The Cursed Extra-Chapter 109: [2.57] Congratulations, You’ve Been Promoted to Lab Rat

Chapter 109: [2.57] Congratulations, You’ve Been Promoted to Lab Rat

"Never interrupt your enemy when they’re explaining away your crimes for you."

***

For the first time since I’d learned she existed, Professor Laurana Delacroix looked confused.

Not suspicious. Not angry. Not wearing that cold "gotcha" expression of someone who’d caught a liar red-handed.

No. This was worse. This was the bewilderment of a scientist staring at data that broke her entire understanding of how the universe worked. Her violet eyes flickered like candles in a draft, and the floating diagrams around her wavered in response.

"You... do not comprehend the mathematical implications of what occurred?"

"Professor, I can barely add numbers without using my fingers." I let my voice climb toward panic. "Whatever happened during that fight, I don’t understand it. I got hit really hard, everything went black, and when I woke up I was on the ground with half the training yard staring at me. Then they dragged me to the infirmary and the healers spent hours poking at my bruises. If something magical happened, it wasn’t because of anything I did on purpose. I don’t have that kind of magic. I barely have any magic at all!"

She stared at me for what felt like forever. Those violet eyes bounced between me and the floating image of my soul signature, comparing the data with the pathetic source that supposedly generated it. Looking for the lie.

Here’s the thing though. She wasn’t going to find one. Not the way she was looking.

I wasn’t lying about not understanding the mathematics. I genuinely had no clue how Skill Plunder worked. The System had dropped this ability in my lap without a user manual or FAQ section. I could use it, sure, but I couldn’t explain it any better than I could explain why my heart kept beating.

"The axiomatic evidence is irrefutable," she murmured, talking to herself more than me. "The transference event occurred. The mathematical signatures are clear. Yet the source claims complete ignorance of the framework involved..."

She started pacing. Tight little circles while the diagrams shifted and reformed around her, reflecting the chaos in that ancient brain. I could practically see the gears turning as she tried to jam impossible data into a logical explanation.

"Perhaps," she said slowly, "the trauma of the impact created some form of spontaneous magical resonance. An unconscious manipulation of mana flow triggered by extreme physical stress, operating through channels that bypass conscious awareness entirely..."

I grabbed that lifeline with both hands and held on for dear life.

"That... that could be it, couldn’t it?" I made my voice sound hopeful. Desperate. "I mean, people sometimes do strange things when they’re hurt really badly. My nursemaid used to tell stories about soldiers who did impossible feats in battle only to collapse afterward. Maybe my magic just... went weird? Like some kind of survival instinct that took over when I thought I was going to die?"

Her violet eyes fixed on me again.

But the look in them had changed.

Not suspicion anymore. Curiosity. Not accusation. Fascination. I’d transformed from potential criminal to something far more interesting in her mind: an anomaly worth studying.

"Unconscious skill transference triggered by traumatic stress," she repeated, rolling the idea around like she was examining a gemstone. "It would explain the mathematical signatures while accounting for your apparent lack of theoretical knowledge. A spontaneous event rather than deliberate manipulation. The mana system responding to existential threat by appropriating nearby resources..."

The diagrams around her started reorganizing themselves. Equations that had been chaotic moments before now fell into neat patterns, rearranging to fit her new hypothesis.

"Most fascinating," she murmured, her voice going dreamy as she lost herself in academic possibilities. "If such events can occur spontaneously in individuals of minimal magical capacity, it would revolutionize our understanding of skill acquisition entirely. The implications would be substantial. Perhaps unprecedented in the modern era."

For one beautiful moment, I thought I was safe.

Then her eyes snapped back to me with renewed intensity. The dreamy look vanished like it had never existed.

"I shall need to monitor you closely, Student Leone."

Oh no.

"If you are capable of unconscious skill transference, if your magical system can acquire abilities from others in moments of extreme stress, then you represent a phenomenon of unprecedented scientific importance. I will be conducting regular analytical scans to observe any further manifestations."

Oh hell.

"Regular scans?" My voice came out as a squeak. No acting required.

"Weekly, at minimum. Perhaps more frequently if additional events occur." Her expression held the hungry look of a scientist who’d just discovered a new species. Something to be catalogued. Examined. Dissected if necessary. "You may proceed to the assembly now, but I expect you to report any unusual magical experiences immediately. Any moment of dizziness, any surge of unfamiliar energy, any sensation that something has changed within your magical framework. You will inform me at once."

I nodded frantically, backing toward the door. "Yes, Professor. Of course, Professor. Thank you for explaining... whatever it was that happened. I didn’t mean to cause problems."

"Oh, I have explained nothing, Student Leone." Her violet eyes glowed brighter. "I have merely identified a paradox that requires extensive investigation. The true explanation remains to be discovered. You have become quite the fascinating puzzle."

She smiled.

"And I do so enjoy puzzles."

I fled.

The corridor outside felt like heaven compared to that crystalline prison full of floating mathematics. Stone walls. Normal lighting. The distant sounds of students moving through the academy. Mundane. Predictable. Safe.

My hands were shaking. Not performance this time. My heart pounded so hard I could feel it in my temples.

She bought it. For now. But she’s going to be watching me like a hawk from here on out.

I leaned against the wall, forcing myself to breathe. That confrontation had been terrifying in a way physical combat wasn’t. No chance to run. No chance to fight. Just an intellectual predator circling closer and closer to the truth while I tap-danced on a tightrope over a pit of spikes.

And now she wanted weekly scans.

My Master of Disguise skill might fool casual observation. Might make people’s eyes slide past inconsistencies. But sustained examination by someone of Laurana’s capabilities? Someone actively hunting for anomalies?

That was a whole different problem.

I pushed myself off the wall and started down the corridor. Kept my limp going for any observers who might be watching. My mind raced through the growing list of people who suspected something was off about me.

Professor De Clare had seen me shift from helpless victim to competent fighter during the match. Rhys was asking pointed questions, his sharp green eyes catching more than I wanted him to see. Seraphina had spotted something during her diagnostic that made her cover for me, and I still didn’t understand why. And now Laurana Delacroix, the most dangerous brain in the academy, thought I was a fascinating specimen worthy of intensive study.

I’m accumulating way too much attention. This whole "flying under the radar" strategy is falling apart faster than I can patch the holes.

But as I reached the dormitory corridors, passing groups of students heading toward the assembly hall, another thought occurred to me.

Laurana’s hypothesis about unconscious skill transference might actually be useful.

If she believed I could steal skills without meaning to. If she documented this in her academic notes. Shared it with colleagues. Established it as the accepted explanation for my anomalous behavior.

Then it would explain away any future "accidents" she detected.

Every crisis is an opportunity. She just handed me the perfect cover story for future acquisitions. Wrapped it up with a bow. Convinced herself it was her own brilliant idea.

The thought was cold. Ruthless. Exactly the kind of thinking I needed to survive this place.

Laurana Delacroix was ancient and brilliant and possessed analytical abilities that should have destroyed me. But she was also an academic. And academics had a particular weakness.

They wanted to understand.

They wanted explanations that fit their models. Give them a hypothesis that seemed plausible, and they’d convince themselves it was true rather than accept they’d encountered something truly inexplicable.

I’d given her exactly what she needed.

Now I just had to hope it would be enough.