I Was Transmigrated As An Extraordinary Extra

I separated from the two to buy myself some proper gear and clothes. By the time I got back to the inn, night had fully settled in and rain was pouring relentlessly, soaking the streets and turning the lamps into blurry halos of light. My cloak was damp, my boots squelched with every step, and my patience was hanging by a thread.

When I finally pushed open the door to our room, only one person was inside.

Kairos.

He was on the floor, shirt slightly damp, doing push-ups with steady, controlled breaths. Rain tapped against the window behind him, and sweat rolled down his neck, disappearing beneath the collar of his clothes.

I stared for exactly half a second.

Then immediately looked away like my life depended on it.

Why is he like this. Why is this happening to me.

I walked straight to my bed as if nothing unusual was going on.

Nothing at all.

I dropped my bag, kicked off my boots, and flopped face-first onto the mattress.

"Did something happen?" Kairos asked casually, not even pausing his workout.

"No. Nothing," I said, my voice muffled by the pillow.

"Did those two make things harder for you?" he continued, his voice steady despite the fact that he was apparently doing push-ups like they were breathing exercises.

I rolled onto my side and stared at the wall. "No. They actually made it easier for me to sell."

There was a brief pause, just long enough for him to finish a set.

"So you sold everything?" he asked.

"Uh-huh." I replied with a deep breathe. "Every last item."

"Impressive."

"Mm," I hummed, already pulling the blanket over my head. "Anyway, have fun working out. I’m going to sleep."

"Have you eaten yet?"

"...Ye—" my stomach betrayed me with the loudest, most dramatic growl I’ve ever heard.

I froze while Kairos stopped mid–push-up.

The silence that followed was so thick I swear I could’ve sliced it with my dagger.

He slowly pushed himself up and looked at me, one eyebrow lifting just a fraction. "...You were saying?"

I cleared my throat and stared very hard at the wall. "That was... the floor."

"The floor," he repeated.

"Yes. Very noisy floor. Structural issue I guess."

Another growl answered, louder this time.

Kairos exhaled through his nose, something dangerously close to a chuckle slipping out before he caught himself. He stood up, grabbed a towel, and wiped the sweat from his face. "Sit."

"But I’m already lying down..."

"On the chair," he cut me off. "Properly. You look like you’re about to pass out."

"I’m fine," I muttered, but my body betrayed me with zero hesitation and immediately complied, flopping onto the chair like a sack of flour.

I watched from the chair as he moved around the small space with practiced ease, sleeves rolled up, muscles flexing as he worked. He lit the stove, chopped the remaining ingredients I brought back earlier, and started cooking.

The sizzling sound hit first.

Then the smell.

Garlic. Onions. Pork. Something rich and warm that wrapped around my senses and dragged my soul back into my body.

My stomach growled again.

Kairos glanced at me. "You’re still saying you’re fine?"

"...Define fine."

He didn’t reply. He just finished cooking, placed the food onto a plate, and set it down in front of me. "Eat."

I chewed with zero shame. Any remaining pride I had left the room the moment the food touched my mouth.

Kairos leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching quietly.

After a few bites, I slowed down. "...You’re not eating?"

"I already did earlier."

I eyed him suspiciously. "You sure?"

"Yes."

"Then why are you... staring?"

"I’m making sure you don’t choke."

I scoffed, waving my fork at him. "Wow. Such concern. Truly touching."

He looked away. "Just eat."

I swallowed and leaned back slightly. "Relax. I’ve survived worse than pork chops."

"That’s exactly the kind of sentence people say before choking," he replied.

I hid my smile behind another bite. "You know," I said casually, "you’re acting like a worried parent."

His head snapped toward me. "I am not."

"Older sibling, then?"

"No."

"Overprotective bodyguard?"

"...Stop talking."

I laughed, nearly choking for real this time. "See? This is why you shouldn’t distract me."

He pushed himself off the wall and stepped closer, clearly annoyed. "That’s exactly why I—"

I froze mid-bite.

He froze mid-step.

Then we stared at each other.

"...Why you what?" I asked innocently.

He looked away again, ears definitely red this time. "Finish your food."

I hummed and obeyed, feeling strangely satisfied. By the time I scraped the plate clean, my limbs felt heavy in a good way, exhaustion settling in properly instead of clawing at me.

I stood up and stretched, yawning. "Thanks for the food, boss."

A faint smile flickered on his lips before disappearing. "Get some rest. Tomorrow won’t be easy."

I nodded, pulling the blanket over myself. "Good night, Boss."

"...Good night," he replied.

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

For the remaining days, my life fell into a strange but oddly comfortable routine.

Dungeon missions became our main source of income. While other players struggled honestly through monsters and traps, Thorne and Dagur specialized in "arriving late." They waited until a party had finished clearing a dungeon—tired, injured, and riding the high of victory—then swooped in like vultures. My role was to make sure Players won’t notice that their loots were already stolen.

After that, before the town fully woke up, we’d already be out—either setting up another stall under a different name, negotiating with shady NPC merchants, or acting as the respectable face for Thorne and Dagur’s very unrespectable activities.

I handled the selling, the negotiations, the fake backstories, the convincing smiles, and the occasional thinly concealed threat when someone got too curious about where an item came from.

By the eighth day, word had spread that if you wanted rare items without getting stabbed or scammed too badly, you looked for the masked vendor who didn’t talk much but always delivered.

Between all that, I also had to act like a parent for Thorne and Dagur to avoid a full-blown confrontation with Gage and Alicia.

That alone deserved hazard pay.

Every time we crossed paths in town, I could feel the tension spike. Gage’s restrained arrogance clashing with Dagur’s short fuse was a disaster waiting to happen, and Alicia’s sharp tongue didn’t help either. More than once, I had to physically drag Dagur away by the collar or distract Thorne before he decided provoking them would be "fun."

There were times when Thorne and Dagur vanished on doing their other "jobs," I stayed behind—and strangely, I found myself looking forward to it.

Waiting excitedly, even.

Specifically—for Kairos’ cooking.

I never said it out loud, of course. That would have been embarrassing. But I always somehow ended up back at the inn early, pretending to reorganize my inventory or polish gear while sneaking glances at the door.

And when he finally came back, sleeves rolled up, already deciding what to cook with whatever ingredients we had left?

Yeah. That part of the day always felt like a reward.

Mornings were... different.

Every day, without fail, Kairos worked out at dawn. Push-ups, breathing exercises, controlled movements that looked deceptively simple but made my muscles scream when I tried to copy them.

I would wake up sore, complain loudly, and still follow him outside or to the open space near the inn. Stretching, breathing, movement—Core Breathing Technique, physical conditioning, balance drills.

He corrected my posture with brief comments, sometimes just a look that said wrong, sometimes a light tap to my shoulder or back.

"Again," he’d say.

And I would.

Sweaty, tired, but weirdly... calm.

Evenings usually ended with the four of us eating together—Dagur loud, Thorne scheming, me complaining about prices and scams, and Kairos quietly listening, occasionally interjecting with dry remarks that somehow shut everyone up instantly.

Somewhere between the workouts, the selling, the thefts, the near-fights, and the shared meals, the countdown kept ticking down in the background.

Eight days.

Seven.

Six.

I barely noticed the time passing.

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

In the forest near the outskirts of town, a rundown tent barely stood upright beside a weakly crackling campfire. The fabric was torn in several places, patched together with mismatched cloth and rope that had clearly been scavenged rather than bought. Every gust of wind threatened to knock the whole thing over, and the fire did little more than keep the darkness at bay.

[Attention Players! In five hours, the third stage will end. Good luck on your mission!]

The system’s cheerful announcement felt like mockery.

"This dumb, stupid town..." Gage muttered under his breath.

He stared into the fire, his reflection warped by the flickering flames. His face looked nothing like the confident prodigy the world once praised. Dark circles hung under his eyes, his hair was unkempt, and his clothes—once pristine—were now stained, frayed, and poor. Ten days. It had only taken ten days to grind him down like this.

"Everyone here is trash," he continued, his voice tight with barely contained fury. "Every single one of them."

Memories surfaced uninvited.

Digging through restaurant dumpsters for leftover scraps because he refused to pay triple price for food. Reaching into his inventory only to find his GP mysteriously gone—again. The moment juice splashed across a noble’s silk coat, followed by the crowd’s laughter. Kneeling. Begging. Swallowing his pride just to avoid being dragged away by guards.

Things that never would have happened in the real world.

Back home, people bowed their heads when he passed. Guild leaders competed for his attention. Heroes smiled nervously and spoke carefully around him. Here? He was just another player—restricted, powerless, and constantly exploited.

His hands clenched into fists.

If his full Gift were unlocked, this entire town would already be rubble.

"Chill," Alicia said, stepping out of her tent.

She didn’t look much better. Her hair had lost its shine, tied back loosely instead of styled. Her armor bore scratches she hadn’t bothered to polish out. Even her usual confident posture was dulled by exhaustion. She stretched her arms and exhaled slowly, eyes lingering on the fire.

"At least we fulfilled the mission," she added, though her tone lacked any real relief.

Gage scoffed. "Fulfilled it by living like beggars."

Alicia didn’t argue. Because she felt it too.

They hadn’t just worked for those 20,000 GP—they had degraded themselves for it. Cut corners. Took risks they normally wouldn’t. Accepted humiliation after humiliation because refusing meant falling behind.

"Oh, by the way... they’re them, right?" Alicia said casually, lifting her chin and pointing toward the faint glow of the town in the distance.

Gage followed her gaze.

At the edge of the main road, half-lit by lanterns and rain-damp cobblestone reflections, a small group was strolling through the street as if they didn’t have a care in the world. They moved like locals who belonged there rather than players trapped in a hostile stage.

"Them who?" Gage asked, though his eyes had already narrowed.

"Those people," Alicia said. "The ones we keep running into. At the market. Near the guild board. Outside the inns. Every time something weird or inconvenient happened, they were somehow... around."

Gage squinted.

He didn’t know their names, but he knew their faces.

"Wasn’t there someone else with them?" Gage said slowly. "Someone who never showed their face?"

Alicia snapped her fingers. "Right. The one who was always wearing a jester’s mask." Her eyes sharpened. "The annoying one," she added.

Only one name surfaced in his mind.

Lilium.

She must have entered the portal too.

Before either of them could say another word, the system’s voice rang out.

[The third stage has ended.]