[Figure it out.]

Of course. Why would it ever be simple?

I glanced around the street again. Merchants shouted prices from their stalls, guards in dull armor patrolled lazily, and adventurers—judging by the oversized weapons and dramatic capes—clustered near notice boards.

Money. Work. Influence. Information.

And alcohol.

"The first place to go is obvious," I muttered.

[You’re thinking of the pub.]

"Correct."

[For information.]

"...Also correct."

[And rum.]

"Now you’re just stating facts."

I followed the sound of laughter and clanking mugs until I found it: a large wooden building with warped doors and a crooked sign swinging overhead.

THE DRUNKEN NYMPH

Classy.

I pushed the door open and was immediately assaulted by noise. Conversations overlapped, dice clattered on tables, someone was singing terribly in the corner, and the smell—by all gods—hit me like a debuff.

Sweat. Ale. Grease.

I slid onto an empty stool at the bar. The bartender, a broad man with a beard that looked like it had survived several wars, glanced at me. "What’ll it be?"

"Rum," I said without hesitation. "And whatever passes for food here that won’t kill me."

"That’ll be 50 GP," the man replied flatly, already reaching for a mug.

My eyes bulged so hard I was convinced they were about to roll across the counter.

’That’s expensive,’ I thought, staring at him like he’d personally insulted my ancestors.

[I told you it’s hard to earn points here, hehehe.]

’Don’t laugh. It sounds awkward to listen to when you do that.’

[...]

’Hey. How do I even pay?’

[Take it out from your inventory.]

I sighed internally, reached into my inventory, and deliberately took out one shiny Gateway Point. I flipped it in the air and caught it, then slid it across the counter with all the confidence of someone who absolutely did not intend to pay full price.

"Just give me rum," I said calmly. "Only."

The man caught the coin and stared at it. Then he stared at me.

Then he stared into my eyes.