The Cursed Extra-Chapter 61: [2.9] The Island of Misfit Toys

"In a world where even the gods have favorites, what hope does a nobody have? Simple. Become the nobody that nobody sees coming."

***

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Someone was about to break down my door.

Okay, maybe that was dramatic. But whoever stood on the other side of Room 247 was knocking like they had a personal vendetta against the wood itself. Each hit landed hard and fast. I checked the brass clock on my desk. 7:55 PM.

Right on schedule.

"Time for the show," I muttered, closing my trunk and sliding it under the bed where the shadows swallowed it whole. The less anyone knew about what I kept in there, the longer I stayed alive.

Lyra finished arranging my pathetically small collection of belongings in the wardrobe. She turned to face me, those red eyes catching the lamplight in a way that would’ve spooked anyone who didn’t know her. Her face betrayed nothing. It never did.

"Yes, Master. Shall I accompany you downstairs?"

I let my shoulders drop. Just a little. Let the uncertainty creep into my eyes like I wasn’t sure which foot to put forward first. The transformation took half a second. Less, maybe. I’d gotten good at this.

"Of course." I offered a weak smile. "Can’t have the pathetic third son wandering around unattended, can we?"

The stairwell was narrow. Every step groaned under our weight like the stones themselves were tired of holding up this dump. The walls pressed in close, and the air tasted stale. Old. Forgotten. Voices drifted up from somewhere below, but they weren’t the excited chatter of first-years starting a new adventure.

No, this was something else. Bitter. Resigned.

Welcome to the island of misfit toys.

The common room of House Onyx looked exactly like what it was. A dumping ground.

Twenty-five students had been crammed into a space meant for maybe fifteen. Mismatched chairs sat scattered around a fireplace that put out more shadow than heat. The carpet had stains I didn’t want to think about. Ink, probably. Tears, definitely. Blood? Given where we were, I wasn’t ruling it out. The paint peeled in the corners. The lamps overhead sputtered like they might give up entirely at any moment.

This was where they put the broken ones. The failures. The embarrassments that polite society couldn’t turn away entirely but could absolutely ignore.

In other words, my people.

I activated [Narrative Appraisal] and swept my gaze across the room. Information flooded my vision, stats and classes layering over each face like a video game overlay. Which, in a sense, it was. Just one I was stuck inside of.

[Marcus Vellum - Level 1 Disgraced Scribe]

The kid sat hunched over a book in the corner. His fingers were stained black with ink, and they shook as he turned pages he definitely wasn’t reading. His family had gotten caught forging documents in the royal archives. Bye-bye House Argent. Hello, Onyx.

[Thomlin Ashworth - Level 1 Failed Knight-Aspirant]

This guy leaned against the wall near the door with the posture of someone who used to stand tall and had been beaten down so many times he forgot how. He’d awakened with a knight class. Should’ve been a golden ticket to House Aurum. Problem? His Body stat was barely above average. A knight who couldn’t swing a sword properly was just a guy in armor. His cousin Theron sat nearby, not looking at him. That was going to be important later, if I remembered the original story right.

[Mira Blackthorn - Level 1 Mana-Burnt Hedge Mage]

She clutched a cup of tea like it was the only thing keeping her from flying apart. Her hands shook. Constantly. Her magical awakening had gone wrong in the worst way possible. Now her power surged and faded without warning. Nobody wanted a mage who might blow up the classroom on a bad day.

Every face told the same story. Dreams crushed by circumstance. Ambition strangled by politics or bad luck or both. These were the students who had nowhere else to go. The academy let them in as a formality. A courtesy. A way to maintain appearances while making sure they’d never actually matter.

The perfect recruiting ground for a secret organization. Angry people. Desperate people. Hungry people.

My kind of people.

But one student stood apart.

She moved near the window like she couldn’t sit still. Like staying still meant dying. Red hair fell down her back in a wild mane she clearly didn’t bother to tame. Her eyes were gold. Not metaphorically gold. Actually gold. And the pupils narrowed to slits when she focused on something that annoyed her.

Wolf-kin. The pointed ears and the red tail gave it away. That tail lashed behind her, betraying every emotion her face tried to hide. Her claws kept extending and retracting. Each time they came out, they left deep gouges in the wooden windowsill.

[Fen Grimhowl - Level 2 Packless Warrior]

The appraisal gave me fragments. Exile. A challenge to her alpha that went badly. A powerful warrior class but no connections to leverage it. 𝚏𝗿𝗲𝐞𝐰𝚎𝕓𝐧𝚘𝘃𝗲𝐥.𝐜𝚘𝕞

Wait.

I don’t remember her from the novel at all.

That was a problem. A big one. Unknown variables this early meant the story was already going off-script. And she was Level 2 when everyone else sat at Level 1. That meant she’d seen real combat. Recent combat.

Great. Just what I needed. A wild card on day one.

Fen’s pacing brought her toward some nervous-looking kid trying to claim a spot near the fireplace. He’d positioned his chair at an angle. Good view of the door. Access to the heat. Smart, actually. Defensive without being obvious about it. When he shifted his chair, it ended up right in her path.

She stopped.

"Move."

Half the room flinched. It wasn’t a question. It wasn’t even a command. It was just... a statement. Like the sun rises in the east, and you will move out of my way.

The kid looked up. His robes were nicer than most of ours. New-ish. That meant family money, even if said family had fallen from grace.

"I’m sorry, but I was here first. Perhaps you could find somewhere else to—"

Fen’s claws shot out. All the way. They caught the firelight and glinted, each one curved like a tiny sickle. She leaned down until her face was inches from his. Slow. Giving him plenty of time to see exactly what was about to happen.

Her teeth were showing now. The canines. Way too sharp. Way too long.

"I said. Move."

The room got cold. Or maybe that was just my imagination. Conversations died mid-word. Everyone turned to watch. Some students shifted in their seats. Others leaned forward, hungry for entertainment. For violence. For something to break up the monotony of being forgotten.

The kid’s face went white. He looked around for backup. For anyone willing to stand with him against the scary wolf-girl.

He found nothing. Not a single person met his eyes.

He stood so fast his chair crashed backward. The noise made three people jump.

"Of course. My apologies. I was just finishing anyway."

Fen didn’t move. She stood there, blocking the easy exit, forcing him to squeeze past her. Her tail twitched once. Lazy. Almost bored. He stumbled trying to get away, nearly tripping over the chair he’d knocked down.

She dropped into his spot with the satisfaction of someone who’d just made a point.

Okay. Note to self. Do not piss off the wolf-girl. At least not until I have something to offer her.

The clock chimed. Eight times. The sound bounced off the walls of the silent room.

No professor appeared.

The silence stretched out. The fire crackled. A low growl started building in Fen’s throat. She was up again before I could blink, standing in the center of the room. Those gold eyes swept across every single one of us.

"So, the dregs get the dreg professor who can’t even show up on time."