The Extra is a Genius!? Chapter 18: I’m Screwed

"I'm screwed."

Noel stared at the ceiling of his dorm room like it had personally betrayed him.

"Like—endgame, hard reset, no-saves-left kind of screwed."

He paced in circles, half-dressed in his uniform pants, shirt untucked, hair a mess. A single sheet of parchment sat on his desk, mocking him with the words "Exam Schedule – 6 Days Remaining."

He stopped, pointed at it like it was alive.

"You were in the book. I remember reading about you. I fucking ."

He dropped into his chair, head in hands.

He groaned.

Loudly.

"Of all the ways to die in this world, I never thought it'd be 'mana theory failure'."

Noel kicked his desk lightly. Not hard. Just enough to punish it for existing.

He looked back at the parchment.

Then at his empty desk.

Then at the door.

Only one option left.

"Time to cram like my life depends on it."

Because it literally did.

Noel bolted out of his dorm like a man on a mission.

A mission to not die via standardized testing.

The moment classes ended, he made a hard turn straight for the library, ignoring everyone who tried to wave or talk to him—including Roberto, who tried to offer a bag of roasted nuts and got a "" glare in return.

He stormed into the main hall, found the farthest, darkest corner of the library he could claim, and started grabbing books like he was stocking for the apocalypse.

Runic Logic. Historical Magic Use. Spell Theory II. Mana Manipulation Case Studies. Even the dull ones.

He stacked them until the tower of paper and parchment blocked him from view.

He sat. Cracked his neck.

And began.

Page after page. Diagram after diagram. Scribbles, notes, underlines, question marks.

Three hours in, he forgot how to spell the word "rune."

Four hours in, he realized he hadn't eaten.

Six hours in, he hadn't moved.

By hour eight, he was slumped over a book titled , mouth slightly open, eyes bloodshot, fingers twitching around a quill that hadn't written anything coherent in two hours.

He sat up abruptly, hair sticking up in five directions, and stared at the books with pure hatred.

"Nothing's sticking," he hissed.

"This is worse than torture. At least with torture you pass out eventually."

He dropped his head onto the table with a muffled .

Noel sat there, face half-smashed into a textbook, the faint smell of old ink and desperation lingering in the air.

He lifted his head slowly, blinking like a man recovering from a concussion.

He looked at the page again.

Words. Symbols. Diagrams. All of them melting together into one big academic middle finger.

He slapped the book closed with enough force to startle a librarian down the hall.

Noel leaned back in the chair, staring up at the ceiling with an expression of pure, godless defeat.

"Okay," he muttered. "Fine. I can't do this alone."

He stood up and began pacing.

First idea: Elyra.

Smart. Organized. Ruthless with her time.

He sent her a quick message.

Ten minutes later:

Next: Marcus.

He spotted him through a window—already studying with Clara.

They looked peaceful.

Focused.

And more importantly, .

Roberto?

He imagined it.

"Hey man, let's go over spell mechanics!"

"Sure. But like... what if we did it ? With pie?"

Immediate .

Last option: Selene.

She was a genius, sure. But they weren't exactly close. She barely spoke to anyone outside of polite greetings.

Asking her for help out of nowhere?

That left exactly one person.

Someone strict. No-nonsense. Kind of terrifying.

And unfortunately... very, good at magic theory.

Noel groaned.

Noel stood outside the door to Professor Daemar's office like he was about to confess a war crime.

The hallway was empty. Silent. Even the floating candles seemed to flicker more ominously than usual.

He stared at the plaque on the door.

Professor Daemar – Department of Mana Manipulation.

He took a deep breath.

Then another.

Then turned around and started walking away.

Then stopped.

He spun on his heel, marched back to the door like he hadn't just tried to flee, and knocked.

One solid .

A pause.

Then the voice.

"Enter."

Noel opened the door and stepped inside.

The office was exactly what he expected—neat, cold, filled with books that radiated power and bad decisions. Professor Daemar sat behind his desk, posture perfect, violet eyes scanning over a scroll.

He didn't look up.

"You are not on my schedule."

Noel cleared his throat.

"Yeah, I know. Sorry. I, uh... I need help."

Daemar raised his eyes. Slowly.

The silence was brutal.

"With what?"

"Spell theory," Noel said. "And pretty much everything else tied to next week's exam."

Another pause.

Daemar tilted his head slightly.

"You want tutoring."

"Hm, yeah, basically" Noel deadpanned.

That made the corner of the professor's mouth twitch.

Just a bit.

Daemar set down his quill.

"Fine. Sit down."

Noel blinked.

"...Really?"

"If you're desperate enough to come here, I assume you've already exhausted the logical options."

"Wow. Thanks for the vote of confidence."

"Don't talk. Open your notes. We're starting from the top."