I Was Transmigrated As An Extraordinary Extra

Chapter 313

"Finally—this damn stage is finally over!" Gage exclaimed, throwing his arms up as if the system itself might hear him complain one last time. Any lingering thoughts of Lilium were shoved aside, buried under pure exhaustion and relief.

Alicia stretched her stiff shoulders and scoffed. "I’m telling you, less than half of the players managed to gather more than a thousand GP. This stage was brutal. No way most of them survived with anything decent."

As if on cue, translucent system windows began popping up in rapid succession, stacking in the air before them. Soft chimes echoed with every new notification.

They both glanced up.

[Out of 99 Players, 60 Players currently possess more than 1000 GP in their inventory]

Gage’s smug grin froze mid-expression.

"...There’s more than half," he muttered, the confidence draining from his voice.

Alicia blinked once. Then twice. "That... doesn’t feel right."

Before either of them could properly process that information, another alert appeared.

[Players will be revealed along with their earned GP]

Gage straightened instinctively. Alicia’s eyes narrowed.

Alicia blinked once. Then twice. "That... doesn’t feel right."

Then came the next line.

[Top 5 Players will be given 100% of the GP they gained as a bonus.]

Silence fell between them.

"Wait," Alicia said slowly. "Did that just say—"

The rankings materialized in the air.

————————————

Top 1: UnluckyExtra - 50,500 GP

Top 2: Boss - 48,899 GP

Top 3: Trickster - 28,500 GP

Top 4: ...

Top 5: ...

————————————

For a full three seconds, neither of them spoke.

"What?" Alicia finally whispered.

Gage’s mouth opened, then closed. His brain refused to cooperate. "...How?"

The gap between first and second place was overwhelming.

"That’s not five thousand five hundred," Alicia said, her voice climbing an octave as she leaned closer to the floating text, as if it might correct itself. "That’s... fifty-five thousand?"

"50,00 GP?" Gage snapped, the disbelief detonating into rage. "How the fuck is that even possible?!"

His shout echoed through the clearing, startling a few nearby players who were also staring at the rankings in stunned silence.

They had bled for their earnings. Lied. Ran. Fought. Endured humiliation after humiliation just to scrape together twenty thousand GP—and even that felt like a miracle.

And now this?

Someone had casually quintupled that amount.

No—more than quintupled.

"Who is this player?" Gage demanded, fists clenched so tightly his knuckles turned white. "UnluckyExtra? I’ve never even heard that name!"

Around them, murmurs erupted. Players whispered, cursed, laughed hysterically, or stared numbly at the rankings as if reality itself had cracked.

"Who’s UnluckyExtra?!" Gage shouted again, this time not caring who heard him.

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

When I opened my eyes, I was back in my room—my actual room.

Ah. Home sweet temporary prison.

I didn’t bother saying goodbye to the three of them. There was no dramatic farewell, no misty-eyed promises since we would be contacting each other through the messenger system anyway, and honestly? If Thorne tried to hug me again, I might’ve stabbed him on reflex.

A familiar red window popped up the moment I fully sat up.

[Congratulations on achieving first place]

I stared at it, then leaned back against the headboard smugly. "You didn’t expect me to be first place, did you?" I said aloud, grinning. "Don’t lie. I know you didn’t."

There was a pause.

Then—

[Because of you, I lost the bet with the other admins...]

I froze. "...What?" I sat up straighter. "Hold on. You bet against me?"

Another pause. Longer this time.

"So you really don’t believe in me?" I gasped, placing a hand over my chest in exaggerated betrayal. "After everything we’ve been through? After all the emotional trauma I’ve endured for your entertainment?"

[...]

The silence was deafening. Rude, even.

Before I could continue my heartfelt rant, another notification shoved itself in.

[50,500 GP has been deposited in your account]

My eyes flicked to the number.

"...Okay but answer me first," I glared at the screen. "You can’t just emotionally wound me and then throw money at the problem."

No response.

"Hey," I tried again. "System? Admin? Mysterious cosmic overseer with commitment issues?"

Nothing.

Wow. So this is what getting ghosted feels like.

Then—

[Since the trial run has been completed, you may now enter the real Vision’s Platform.]

Finally. Progress.

[You can take out three items you deposited before you entered the trial stage]

"Yes!" I pumped my fist. "About damn time."

A new window unfolded in front of me, displaying the list of items I had stored before the stage began. My eyes skimmed through it rapidly.

First pick: the smartwatch.

I selected it without hesitation—the same one I’d secretly linked to the system. My beloved multitasking, rule-bending little miracle.

Second pick: Arcanum.

Obviously.

If I ever lost that, I would definitely riot.

I leaned back, satisfied. "Alright, that’s all I need."

But then... something felt off.

I frowned and scanned the list again. Slower this time. Item by item.

"...Huh?"

There was nothing else worth taking.

No third item.

I stared at the system window, then up at the empty air. "Wait. That’s it?"

The system, predictably, said nothing.

I looked straight at the floating system window, squinting like that alone might pressure it into compliance. "What if I choose one of my skills instead?"

[...]

"I only need one skill," I added quickly, lifting a finger like I was making a perfectly reasonable business proposal. "Just one. I’m not asking for a full refund or divine intervention or anything."

[...]

I crossed my arms. "It’s unfair if I only bought two items while the other players get to choose three."

Still nothing.

I scoffed. "I mean, whose fault is it that I’m minimalist and emotionally stable?"

[Then that’s your fault.]

"...Wow." I stared at the words. "You didn’t have to say it like that."

I wasn’t giving up that easily.

"Oh come on," I said, switching tactics into full-on wheedling mode. "Just this once? It’s a useless skill anyway. Like, genuinely useless."

[...]

"It isn’t even offensive," I continued, pacing the room. "Or defensive. It doesn’t buff, debuff, heal, explode, or traumatize anyone. It barely does anything!"

Another pause.

[What skill?]

I cleared my throat. "Dagger Retrieval."

The silence stretched longer this time. Uncomfortably long. The kind of silence where you start wondering if you’ve been muted, blocked, or reported to higher-dimensional HR.

I crossed my arms. "Hello? You there? I swear if you’re running a background check on my skill usage history—"

Just as I was about to give up and accept my tragic fate of only having two items, the system flickered again.

[Considering the world you’re living in, your weapon is useless—]

"Hey!" I protested immediately. "Daggers aren’t useless!"

[Me and the other admins accept your request]

I froze. "...Wait. Really?" I leaned forward, eyes bright. "You’re serious?"

[However, we have one request]

My smile stiffened. "Why do I feel like this is going to ruin my mood?"

[We ask you to refrain from using your ’Unidentified Ability’ until we give you permission.]

"That’s a bit... unfair—"

[Then we have no choice but to blacklist you.]

"...HAHA," I laughed instantly. "I was joking! Obviously joking! Wow, you admins really need to learn how to take a joke."

Silence.

I swallowed.

"...Noted," I added politely.

[After 24 hours of rest, I will transfer you to your next destination.]

"Mm... great," I mumbled, already half-buried under my blanket. "Love that for me."

The window didn’t disappear.

[ I will now explain to you the additional rules. ]

I cracked one eye open.

[Each platform has a given amount of time.]

Okay. Reasonable. Time limits. I could work with that.

[You can die infinitely, but your sanity will slowly decrease.]

I stared at the line for a full three seconds.

"...Excuse me?"

[When the time limit is up, you can die.]

That... felt unnecessarily threatening.

[Cooldown will be 12 hours until you can have an unlimited amount of lives again.]

"So I can die forever," I muttered, rubbing my face, "I just have to wait in between like some kind of respawn queue."

[If you die, expect different penalties on every platform you’re in.]

My eye twitched. "Of course. Wouldn’t be fun otherwise."

The window scrolled down on its own, clearly enjoying this.

[You can teleport back to your room when you are not in the middle of combat, danger zone, or when enemies or other Players are actively attacking you.]

"Fair," I said lazily. "No teleporting out like a coward mid-fight. I get it."

[You can safely teleport back to your room if there are no interruptions for ten seconds.]

"Ten seconds?" I repeated. "That’s an eternity when something wants you dead."

[You have an emergency teleportation every 120 hours.]

I slowly lowered my head onto the pillow. "That’s a... long time..."

The system, unbothered, continued.

[You can invite other Players to your room.]

That one finally got my attention. I hummed thoughtfully. "Huh. So house guests are allowed."

The text paused.

[...]

More lines appeared underneath, dense and tightly packed—sub-clauses, conditions, edge cases, warnings, disclaimers, and what looked suspiciously like fine print written by someone who enjoyed watching people suffer.

I squinted at it.

"...Yeah, no."

I yawned, wide and unrestrained, the kind that made my eyes water. I had already skimmed the important parts anyway. Time limits. Dying sucks. Sanity is fragile. Teleport carefully. Don’t be stupid.

Everything else felt like something Future Me would deal with.

I waved a dismissive hand at the glowing screen. "I’ll read the rest later. Or not. Depends on how alive I am."

And with that very responsible decision, I let my eyes close.

The system didn’t comment.

I was asleep before it could.