Extra's Path To No Harem

Late at night.

In a remote corner of the capital, far from the brightly lit main streets, darkness clung stubbornly to the narrow alleys. Not a single lantern burned here.

"Huff… huff…!"

A cloaked figure sprinted through the deserted street, footsteps echoing sharply against the stone pavement. His breathing was ragged, uneven—panic made flesh.

The man glanced back more than once, as if something invisible were snapping at his heels.

Thud.

He slipped into a narrow alley and pressed himself against the wall, clutching his chest. His heart pounded so violently it felt like it might burst through his ribs.

He tried to slow his breathing.

Tried to be silent.

Please… please don't let them find me.

But hope was short-lived.

"Where do you think you're going?"

"G—gah!"

I appeared out of the darkness in an instant and drove my foot straight into his face.

A clean dropkick.

The man never even had time to react. His body lifted off the ground and slammed hard against the alley wall before crumpling to the floor.

The impact was brutal.

He twitched once, then went completely limp—unconscious from the blow to his head, utterly incapable of getting back up.

"Huff… huff…! You finally caught him, Boss!"

Feiz stumbled into the alley a moment later, hands on his knees as he gasped for air. His eyes locked onto the fallen man, wide with disbelief and relief.

"I thought he'd slip away for sure," he added, straightening up slowly. "That bastard's been running us in circles for days."

I looked down at the unconscious figure, nudging him lightly with my foot to confirm he wasn't faking it. No response.

"Running only makes it worse," I said flatly.

Feiz let out a short laugh, wiping sweat from his brow. "Guess he finally learned that the hard way."

"The others. Did you catch them?"

"Yes! Kallis already captured eight of them and gathered everyone at the hideout!"

…Eight?

I blinked, momentarily caught off guard.

He's more competent than I gave him credit for.

He'd bragged that it would take a day, and I'd assumed that was optimism at best. In my mind, this was the kind of job that dragged on for several days—chasing shadows through alleyways, flushing rats out of holes one by one.

But he actually did it.

Within a single day.

Then that leaves only one.

This man in front of me.

Nine in total.

All the remaining henchmen I'd learned about from Bain—every last one of them—had been accounted for. No more loose ends lurking in the dark. No more names scribbled in the back of my mind, waiting to resurface at the worst possible moment.

Now all that's left is to take them—Bain included—to the Knights Order.

And then… it's over.

I let out a slow breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding.

So this is what relief feels like.

For the first time in a long while, my shoulders felt lighter. The tension that had been coiled tight in my chest finally began to loosen.

Too much has happened.

Being branded a wanted man overnight.

Barely scraping by in the slums.

Sleeping with one eye open, never knowing when someone would come for my head.

Hunting down criminal organizations one after another, dragging myself through filth and blood just to survive.

All of it—every hardship, every close call—flashed through my mind like a badly edited montage.

And now, somehow, I'd reached the end of it.

When I get back… what should I do first?

Eat something good?

No.

Definitely not.

I want a bath.

A long one. Hot water, clean towels, no stench of blood or damp stone clinging to my skin. I want to scrub away every trace of these back alleys, every memory of rot and desperation.

Then maybe—just maybe—I'll sleep.

A proper sleep. One where I don't have to wake at the slightest sound.

I glanced once more at the grimy surroundings, the familiar filth of the underground world I'd been forced to live in.

"…Yeah," I muttered quietly. "I'm done with this place."

Soon, I'd finally be able to leave these filthy back alleys behind—for good.

The thought alone lifted my mood. Once this mess was wrapped up, I could return to the Academy, back to clean halls, scheduled classes, and a life that didn't stink of damp stone and blood.

Just as I was indulging in that pleasant fantasy, a sharp voice cut through my thoughts.

"Boss! Come look at this!!"

Feiz.

I frowned. What now?

Suppressing my irritation, I walked over to where he was standing. He looked unusually tense, clutching something in his hands.

"This," he said, holding it out to me.

It was a crumpled piece of paper, wrinkled and smudged, as if it had been stuffed into a pocket and gripped far too tightly.

"What is this supposed to be?" I asked.

"I don't know," Feiz replied. "But that guy—he wouldn't let go of it. Even when he went down."

My gaze shifted briefly to the unconscious man lying nearby. So this was something he'd protected even in the middle of chaos.

That alone made it suspicious.

I took the paper from Feiz and slowly unfolded it. The creases were deep, the edges worn soft, as if it had been read over and over again.

It was a letter.

Addressed to someone.

"…Can you even read this?" I asked without looking up.

"Nope," Feiz said immediately. "Can't read a damn thing."

As expected.

That was probably why he'd called me over in the first place. Around here, being able to read wasn't exactly common. Unless you were nobility—or closely tied to them—letters might as well be magic scrolls.

Even Feiz—who was considered relatively sharp compared to the others here—couldn't read it.

Letters had always belonged to the privileged.

Words, writing, education—these weren't just tools for communication. They were tools of control. The more ignorant the lower classes remained, the easier they were to rule. That was why most in power deliberately withheld education, turning literacy itself into a weapon.

But there were exceptions.

There was once a great man who created a writing system solely for his people.

A king who believed that knowledge should not be hoarded by the elite.

The legendary King Sejong.

As always, I found myself briefly awed by his greatness.

Then reality snapped back into place.

I lowered my gaze and slowly read the letter myself.

And as I did—

"These crazy bastards…!!"

The words slipped out before I could stop them.

The further I read, the colder my blood became. Each line was worse than the last, but nothing prepared me for what waited at the very end.

Unbelievable.

"They're going to blow up the Imperial Palace??" I shouted. "These guys are completely insane!"

"What?" Feiz recoiled in shock. "What do you mean? Why would they blow up the palace?"

I clenched the tattered letter in my hand. It was old, wrinkled, and smeared with dirt, as if it had passed through countless hands before reaching mine.

At the very bottom, written almost carelessly, was the final message.

They had already planted explosives inside the Imperial Palace.

The execution date was set for tomorrow.

The Emperor's birthday celebration.

For a moment, the room went completely silent.

"…Tomorrow?" Feiz whispered, his face draining of color. "That's… that's impossible, right?"

"No," I said grimly. "That's exactly why they chose that day."

Tomorrow, the palace would be packed. Nobles. Foreign dignitaries. High-ranking officials. Knights. Servants. And at the center of it all—the Emperor himself.

If those bombs went off, it wouldn't just be an assassination.

It would be a massacre.

An act of terror meant to shake the Empire to its core.

My mind raced. Security would be at its tightest during the celebration—but that also meant chaos. Too many people. Too many blind spots. Too many places to hide something deadly.

Whoever planned this knew exactly what they were doing.

The Emperor's fiftieth birthday banquet was tomorrow.

A single day—carefully chosen.

Every pillar of the Empire would be gathered in one place: high nobles, military commanders, court magi, influential families, and of course, the Emperor himself.

They were exploiting that convergence.

Planning to wipe them all out in one stroke.

An absurd fantasy—one most people probably entertained at least once in idle resentment. If they all disappeared at the same time…

But imagining it and actually preparing to carry it out were two very different things.

Who in their right mind would seriously plan something like this?

"W-what should we do, boss?" Feiz asked, his voice tight with panic.

I could see it in his eyes. He understood just how insane this was.

"It's already too late," I said quietly.

Feiz stiffened.

"If they're talking about bombs being planted," I continued, staring at the letter in my hand, "then preparations are already complete. This isn't a plan anymore. It's execution."

The stage where all that's left… is to light the fuse.

A bitter taste crept up my throat.

Who would've thought they'd attempt something like this after Bane disappeared? I had assumed his fall would scatter them—leave the remnants scrambling to survive.

Instead, it seems he left behind fanatics.

"Then—then shouldn't we inform the Knights?" Feiz blurted out. "The Imperial Knights have to know!"

I closed my eyes for a moment before answering.

"…No. We can't."

Feiz froze. "Why not?"

"They won't believe us."

The words felt heavy, but they were true.

No matter how desperately criminals like us shouted warnings, to them we'd just be criminals trying to save our own skins—or worse, stirring chaos for personal gain.

"At best," I continued, "they'll laugh it off. At worst, they'll arrest us for spreading false information and lock us away before tomorrow."

Feiz clenched his fists. "But this is real! People are going to die!"

"I know."

That was the problem.

The only thing we had was this letter—anonymous, unsigned, dripping with madness and certainty.

One piece of paper wasn't enough to cancel an imperial celebration decades in the making. Not when it involved the Emperor's honor and the pride of the entire Empire.

Silence settled between us.

Then Feiz spoke again, more quietly this time. "So… what do we do?"