I Was Transmigrated As An Extraordinary Extra

I panicked. Words left my body and even my soul exited stage left. I quickly picked up a scrap of paper, grabbed a piece of charcoal, and wrote:

150 GP

Cypher stared at it.

Then he frowned.

"...Only 150?"

I nodded. Once. Very firmly. Like a bobblehead whose batteries were dying.

"That doesn’t seem right," he said, lifting the sword slightly and testing the balance. His brows knit together in concern. "The craftsmanship alone—"

’Stop analyzing it. Please. I am begging you.’

Of course righteous, painfully honest Cypher would try to overpay a masked street vendor in a town notorious for scams, theft, and organ harvesting.

I shook my head quickly and jabbed a finger at the paper again.

150 GP.

He hesitated, clearly conflicted, then sighed and handed over the coins.

"...I still don’t feel good about this," he muttered.

In the end, he gave me 500 GP anyway.

I stared at the coins in my hand like they had personally betrayed me.

Fine. If he insisted on being a good person in hell, I’d at least soften the blow.

I slid the sword toward him and quietly added a health potion on top.

Cypher blinked. "Oh. You didn’t have to—"

I nodded again. Harder.

"...Thank you," he said, smiling warmly. "Have a good day."

He turned and walked away, blending back into the crowd.

I lifted my hand halfway, about to wave—then stopped myself.

Don’t.

Just... don’t.

I watched his back disappear down the street, my chest tightening like someone had tied a knot around my ribs. I pressed a hand over my heart, willing it to calm down.

’Get it together,’ I told myself. ’It’s just Cypher. No big deal.’

"Hey, answer me."

The man planted himself directly in front of my stall, effectively blocking my view of Cypher’s retreating back—and, more importantly, blocking my emotional recovery period.

I snapped my attention to him, still clutching my chest like I was moments away from a dramatic faint.

"What?" I said flatly as I looked up, fully prepared to glare at whoever dared interrupt me.

Instead, I smirked.

Edge Killian.

He looked exactly the same—that permanently annoyed expression like the world personally offended him, arms crossed, eyes sharp, already suspicious of everything and everyone.

His gaze flicked between me and the stall, then landed on a crystal spear resting near the edge of the table. "How much is this?" he asked, pointing at it.

"5,000 GP," I replied smoothly, deliberately lowering my voice.

Edge’s head snapped toward me. "What? You just tried to sell that sword for 150—"

"6,000," I said calmly, cutting him off without even looking at him.

His eye twitched. "What? Hey, listen, you—"

"7,000."

He stared at me like he was deciding whether murder was worth the jail time.

"You witch...!" he muttered under his breath.

I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing.

He leaned closer, lowering his voice. "You’re seriously telling me that sword was 150 and this is 7,000?"

I panicked. Words left my body and even my soul exited stage left.

I picked up a scrap of paper, grabbed a piece of charcoal, and wrote:

150 GP

Cypher stared at it.

Then he frowned.

"...Only 150?"

I nodded. Once. Very firmly. Like a bobblehead whose batteries were dying.

"That doesn’t seem right," he said, lifting the sword slightly and testing the balance. His brows knit together in concern. "The craftsmanship alone—"

’Stop analyzing it. Please. I am begging you.’

Of course righteous, painfully honest Cypher would try to overpay a masked street vendor in a town notorious for scams, theft, and organ harvesting.

I shook my head quickly and jabbed a finger at the paper again.

150 GP.

He hesitated, clearly conflicted, then sighed and handed over the coins.

"...I still don’t feel good about this," he muttered.

In the end, he gave me 500 GP anyway.

I stared at the coins in my hand like they had personally betrayed me.

Fine. If he insisted on being a good person in hell, I’d at least soften the blow.

I slid the sword toward him and quietly added a health potion on top.

Cypher blinked. "Oh. You didn’t have to—"

I nodded again. Harder.

"...Thank you," he said, smiling warmly. "Have a good day."

He turned and walked away, blending back into the crowd.

I lifted my hand halfway, about to wave—then stopped myself.

Don’t.

Just... don’t.

I watched his back disappear down the street, my chest tightening like someone had tied a knot around my ribs. I pressed a hand over my heart, willing it to calm down.

’Get it together,’ I told myself. ’It’s just Cypher. No big deal.’

"Hey, answer me."

The man planted himself directly in front of my stall, effectively blocking my view of Cypher’s retreating back—and, more importantly, blocking my emotional recovery period.

I snapped my attention to him, still clutching my chest like I was moments away from a dramatic faint.

"What?" I said flatly as I looked up, fully prepared to glare at whoever dared interrupt me.

Instead, I smirked.

Edge Killian.

He looked exactly the same—that permanently annoyed expression like the world personally offended him, arms crossed, eyes sharp, already suspicious of everything and everyone.

His gaze flicked between me and the stall, then landed on a crystal spear resting near the edge of the table. "How much is this?" he asked, pointing at it.

"5,000 GP," I replied smoothly, deliberately lowering my voice.

Edge’s head snapped toward me. "What? You just tried to sell that sword for 150—"

"6,000," I said calmly, cutting him off without even looking at him.

His eye twitched. "What? Hey, listen, you—"

"7,000."

He stared at me like he was deciding whether murder was worth the jail time.

"You witch...!" he muttered under his breath.

I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing.

He leaned closer, lowering his voice. "You’re seriously telling me that sword was 150 and this is 7,000?"

I tilted my head slowly, dramatically, like a shopkeeper possessed by divine market wisdom.

"That sword was on sale," I said. "Limited time. Very tragic you missed it."

"That’s bullshit."

"8,000."

"What—no! That’s not how prices work!"

I shrugged. "Inflation."

"Inflation doesn’t happen in ten seconds!"

"It does when I’m annoyed."

Edge dragged a hand down his face, inhaling deeply like he was counting backward from ten to stop himself from committing a felony.

"...You’re doing this on purpose," he said flatly.

I leaned forward, resting my elbows on the table. "You noticed."

He squinted at my mask. "Why do I feel like I know you?"

I froze internally.

Externally, I lifted another piece of paper and wrote:

Do you want it or not?

He stared at the sign, then at the spear again. The crystal hummed faintly, mana flowing cleanly through its core—high compatibility, good enchantment stability. He knew exactly what it was worth.

"...Fine," he said through clenched teeth. "7,000. Final offer."

I shook my head slowly. "8,500," I said sweetly.

He groaned.

Several seconds passed. The street noise buzzed around us. Somewhere behind me, Dagur was absolutely losing his mind trying not to laugh.

Edge finally clicked his tongue and reached into his pouch. "8,000. That’s it."

"...Deal."

He shoved the coins at me like they had personally wronged him as I slid the spear across.

He inspected it carefully—checking balance, enchantment resonance and crystal clarity. His expression slowly shifted from irritation to reluctant approval. "...Damn it," he muttered. "It’s legit."

I gave a small, smug nod.

He straightened and pointed a finger at me. "I don’t know who you are, but I swear, if I find out you scammed me—"

I held up both hands innocently.

"No refunds," I added.

He left grumbling under his breathe.

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

I stretched my arms high above my head, joints popping one by one, and let out a long, satisfied sigh. Only two hours had passed, yet the stall looked like it had been hit by a locust swarm.

Empty.

Every single item—gone.

Weapons, armor, potions, questionable herbs with labels I definitely didn’t read—sold down to the last piece.

Customers still hovered nearby, lingering like ghosts who refused to move on.

"Hey, masked vendor! When are you restocking?"

"Tomorrow? Next week?"

"I’ll pay extra if you save me first pick!"

Dagur finally lost his patience and started waving his arms like he was swatting flies. "Show’s over! Go home! No more shiny things today!"

Grumbling and sighing, the crowd dispersed.

I slipped into a narrow alley nearby and finally removed my Jester’s Mask, letting out another breath as if I’d been holding it in the whole time. A second later, Dagur and Thorne joined me, both looking far too pleased with themselves.

"I should have higher commissions," I said immediately.

Dagur barked out a laugh. "You’re really a greedy little goblin."

"I’m not," I shot back, glaring at him. "I was the one doing all the selling, all the talking, all the smiling, and all the not stabbing people while the two of you stood around pretending to be intimidating furniture." 𝙛𝓻𝒆𝓮𝒘𝙚𝙗𝒏𝙤𝙫𝓮𝒍.𝓬𝒐𝙢

"Hey!" Thorne protested. "We were excellent furniture."

"You think you could’ve sold all that without us protecting you?" Thorne added, crossing his arms. "That crowd would’ve eaten you alive."

"Yes," I said flatly. "Either that, or I’d have knocked them all out. Either way, efficient."

Dagur scoffed. "Don’t threaten us. You literally sold that sword for cheap!"

"Which is an insignificant number," I replied smoothly, "considering how much I sold everything else for."

"That sword was priceless!" Dagur snapped. "Do you know what we went through to get those items, kiddo?"

"I don’t care," I said without missing a beat. "Do you know what I went through convincing people that none of those were stolen, cursed, fake, or going to explode the moment they touched them, uncle?"

Dagur froze. "...Don’t call me that," he said slowly. "I’m not old yet."

"UNCLE," I repeated loudly.

"STOP THAT."

"UNCLE DAGUR."

Thorne snorted and had to turn away.

Dagur pointed a finger at me, face red. "You little—!"

"Enough," Thorne cut in, stepping between us before Dagur combusted. He rubbed his temples, clearly regretting all his life choices. Then he looked at me. "Fine. You get fifty percent."

I brightened instantly.

Then Thorne turned to Dagur. "And no, I’m not deducting your share for the mess you made while stealing those items."

Dagur opened his mouth to protest, then closed it. "...Tch."

I clasped my hands together. "Pleasure doing business with you."

Dagur groaned. "You really are turning into one of us."

"I learned from the best," I said sweetly.