The Academy's Terminally Ill Side Character-Chapter 102: Last Two Days [4]

Only one day left until the main quest began.

Up to now, everything had gone surprisingly well. Too well.

No explosions. No screaming. Just awkward teen drama, some weirdly emotional conversations, and the slow hum of daily academy life. If you didn’t know what was coming, you’d almost think this was a slice-of-life story.

But I knew better.

Tomorrow was the turning point. If I failed... everything would fall apart.

A professor—one who, in his mind, thought he was saving the world—would snap. He’d kill students. His own students.

And the worst part?

He’d get away with it.

The academy’s already shaky reputation would collapse. Trust in the staff would vanish. Panic would set in. Students—kids—would start looking over their shoulders, wondering if their classroom was really safe.

I hated stories like that. Ones where the tragedy felt pointless, where people died for the sake of shock value.

But this time, I was here.

And I wasn’t going to let that story play out.

"Loser~"

The familiar voice cut through my thoughts like a paper fan to the face.

I turned, and there she was—Kiera. Black hair tied in a messy side ponytail, lips curved in that smug grin she wore like armor. She leaned against my desk like she owned it, tilting her head as if she was studying a bug under glass.

"I didn’t notice before, but you’ve got really long eyelashes," she said, her tone half-playful, half-accusing. "And your skin’s so pale. Are you secretly a vampire or something?"

I blinked at her. Not in surprise—more in resignation.

Kiera. Or as the system oh-so-charmingly dubbed her: Buttcheeks.

She was loud. Invasive. A little unhinged.

But she was also the first one to die in the original storyline.

Brutally.

Without warning.

And no one saw it coming.

"Do you always start conversations by insulting people?" I asked, keeping my voice level.

She raised an eyebrow. "Insulting? I’m just saying. If you stood against the wall and didn’t move, someone might mistake you for a haunted painting."

I exhaled through my nose. Not quite a laugh.

She had no idea.

No clue that in another version of this world, her story ended tomorrow. That she’d never make it past the first act. That no one would even have time to mourn her before chaos consumed the rest of the class.

And here she was, teasing me over skin tone and eyelashes like we were in some cheesy rom-com.

Maybe that’s what made it worse.

Maybe that’s what made it real.

I looked at her—really looked. The light in her eyes, the way she fidgeted slightly even when pretending to be confident. She wasn’t some disposable side character. Not anymore.

"Hey," she said, shifting under my stare, "don’t look at me like that. I’ll start thinking you actually like me."

I didn’t answer.

I looked her like she grew an extra head.

Really, her idocity doesn’t know bound.

Kiera’s smug grin faltered for half a second. Just long enough for me to see the flicker of uncertainty behind her eyes.

Then, like clockwork, she doubled down. "Oh god, you do like me. Is that why you keep staring? You planning to write me a poem or something? Ooh—wait, wait—lemme guess." She slapped her hands together and put on a mock dramatic voice. "’To the girl with insults like knives, whose brain clearly never arrived—’"

"Please stop," I said flatly.

"’—whose ponytail defies gravity, and who thinks sarcasm counts as personality—’"

"Kiera."

She laughed—really laughed, like she couldn’t help it. "You’re no fun, loser. You’re supposed to banter back."

I blinked slowly, trying to decide whether it was worth it to argue or let her burn herself out.

"You’re so weird lately," she continued, walking around my desk now. "Like you’re always thinking super hard about something that has nothing to do with this world. Or maybe you’re just planning your villain origin story?"

If only she knew.

I glanced around. The classroom was still half-empty. A few students chatting by the windows. The clock ticking away toward the last normal day they’d ever have.

"Kiera," I said quietly. "What are you doing tomorrow?"

She tilted her head. "Uh, showing up late, pretending I didn’t forget my books, and then falling asleep during whatever lecture they throw at us. Why?"

I studied her expression. Open. Unworried. Entirely unprepared.

I really wanted to tell her skip tomorrow but while doing so target would change and someone else might become victim.

I can’t let that happen.

So the only thing I said was this.

"Be careful."

"Huh? Of what?"

"Everything."

"That’s vague."

Kiera squinted at me, like she was trying to figure out if I was being dramatic, sarcastic, or just plain weird.

Maybe it was all three.

"Everything?" she repeated. "Come on, that’s such a creepy thing to say. You sound like one of those doomsday cultists."

I didn’t reply. I just watched her. Memorized her face—the shape of her smirk, the way her bangs kept falling over her eyes, the way her fingers toyed with the edge of my desk like she was always restless, never still.

She wasn’t supposed to matter.

Not in the original story.

But now?

Now she did.

And that made things harder.

Kiera crossed her arms. "You’re acting super off today. Is this some kind of performance art? Like, are you doing a ’haunted transfer student’ bit?"

"No," I said quietly.

But it did feel like a performance.

Pretending everything was okay. Pretending I hadn’t read ahead. That I didn’t know how the scene ended, who screamed first, who bled the longest, who never made it out.

I knew the twist. I knew the villain. I knew what he’d say. "I had no choice."

He always thought he had no choice.

Kiera was still watching me, the amusement slowly draining from her face.

"You’re serious?" she asked. "Like, actually serious?"

I nodded once.

She straightened up, suddenly not leaning on the desk anymore. "You’re kind of scaring me now."

"Good," I said. "Maybe then you’ll listen."

"To what?"

"To your instincts. If something feels wrong—leave. Don’t wait. Don’t try to figure it out. Don’t act like you’re invincible."

Kiera stared.

The bell rang.

The sharp sound cut through the tension like a blade. Students started filing in, chairs scraping, conversations resuming. The ordinary rhythm of academy life pushing forward like nothing was wrong.

Like no one was going to die tomorrow.

Kiera didn’t move for a second. Then she huffed out a breath and ran a hand through her ponytail.

"You’re so weird," she muttered. "Seriously, what is with you lately?"

She didn’t wait for an answer. Just rolled her eyes and walked away, muttering something about "emo loser vibes" under her breath.

I watched her go.

And I wished, more than anything, that she’d take me seriously.

Because tomorrow, the game changed.

And if I couldn’t rewrite the script—

The tragedy would begin again.

Worse than before.

-----

As soon as Kiera left for class, homeroom began.

Professor Lena walked in like usual, but today, she didn’t just flash her usual polite smile and leave us to our own devices. No, this time she looked like she actually had something to say.

"Good morning, everyone," she began, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "I have an announcement today, so listen up."

That was unusual. Lena wasn’t the type to make a fuss unless it was important.

"As most of you know," she continued, "you’ll soon be receiving your first batch of points."

Ah. Right. Points.

I’d honestly forgotten all about that, what with the chaos from the main quest recently.

"I’ll explain it formally for those who weren’t paying attention during orientation," she added, casting a quick glance around the room. Her eyes lingered on a few specific people. I had a feeling I was one of them.

"Points are a reward and penalty system here at Velcrest Academy," she said, pacing slowly across the front of the room. "Everything you do—classes, assignments, duels, even how you behave in public—will affect your score."

A few people groaned quietly, and someone whispered, "Guess I’m screwed."

She ignored them.

"If you perform well—volunteer, help resolve incidents, earn high marks—you’ll gain points. If you slack off, cause trouble, or break school rules... well, you lose them."

It sounded simple enough, but the weight behind her voice said otherwise.

Then she said the part I’d half-remembered from the manual we all skimmed on the first day.

"If your points ever fall below minus five hundred, you’re automatically disqualified from graduation. No appeals."

A quiet wave of tension passed through the class. Even the ones pretending not to care straightened up a little.

I tapped my pen against my desk, trying to recall how many points I might’ve earned or lost so far. Not that I’d done anything too crazy... yet.

"There’s more," Lena added, her tone cooling slightly. "Your rank in class and eligibility for special privileges—like access to restricted libraries, advanced practice rooms, or internship offers—will also be based on your total points."

That explained why some people looked panicked and others smug. Those aiming for the top were already thinking five steps ahead.

Kiera, for one, would definitely be keeping track like her life depended on it.

Professor Lena folded her arms.

"So," she finished, "if you’re someone who thinks the rules don’t matter—good luck. You’ll need it."

Her eyes scanned the room one more time, then she turned toward the door.

"That’s all for today. Class dismissed."

As she walked out, the murmurs began immediately.

"What’s your guess? I probably got, like, twenty points already."

"You? More like negative twenty."

"Shut up, at least I didn’t set the training field on fire."

I stayed silent, mulling it over.

Points. Rewards. Penalties. Graduating or not graduating.

This place really didn’t play around.

And I had a feeling... things were about to get a lot more competitive.