The Extra's Reincarnation

"But the equation was considered unsolvable. The energy requirements alone seemed to violate fundamental magical principles."

-Holy shit… what have I done?!

Julian stood frozen as the professors circled the board.

This wasn't supposed to happen.

In the original novel, Franz had been the one to solve this equation—but not until the third year, after months of dedicated research and countless sleepless nights. It had been a pivotal moment that cemented his reputation as a once-in-a-generation prodigy.

-And I just... did it. On my first day. In front of everyone. I thought it was some stupid equation that all professors give to students who give them a hard time but…

He hadn't just shown off; he'd fundamentally altered a critical plot point.

Franz's eventual solution of this theorem had led to a research grant that put him in contact with key characters and set up multiple future storylines.

FWANG!

[Critical Plot Deviation Detected]

[Original Event: "The Zagata Transportation Theorem Breakthrough" has been triggered]

[Temporal Plot Integrity: COMPROMISED]

[Adjusting World Difficulty: Level Increased from 3 to ??]

[Warning: Future deviations may result in exponential difficulty increases]

[Character Relationship Update: Franz Evera's attitude toward user has been adjusted to "Interested"]

[Character Relationship Update: Francine Aureus's interest in user has increased to "High Priority Target"]

To make matters worse for Julian…

BAM!

The door to the lecture hall burst open once more, and a tall, imposing figure swept in.

Professor Albrecht, Head of the Magic Department, moved with the quiet authority of someone who had spent decades mastering his craft.

His steel-gray hair was cropped short, and his piercing blue eyes missed nothing as they immediately focused on the crystal board.

"Is it true?" he asked without introduction. "Has someone solved it?"

"See for yourself, Heinrich," Professor Valerius gestured toward the board.

"Extraordinary," he finally murmured, his voice barely audible yet somehow filling the entire room. "Absolutely extraordinary."

He turned slowly, his penetrating gaze finding Julian among the students. "You did this?"

Julian nodded once, wishing desperately that he could sink through the floor and disappear.

"Incredible..." Albrecht said, a rare smile cracking his stern features.

"I've spent thirty years attempting variations of this approach without success. Yet here you stand, seemingly having solved it through... what did Maximilian call it? A 'focusing technique'?"

Several students stifled laughs, but they died quickly under Albrecht's sharp glance.

"Whatever methods you employed, the results speak for themselves."

He turned to Corvus, whose face had gone ashen.

"Maximilian, I believe your class schedule requires adjustment."

Corvus swallowed visibly. "Adjustment, sir?"

"Indeed. Mr. Uzziel clearly belongs not just in your class, but perhaps should be conducting seminars on theoretical approaches we've clearly overlooked."

Albrecht's tone was light, but the implication was unmistakable.

"I'd like him to work with our research division on expanding this solution whenever possible."

The whispers that erupted around the lecture hall were like a sudden gust of wind through dry leaves.

"With all due respect, Professor Albrecht," Julian began carefully, "I'd prefer to continue as a regular student. I still have much to learn."

Albrecht raised an eyebrow.

"Humility is commendable, Mr. Uzziel, but talent like yours shouldn't be squandered. We'll discuss this further at a more appropriate time."

He turned to the other professors.

"I'd like copies of this solution immediately. Valerius, Eidelweiss—my office in one hour. We need to verify and document this properly."

The professors nodded, already using their wands to create magical duplicates of Julian's work.

Professor Corvus stood to the side, his earlier arrogance completely evaporated as he watched his colleagues fawn over a solution produced by a student he had attempted to humiliate.

"Class," Corvus announced, his voice lacking its usual theatrical flair, "take a fifteen-minute break while we... address this development."

As the professors filed out, Julian stood rooted to his spot unable to figure out whether anything was making sense anymore.

Suddenly, a man dressed entirely in black appeared above Julian, his face devoid of expression, as if merely pretending to be interested.

This man, standing before Julian out of sheer curiosity, was none other than Franz Evera.

"That focusing technique… Was it truly necessary, or merely theatrical?"

"I—" Julian's voice caught. He cleared his throat and tried again, hating how his words quivered.

"It helps me concentrate. The movement... disrupts standard thought patterns."

Franz's expression remained perfectly neutral, not a hint of emotion crossing his aristocratic features.

"Interesting," Franz said, the word falling from his lips like a pronouncement.

"Most would rely on standard focusing techniques. Your approach is... unconventional."

Julian nodded, not trusting himself to speak. Every instinct screamed at him to back away, to apologize, to do anything to remove himself from Franz's attention.

In the original story, Franz's interest in anyone inevitably led to one of two outcomes: they became useful tools in his ambitions, or they became examples of what happened to those who stood in his way.

"Your name,"

Franz stated rather than asked. Although he had heard his name a couple of times this wasn't just about merely asking for something so simple.

For Franz it was an expectation of compliance and acknowledgement.

"Julian Uzziel,"

Franz's eyes narrowed slightly, as if committing the name to memory.

"Julian Uzziel," he repeated, each syllable spoken with deliberate precision.

"Nice to meet you."

Without another word, Franz turned and walked out of the room, his movement was so fluid it seemed almost inhuman.

The brief interaction had lasted less than a minute, yet Julian felt as though he'd just survived an interrogation.

***

-Just how… I don't understand, Julian… how of all people did he get his attention?

From across the room, Francine watched the exchange, her blue eyes widening fractionally. She gripped the edge of her desk so tightly her knuckles turned white.

In eighty-one lifetimes, she had never seen Franz approach anyone willingly, let alone a complete stranger.

She had spent decades across multiple lives trying to earn even a fraction of the interest Franz had just shown Julian in mere seconds.

And the way he'd repeated Julian's name—with that careful attention he reserved only for things he deemed worthy of his consideration.

In her first life, it had taken her three years of brilliant academic performances to earn that tone.

In subsequent lives, despite knowing exactly what would impress him, she'd managed to reduce it to one year at best.

Yet this unknown variable—this Julian Uzziel—had captured Franz's attention instantly, without effort, without strategy.

Francine felt something unfamiliar twist in her chest.

It wasn't just jealousy—it was a fundamental shift in her understanding of the world.

After eighty-one careful lives, a random element had appeared and disrupted patterns she had thought immutable.

…

[Francine's POV]

This is impossible.

I stared at the equation on the board, my mind racing through calculations I'd memorized across decades of repeated lives. The Zagata Transportation Theorem—I knew every variable, every constant, every theoretical principle by heart.

In my forty-seventh life, I'd spent three years studying this exact formula, only to conclude it was genuinely unsolvable with current magical understanding.

And yet there it was, elegantly resolved on the crystal board in handwriting that wasn't Franz's.

In every timeline I'd experienced—all eighty-one iterations of this academy, this classroom, this moment—Franz Evera had been the one to eventually crack this theorem.

Not today, not in a first-year lecture, but during our third year after months of dedicated research.

It had been his crowning achievement, the accomplishment that had cemented his reputation as the greatest magical prodigy of our generation.

But Julian—this unknown variable who wasn't even supposed to exist—had solved it with apparent ease, using some ridiculous physical routine that defied all magical convention.

As Franz left the lecture hall, I remained frozen in my seat, my mind working furiously to process this deviation. The professors continued to fuss over Julian's solution, creating magical duplicates and discussing implications I'd heard discussed in other lifetimes—but never this early, never like this.

There was only one explanation that made any sense.

Julian Uzziel had to be a regressor like me.

The regression stone—the artifact I'd discovered in my first life that had allowed me to return to the beginning whenever I died—it had disappeared during my sixty-third iteration. I'd grown so accustomed to its power that I no longer needed physical contact with it to activate the regression. The stone had become merely symbolic, and in a moment of carelessness during a dungeon expedition, I'd lost it.

Had someone else found it? Had Julian somehow acquired the stone and learned to use it?

But that didn't make sense either. The regression stone returned me to the exact same point in time with each death.

If Julian had found the regression stone, it would explain everything.

His seemingly impossible knowledge, his casual brilliance, his ability to solve a theorem that had stumped generations of the most brilliant magical minds.

Perhaps he'd lived through hundreds of lifetimes, accumulating knowledge and perfecting his skills far beyond what my eighty-one iterations had afforded me.

But I'd searched for that stone across multiple lifetimes after losing it. I'd retraced my steps, hired investigators, used tracking spells so powerful they'd nearly drained my life force. Nothing. The stone had vanished as completely as if it had never existed.

So if Julian hadn't found my regression stone, what was he?