The Extra's Rise

Mythos Academy was on its own island, floating neatly between the Northern and Western continents, like an expensive chess piece placed just out of reach of the real world.

Getting off the island, however, was another matter entirely.

The best, fastest, and most ludicrously expensive method was through the warp gates—an intricate network of spatial pathways connecting major cities across the entire world. A marvel of modern technology, making distances meaningless—so long as you had the money to pay for it.

And today, we were using one to visit Maven City.

A city that had once been a major port, back when students traveled to Mythos Academy the old-fashioned way—by boat. But then warp gates got cheap enough for the Academy to replace ships with instant teleportation, and the city's original purpose vanished overnight.

Except, it didn't.

Because Maven City adapted.

It became a student haven—a place where the brightest (and most stressed-out) minds of Mythos Academy could find something even more valuable than education:

Recreation.

Sure, the Academy had plenty of entertainment facilities, but it was still the Academy—monitored, structured, controlled. No mischief allowed.

Maven City, on the other hand? A completely different world.

Shops lined the streets, catering to everything a student might need or want. Restaurants, gaming centers, even old-fashioned libraries (for those brave enough to admit they still liked paper books). It was where students came to unwind, disappear, and pretend, just for a little while, that they weren't training to become world-class powerhouses.

And this was where Rachel and I were headed—for something slightly less exciting than rebellion but apparently just as important.

We needed formalwear.

A tailored suit for me, and a custom dress for Rachel.

The world was far too high-tech, I decided, as the warp gate flared to life around us, and in the blink of an eye, we stepped into Maven City.

Rachel looked around with familiarity, adjusting her uniform slightly as we took in the buzzing streets.

"Let's explore the city too after we get our measurements taken," she suggested.

I nodded. It wasn't a bad idea.

We were both still in our uniforms, which was drawing stares—not unusual, considering Mythos Academy students stood out no matter where they went.

But Rachel?

Rachel was a celebrity.

Her face was everywhere—social media, Academy news, the occasional magazine cover featuring "Young Geniuses to Watch." To the average person, seeing her walking casually down the street was like watching a legend step out of a history book.

And yet—nobody swarmed us.

Of course, Rachel was also a princess—a living, breathing, walking headline, with a name that carried enough weight to reroute political conversations.

But it wasn't her royal blood that gave us this much freedom to move around Maven City unbothered.

It was the uniform.

The deep gold trim of Class A, the unmistakable crest of Mythos Academy—they were more than just fabric and embroidery. They were a warning.

Because even if someone didn't recognize Rachel Creighton, they recognized what it meant to be a Mythos Academy student.

It meant power.

It meant that the wrong word, the wrong gesture, could result in something far worse than embarrassment—humiliation at the hands of someone who was leagues beyond them.

So, while people stared, no one dared to approach.

Which was fine by me.

We made our way to a high-end tailor's shop, the kind of place where even standing in the doorway felt like it cost money. The walls were lined with floating holograms of suits and dresses, displaying perfectly modeled designs that adjusted themselves based on the customer's preferences.

A well-dressed attendant greeted us with the enthusiasm of someone who had just been handed a golden goose.

"Ah, Lady Rachel! A pleasure to have you here again!"

I blinked. "You've been here before?"

Rachel shrugged, completely at ease, as if she frequented luxury tailors the way normal people visited corner stores.

"Of course," she said, stepping forward as the attendant activated a measurement scanner, thin blue light tracing her frame as numbers flashed across a display.

She barely even reacted to it, clearly used to the process.

I, on the other hand, stood awkwardly in place as another attendant waved me over, gesturing for me to stand inside the same measurement frame.

The scanner hummed to life.

Rachel watched, amused, as I resisted the urge to shift uncomfortably while futuristic laser beams calculated the width of my shoulders.

"You really haven't done this before, have you?" she teased.

"Not all of us have entire wardrobes tailored for them, Your Highness," I muttered.

She just grinned, pleased with herself.

A few minutes later, our measurements were finalized, and we were left to browse the designs while the tailor worked their magic.

Rachel picked up a dress display, turning it slowly in the light, inspecting the fine embroidery with a practiced eye.

"Any preferences?" she asked.

"Something that doesn't make me look like a misplaced extra in a royal wedding," I said dryly.

Rachel laughed, shaking her head.

With our orders placed, we stepped back into the city streets, now free to explore Maven City properly.

The energy of the place was vibrant, filled with students wandering between cafés, boutiques, and tech shops, each offering something uniquely designed for Academy elites.

We stopped at a small pastry café, where Rachel insisted on buying a box of sweets, apparently determined to "try everything once" before the night ended.

She handed me a small pastry, watching expectantly as I took a bite.

"Not bad," I admitted.

"Not bad?" Rachel repeated, offended on behalf of the pastry. "That's a gold-ranked bakery!"

I shrugged. "I don't have the refined royal taste buds you do, apparently."

Rachel sighed dramatically. "You're hopeless."

I was about to argue when I felt a familiar presence—the kind that made the fine hairs on my arms rise instinctively.

And just like that, the easy atmosphere shattered.

Rachel must have sensed it too, because she stiffened slightly, her playful energy evaporating.

"Oh my, what a surprise!"

The voice was bright, lilting, drenched in mock delight.

We turned.

Cecilia Slatemark stood a few feet away, smiling like she had just stumbled upon her two favorite playthings.

"Arthur, Rachel—fancy meeting you here."

Rachel exhaled through her nose, her expression unreadable.

I resisted the urge to groan out loud.

So much for a peaceful evening.