The Extra's Rise

"Mhm," Cecilia murmured, her crimson eyes gleaming with a mischief that never truly left them.

"Let's have a real talk after this dance is over, yeah?"

I nodded cautiously, unsure if that was a request or a demand.

As the waltz continued, she finally dialed down the teasing, settling into the graceful rhythm of the dance without any more unnecessary provocations.

The atmosphere shifted, the air between us losing its previous intensity, though not entirely its edge.

When the final soft notes of the music drifted into silence, we separated with perfectly rehearsed elegance, offering each other the customary polite nod that meant absolutely nothing.

Then, without hesitation, she took my arm again—because of course she did—leading me toward the balcony overlooking the Academy grounds.

Outside, the air was cool and crisp, untouched by the pollution that had once choked the skies of my previous world. The night stretched wide above us, a flawless expanse of deep indigo, scattered with stars so sharp and bright they felt almost unreal.

Below, the vast artificial forest next to Ophelia Hall rustled in the wind, its towering trees swaying like silent sentinels under the glow of the full moon.

Cecilia leaned forward against the railing, her gaze flickering between me and the expansive world beyond.

I exhaled. "Alright, what did you want to talk about, princess?"

She smiled, tilting her head toward me, an expression that was never just an expression but a carefully calculated act of amusement, curiosity, and something just slightly dangerous.

"Teach me."

I blinked. "Teach you... what?"

"How you got so much stronger, so fast," she said, her voice light, casual—but her gaze was razor-sharp.

I froze for half a second before forcing myself to act normal.

"That's a weird way of saying I trained hard," I replied, keeping my voice even.

Cecilia laughed softly, shaking her head.

"Oh, please, Art."

I winced internally at the nickname.

She turned toward me, propping her chin on one hand, her hair shifting slightly in the night breeze.

"I trained in the Tower of Magic when I was younger," she said, as if it were just a casual fact and not something that immediately explained why she was a monster.

"And let me tell you," she continued, her smile curling at the edges, "I know the difference between regular training and something else entirely."

I frowned slightly. "Something else entirely?"

She leaned in, close enough that her voice dropped to something just above a whisper.

"You did something dangerous, didn't you?"

I said nothing, but Cecilia didn't need words to confirm she was right.

Her grin widened. "I knew it."

I sighed. "And what if I did? What do you want?"

She straightened, tilting her head as if pondering the question deeply.

"Teach me."

I scoffed. "And what exactly do I get out of that?"

Cecilia giggled—a sound that should have been sweet but instead sent warning bells ringing in my head.

"Well, I suppose you don't know that what you did is illegal."

I blinked. "What."

She grinned.

"Oh, didn't I mention?" she said airily, tapping her fingers against the railing. "That kind of training method—the one that forces your mana circuits to break and rebuild themselves at unnatural speeds—is banned."

My jaw clenched slightly. "And why is it banned?"

She shrugged, mock casual. "Something about it being **too dangerous, causing lasting damage, ruining young prodigies before they reach their full potential—**blah blah blah."

"So, in other words, it actually works," I muttered.

Cecilia laughed. "Yes, but you see, the Empire doesn't like things they can't control."

I rubbed my temple. "So what, you're going to report me?"

She gasped dramatically, pressing a hand to her chest. "Oh, Art, how little you trust me."

I stared at her.

She smirked. "Okay, fine, maybe I'd consider it. But then I'd be turning myself in, too, wouldn't I?"

I narrowed my eyes. "So you want to do it?"

"Obviously."

"You realize it's painful, right?"

She laughed. "Oh, don't worry, I love a challenge."

I exhaled slowly. "And if I say no?"

Cecilia pouted, rocking back on her heels. "Then I suppose I'd have to reconsider our little dynamic."

I didn't know what that meant, but I knew I didn't like it.

"What would you do?" I asked, watching her carefully.

Cecilia shrugged elegantly, like the question didn't concern her in the slightest. "Oh, I could just report you," she mused, tapping her chin in a thoughtful, almost casual manner.

My jaw tightened.

"Alright," I said. "First, tell me what's between you and Rose."

At that, Cecilia tilted her head slightly, her smile widening just a little—not enough to be reassuring, but just enough to be unsettling.

"Oh, Rose Springshaper?" she hummed, as if she'd just been reminded of some vaguely interesting memory.

"Like me, she was a disciple of the Tower of Magic when we were younger."

I stiffened slightly at that. Of course she was.

"Of course," Cecilia continued, her tone deceptively light, "I am a Slatemark. My talent is way above hers, especially with my Mind aspect Gift."

She flicked a strand of golden hair over her shoulder, the movement effortless, calculated.

"The little girl could never keep up."

Something about the way she said it made my stomach twist.

"Trust me, I never hurt her," she added, waving a hand. "She hurt herself."

I exhaled slowly, my fingers curling slightly against the railing.

"Hurt herself," I repeated, my voice carefully even.

Cecilia just smiled.

I let out a breath. "Alright. I'll teach you."

Cecilia's grin widened into something altogether too pleased.

"Good boy," she murmured, her voice a perfect balance of amusement and condescension.

I shivered instinctively.

Before I could react further, a new voice cut through the air.

"Cecilia. Arthur."

Rachel stepped onto the balcony, her sharp sapphire gaze locking onto Cecilia like a heat-seeking missile.

Cecilia, predictably, looked delighted.

"Are you jealous, Rachel?" she teased, eyes glinting with mischief.

Rachel sighed loudly, as if she were the only adult in a room full of misbehaving children.

"Of course not," she said, folding her arms. "I'm just worried about him, because someone like you is here."

Cecilia placed a hand on her chest, mock-wounded.

"How cute."

"Shut up," Rachel shot back, already done with this conversation.

Cecilia grinned.

Rachel turned to me. "Come back inside, Arthur."

Her tone was firm, expectant, as if she knew I'd follow her.

And she was right.

Because if I stayed any longer, I was pretty sure Cecilia would ask for something even worse.

__________________________________________________________________________________

"Why are you doing this, Cecilia?"

Rachel's voice was calm—too calm—as she stood on the balcony, her arms crossed, watching the other girl closely.

Cecilia tilted her head, the picture of innocent curiosity.

"Doing what?" she asked, her tone so light it could have floated away on the breeze.

"Playing with Arthur." Rachel's eyes narrowed. "Sure, he's a fast learner, but is he really that interesting?"

Cecilia shrugged elegantly, as if the question didn't particularly concern her.

"Not really."

Rachel's scowl deepened.

"Then what are you doing?"

Cecilia smirked, leaning ever so slightly against the railing.

"Instincts."

Rachel's expression didn't change, but something in her posture shifted.

'Instincts.'

Coming from anyone else, it would have been a throwaway excuse. But coming from Cecilia Slatemark, it meant something entirely different.

Because, like Rachel herself, Cecilia was special.

Not in the "born with talent" way.

Not even in the "prodigy of her generation" way.

Cecilia was an anomaly.

A witch.

More specifically, someone who could become an archwitch—a being of singular, terrifying potential.

Witches weren't evil.

They were just… different.

An existence as rare and unnatural as draconic humans.

And Cecilia? She was still awakening.

Just like Rachel was.

Which meant there were things about her that even she didn't fully understand yet.

Rachel watched her, something unreadable flickering behind her sapphire eyes.

Cecilia, for her part, looked completely unconcerned, gazing out of the balcony, as if the conversation barely registered.

"Anyway," she said lightly, stretching her arms over her head, "he's useful to me for now."

Rachel's jaw tightened slightly.

"Useful?"

Cecilia nodded, turning to her with a lazy smile, her crimson eyes gleaming with something sharp and unreadable.

"Yeah. Just a tool. Nothing else."

Rachel's breath hitched for just a second.

Cecilia's smirk widened.

"It's the same for you, isn't it?" she added smoothly.

Rachel's lips parted slightly, but before she could respond, Cecilia continued, voice syrupy and sweet.

"You even admitted you're using him," she pointed out.

"To avoid being with Lucifer."

Rachel went completely still.

Cecilia watched her, eyes half-lidded, her smirk shifting into something closer to amusement.

And then, with a mocking little hum, she turned, casually strolling back inside, leaving Rachel alone on the balcony.

Rachel exhaled, steady and slow, staring out at the endless stretch of stars overhead.

'That girl is dangerous.'

More than most people realized.

"Seraphina."

Rachel turned as the half-elf stepped onto the balcony, her silver hair catching the moonlight like strands of woven ice.

Seraphina acknowledged her with a single nod—nothing more, nothing less.

Rachel studied her, mind turning.

'Princess of Mount Hua.'

A girl just as quiet and detached as Jin, someone who drifted through conversations rather than engaging in them. Unlike Cecilia, who was all sharp words and tangled amusement, or Ian, who carried himself with effortless warmth, Seraphina existed in her own quiet world, untouched by the noise of others.

Rachel sighed.

'Why is Class A so difficult?'

She turned, about to leave—

And then—

"I never thought the Saintess would stoop down to using someone."

Rachel froze mid-step.

Her gaze flicked back to Seraphina, who stood still as stone, her expression unreadable, her arms folded neatly in front of her.

Rachel's lips pressed into a thin line.

"It's more complicated than that."

Seraphina's ice-blue eyes remained steady, unwavering.

"If you say so."

Her voice was calm, indifferent, utterly detached from the weight of her own words.

And yet—

"But in the end," she continued, "you're just running away, aren't you?"

Rachel's fingers curled slightly at her sides.

Seraphina held her gaze for a moment longer. Then, as if the conversation had already ceased to matter, she turned, walking back inside without waiting for an answer.

Rachel stood there, the cold wind brushing against her skin, staring out at the night sky.

She didn't have an answer anyway.