Episode 27: Genre Misunderstanding: An Extra's Survival Story

Episode 27: The One Who’s Mistaken Is the One at Fault

After leaving the headmaster’s office, Abel did not return to the infirmary, as might be expected.

Instead, he headed straight to the training grounds.

Many areas had been partially or completely destroyed in the enemy attack, but he paid it no mind.

He had a clear goal now: to attack the enemies who hadn’t escaped yet. He needed to prepare for that.

Was it for revenge? No. He had to clear them out quickly and declare victory, not defeat, in order for the Academy to return to normal.

Many were skeptical about restarting the Academy, but that was exactly why Abel saw a spark of hope.

Even in times like this, the Academy endures. Whether this world is a superpower fantasy or a romance-fantasy (rofan), one thing never changes:

“The Academy always returns within a few months.”

“If this really is a romance-fantasy world, then that’s all the more reason it has to.”

“So before that happens, I might as well beat down those supremacist bastards and gain some experience. That’s the smartest move right now.”

He had accepted It now:

This world didn’t unfold like the typical “superpower” genre he was familiar with.

Even though it was tagged as a power-fantasy, romance—not battle—sat at its core.

He’d once scorned people for being foolish enough to confuse genres… but in the end, he too had been wrong.

At first, he felt despair. All his past efforts felt wasted.

But then he reconsidered, and realized that not much had actually changed just because this was a romance-fantasy world.

His powers hadn’t vanished. In fact, abilities were still the most crucial measuring stick.

Looking at how things were unfolding, he could already guess how relationships would evolve, twist, and tangle through the influence of these powers.

What Abel had always wanted was to become one of the strongest in a world of superpowers.

In a genre dominated by love and jealousy—not blood and battle—at least he didn’t have to worry about losing family or loved ones.

It meant he could focus even more on improving himself without fear.

‘This is an opportunity. Yeah. Let the rest of you drown in your romance. While you’re distracted, I’ll steadily climb to the top.’

To do that, he needed life at the Academy to resume. And for that, he had to go after the remaining enemies—maybe not wipe them out, but at least deal a serious blow.

If he earned merit along the way, it would raise his reputation, which was no loss to him.

Now that he’d made up his mind, there was only one thing left: push himself to the brink.

Recalling the formidable enemy, Julien, Abel resumed his routine of striking his sword one hundred thousand times.

Even if he couldn’t use his powers. Even if he couldn’t rely on physical enhancement.

He needed to train his body and experience until he could stand against enemies with nothing but raw strength.

***

After the series of incidents at the Academy, the student population began to slowly decline.

Most of the students leaving were heirs of major noble families from various countries.

Their governments decided it was safer to call them home before further harm could come to them.

But not everyone left.

In fact, some insisted on staying, even when told to return.

Some stayed out of pride—either as ability-users or nobles.

Some were burning with hatred, hungry for revenge against the supremacists.

Others had their own goals at the Academy—and didn’t want to leave before they achieved them.

“I found him, Irshu.”

“Tarshu, I found him too.”

From that perspective, the two sisters—the winter princesses—fit the latter category.

The sole reason they came to the Academy was to find a perfectly strong man.

If possible, they’d invite him to their duchy. If not, they’d try to persuade him to defect.

And if even that failed, they’d at least establish a relationship, share energy, and return home with that connection.

Since their enrollment, they had examined every upperclassman one by one.

But none were satisfactory.

All of them were too focused on ability, possessing only a half-baked version of strength.

Not one of them qualified as a true man in their eyes.

Until one day, the two princesses finally found him.

The most ideal man. The one most fitting to join the Winter Duchy.

A perfect warrior—if only to share his essence and bring it back with them.

“They said he was injured.”

“He’s not someone who can be called injured.”

Rumors had already spread within the Academy.

The freshmen held off an overwhelmingly powerful enemy to the very end.

Thanks to them, faculty and upperclassmen were able to repel the supremacists faster than expected.

And at the center of those rumors was someone the sisters knew well.

Whooom… whooom…

In a shattered training ground, where no one else dared step, he was swinging his sword.

They said he’d been healed completely—but not all damage disappears with treatment.

The shock, the pain, the fear and terror of that time remained etched deep in his memory.

Some ability-users, despite being physically capable, break down because of those memories.

They simply can’t take it anymore—their mental endurance has reached its limit.

They may have strong abilities, but deep down, they’re just ordinary people.

There are more of them than you’d think—especially those who’ve never been truly broken before.

One of the experiences the Academy offers is exactly that:

To be broken. Because only then can you learn how to get back up again.

Endurance is forged through wounds.

You only learn how to rise by falling first.

It’s not easy. And because it’s hard, even ability-users avoid it if they can.

But that man—Abel—is enduring all of it without hesitation.

“Even if the body recovers, the mind remembers.”

“The injuries the body suffers aren’t forgotten by the brain.”

Abel continued swinging his sword without pause.

He wasn’t using any powers at all.

Some might call what he experienced a victory.

But to him, it was a defeat.

If he was pushed back because he couldn’t use his ability, was he now trying to win without using it?

Every one of his movements, every expression, exuded a powerful will.

He wasn’t a victor or a loser—just a man striving to become stronger.

In that moment, the two princesses recalled the true face of Abel they had seen not long ago.

‘A man who never breaks down, no matter how much his enemies try to destroy him.’

‘A man who never surrenders, no matter the attack, no matter the despair.’

It’s him. It’s that man. Irush and Tarsh looked at each other.

They had wondered if even four years would be enough to find him, but it hadn’t even taken four months.

Now the only thing left to do was bring him back to the Winter Principality—or at the very least, take his essence and return home.

“Who wants to go first?”

“I’ll go first.”

In the midst of this, the two princesses recalled what Abel had once told them:

Don’t speak at the same time. Speak one at a time.

Now that they needed to win his favor, it was only right to follow his rules. And they were more than willing to comply.

“Abel Rothensilt.”

As Irshu stepped forward, Abel brightened when he spotted her.

He was just about to say her name when—“Ah.” A quiet sigh escaped him.

Then, glancing between the princesses nervously, he cautiously opened his mouth.

“…Lady Tarshu?”

“Irush.”

“Ah…”

From Abel’s perspective, it really wasn’t fair—these two were too identical.

Even with twins, there’s usually some subtle difference. The length of their strides, the rhythm of their breathing, tiny mannerisms, the aura they give off—something.

But these two? It was like they had once been one and the same. No one on earth could tell them apart.

“My apologies, Lady Irshu.”

“It’s fine. This always happens.”

From Irshu’s perspective, it was fine. But Abel didn’t feel that way at all.

Even though her voice was always flat and toneless, today it somehow sounded displeased.

Panicking, he blurted something out—something he hoped would lighten the mood.

“Well, um… it’s just that you’re both so incredibly beautiful… I got confused.”

“…Beautiful?”

“Yes, Lady Irshu.”

“That’s a nice thing to hear.”

Irshu’s lips curled into a faint smile as she took Tarshu’s hand.

Tarshu, too, was smiling softly at Abel.

Of course, to Abel, that smile felt utterly hollow, devoid of soul.

“What were you doing?”

“Just loosening up a bit. After everything that happened, I realized some things… and thought I should prepare for what’s to come.”

“What’s to come?”

“Prepare?”

Irshu and Tarshu tilted their heads at the same angle—uncannily identical again.

Even for twins, this was a bit much. Thinking that, Abel decided to share the news with them.

“It’ll be announced officially in a few days anyway, so I can probably tell you now. We’re going to pursue the ones who attacked the Academy.”

“That’s it.”

“Revenge, huh.”

Revenge. Yes, that would be the main focus—for most people. But not for Abel.

For him, what mattered more than revenge was experience—surviving fights on the brink of death, building his reputation and status as an ability user, and rising to a new level of strength.

“Just because this world is a romance fantasy (rofan) doesn’t mean I have to live like it is. I’ll stick to the power-fantasy genre.”

In a way, it was better this way. If Seria were involved, things would get complicated.

No way those four other men would let her go—they’d definitely try to stop it.

Some might even invite her to their own country or noble house.

Being alone was easier. He’d trained and refined himself with that in mind from the beginning.

Especially when it came to tracking enemies, it was best to move solo—

“I want to go too.”

“Me too.”

“…What?”

Irshu and Tarshu quietly stepped up on either side and each took one of Abel’s hands.

“Come with us.”

What kind of development is this now?

Abel was honestly flustered beyond words.

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