The Extra's Rise

I woke up in the medical wing of Mythos Academy.

Or rather, calling it a 'medical wing' was an understatement. This place was closer to a fully equipped, state-of-the-art hospital, complete with the latest in mana-assisted healing, advanced technology, and—judging by the sterile scent in the air—enough potions to make an alchemist weep.

My head felt oddly light, my limbs heavier than usual, but the telltale absence of pain told me that whatever they had done to me had worked.

"Oh, you're finally awake!"

A cheerful voice rang out, and I turned my head to see a nurse approaching, her uniform perfectly pressed, her smile as bright as if she weren't speaking to someone who had very nearly gotten flattened by a six-star beast.

"You were mostly suffering from overexertion and exhaustion, but you're fine now after some treatment," she said, giving me a quick once-over, nodding to herself in satisfaction.

"Yeah, I feel better now," I muttered, stretching my fingers experimentally before grabbing my phone from the bedside table. The screen lit up, and the time blinked at me, mocking me with how much of my life I had just lost to unconsciousness.

Then, just as I was about to check my messages, the nurse said something that made my brain stop completely.

"By the way, congratulations on coming first!"

I blinked.

"First?" I repeated slowly, looking at her like she had just grown a second head. "Me?"

She laughed. "Of course, you! Who else?"

I pointed at myself, still half convinced she was talking about some other Arthur Nightingale who had miraculously replaced me while I was unconscious.

"You got 113,730 points," she said brightly, as if that number was anything other than completely absurd.

I stared.

"My rank isn't first though," I pointed out automatically, grasping onto the one logical fact I could still process. "Ranks only change twice a year."

"That's true," she admitted. "But still, you came first in points. That's an achievement on its own, isn't it?"

I barely managed to mumble a thank you before my fingers moved on instinct, opening the Academy's website, scrolling straight to the rankings.

And then I froze.

It was right there.

In bold letters.

Arthur Nightingale – 113,730 points.

First place.

I stared at Lucifer's name.

Lucifer Windward – 56,893 points.

I doubled his points.

I had actually doubled the score of second place.

Lucifer.

The strongest student among the first years.

The one person everyone, including myself, had assumed would dominate this survival test without effort.

And I had beaten him.

Not by a little.

By a lot.

Because I had killed a six-star beast.

I let my phone drop onto my lap, my brain still catching up with the sheer weight of what this meant.

'This is something to be happy about,' I decided. 'But not too much.'

I had come first, yes. But not on my own.

Rachel's Gift had pushed my body beyond exhaustion. Cecilia's magic had cleared my path. And even then, the Elder Dark Treant hadn't been a true six-star beast—it had been mid-evolution, caught at a moment of instability that I had exploited.

If any of those factors had been even slightly different, I wouldn't be lying here in a comfortable bed with a ridiculous number of points to my name.

I'd be unconscious, or worse, recovering from an absolute defeat.

The thought was enough to keep me grounded.

Then the door swung open.

"Oh, you're awake!"

Rose's voice filled the room, full of relief and energy, her auburn eyes bright with concern.

She rushed over, moving quickly—but there was something off about the way she did it, like she was escaping from something rather than heading toward me.

I found out why a second later.

"Hi, Art."

Cecilia stepped inside, yawning lightly, her posture relaxed, completely at ease, as if she had just rolled out of bed and decided to cause trouble.

Unlike Rose, who still carried the worried energy of someone checking on a hospitalized friend, Cecilia looked like she was here to personally deliver bad decisions.

Both of them were in casual clothes—it was the weekend, after all.

Rose wore a simple T-shirt and skirt, something comfortable, something practical.

Cecilia, on the other hand, was in a crop top and a skirt, looking effortlessly lazy, effortlessly elegant, her golden-red hair slightly tousled like she had just woken up from a nap and couldn't be bothered to fix it.

The contrast was almost comical.

"You did well," she said, an amused smile curving her lips, her crimson eyes gleaming with something undeniably pleased.

"You actually managed to win."

She leaned against the doorframe, tilting her head slightly.

"I didn't think you could."

"What do you mean?" I asked, voice level, but my grip on the sheets tightened.

Cecilia sighed, tilting her head, mocking patience dripping from her every movement. "You're an idiot, Art."

I waited. That much was obvious. Say something new.

She smirked. "You charged at that thing without a care in the world. No hesitation, no caution, no sense of self-preservation. Honestly, be happy you had the protective artifact, otherwise, you wouldn't have even had the guts, right?"

I met her gaze, feeling something hot coil inside me—something sharp, something hungry.

"I don't care."

Cecilia blinked. Just once. A flicker of surprise before she masked it beneath that infuriating smirk.

"You don't care?" she echoed, amusement laced in her voice, but there was something new underneath. Something uncertain.

I leaned forward, the sheets rustling under me. My body still ached, my mana reserves were running on fumes, and yet—I had never felt more certain of anything in my life.

"I don't care about the artifact," I said, voice steady, absolute. "I don't care about safety nets or what would have happened if I didn't have one."

I met her gaze head-on, unflinching. "I would have done it anyway."

Cecilia's amusement flickered.

"You say that, but—"

"I say that because it's true."

The room felt smaller, the air pressing in, thick with something unspoken.

"I don't care about dying," I continued, and I meant it. Truly, deeply meant it. "I care about getting stronger. That's all."

Rose shifted beside me, uncomfortable, but I barely noticed. My entire focus was on Cecilia, watching her carefully, because for the first time since I had met her—

She looked genuinely thrown off.

Not much. A twitch of her fingers, a brief hesitation, a split-second where her ever-present smirk faltered.

Then it was back. "That's cute," she said, but her voice wasn't as smooth as before. "But strength alone doesn't—"

"Yes, it does."

I interrupted her.

Cecilia stared.

I didn't stop.

"You say I wouldn't have done it without the artifact," I said. "But the fact is, I did. I took down a six-star beast. I doubled Lucifer's points. And I'm still not satisfied."

The admission should have scared me. It should have felt reckless, irrational.

But all I felt was determined.

"I don't care what you or anyone else thinks about how I fight," I said. "I'll keep pushing forward. I'll get stronger. And one day—"

I smiled, and for the first time, Cecilia didn't.

"—I'll surpass Lucifer."

Silence stretched between us, thick and heavy.

Then, slowly, she exhaled, rolling her shoulders. The smirk returned, but this time, it felt forced, her usual teasing ease just a little too deliberate.

"You really are insane, Art."

She turned on her heel, heading for the door. "Good luck with that," she tossed over her shoulder.

__________________________________________________________________________________

Cecilia walked out of the medical room, her steps slow, measured.

Arthur's words lingered in her mind, looping back over themselves like an unsolved riddle.

She had expected him to deny it.

She had wanted him to admit he wouldn't have done it without the artifact, that he wasn't that reckless, that he had a limit like everyone else.

But he hadn't.

And now—now, she doubted herself.

'Surpass Lucifer.'

He had said it like it was inevitable.

Like it wasn't just a goal, but a fact waiting to happen.

She should have laughed.

Even she knew how absurd Lucifer's talent was. It wasn't just unfair—it was unnatural. The kind of talent that made monsters look human and humans look like ants.

But the laugh never came.

She had looked into his eyes when he said it.

And there had been no arrogance there. No delusion.

Just certainty.

Cecilia ran a hand through her hair, her fingers lingering for a second at the strands before she let them drop.

Then she smiled.

"Interesting."

Her crimson eyes glinted, and for the first time in a long while, she felt something she hadn't expected.

Excitement.