The Extra's Rise

"How boring," Rachel muttered, shutting her book with a quiet thump.

Studying was fine—necessary, even—but there was only so much satisfaction one could derive from reading about mana flow mechanics for the hundredth time when you could just use mana instead.

She stretched, rolling her shoulders. As expected, she was the female student representative.

'Cecilia isn't bad,' she thought as she glanced at herself in the mirror. 'But she isn't quite at my level.'

She tilted her head, studying her reflection—long blonde hair, sapphire-blue eyes, flawless posture. Everything was as it should be.

"Let's go out," she decided, brushing imaginary dust from her t-shirt and skirt before stepping out of her room.

The lounge on the second floor—the heart of the Ophelia Dorm. A place where students could sit, relax, and pretend they weren't under the constant pressure of being the most talented individuals of their generation.

Rachel stepped inside and immediately spotted a familiar figure.

"Oh, hey Ian!" she called, her voice light.

The red-haired prince of the South, lounging on the sofa like he had all the time in the world, looked up and flashed her a lazy, confident grin.

"Hey, Rach," he greeted. "Still up?"

"Well, it's just ten," she pointed out, flopping onto the seat opposite him.

For a moment, they simply talked, falling into the easy rhythm of old friends.

"So, you're sticking with the spear, then?" Rachel asked, raising an eyebrow.

Ian snorted. "Of course. The Viserions have been spearmen for generations. I'd probably be disowned if I picked up a sword."

"Yeah, but your draconic bloodline alone would make you strong no matter what you chose," she pointed out.

"True, but tradition, you know?" he said with a shrug. "What about you? You're getting special training for your light magic, right?"

Rachel sighed, leaning back. "Yeah. It's a little frustrating, honestly. There's no one else with light mana who's anywhere close to my level. Same with Jin and his dark magic."

"Well, those two elements are basically their own schools of magic," Ian mused. "It makes sense."

"It does," Rachel admitted. "Still, I'm excited!"

Ian grinned. "Same. I just hope Ren doesn't ruin everything."

Rachel rolled her eyes. "He wanted to bully Arthur straight away."

"He's not really the bully type," Ian corrected. "More like the 'I will crush anyone weaker than me on principle' type."

Rachel sighed. "I just don't want him to chase Arthur out."

"Then I guess we'll just have to do our part," Ian said, smirking.

They changed the topic, drifting into other conversations—family, training, ridiculous academy rumors—until the elevator chimed.

Someone stepped out.

"Hey, Arthur," Ian greeted casually.

Arthur looked exhausted.

"Hey, Ian. Rachel," Arthur returned the greeting with a weary smile.

Rachel's gaze immediately scanned him. He looked drained, his uniform damp with sweat, his hair slightly disheveled.

"What were you doing?" she asked.

"Training," he said simply.

Ian let out a low whistle. "That's some dedication."

Arthur shrugged. "Thanks." He yawned, stretching. "Sorry, I need to wash up and sleep. I'm completely wiped."

"Yeah, sure. Let's talk tomorrow," Ian said.

Rachel watched Arthur carefully as he walked away.

Something felt different.

'Did he get stronger?'

She shook her head. Impossible. Training made you stronger, sure, but not in one day. Not in a way that would be noticeable.

She must have imagined it.

And yet, as Arthur disappeared down the hallway, the thought lingered.

'Was I really mistaken?'

She wasn't sure.

And that bothered her.

__________________________________________________________________________________

I stepped into the shower, the warm water cascading over my sore muscles, washing away the exhaustion of ten hours of pure self-inflicted torture.

'I think my mana improved by two percent or something,' I mused.

Not exactly a grand achievement, but progress was progress.

Reaching mid Silver-rank from low Silver-rank required a fifty percent increase in total mana capacity.

At my current rate, if I could somehow train ten hours a day without turning into a walking corpse, I could reach mid Silver-rank in a month.

Of course, that was about as realistic as outpacing a dragon on foot.

'Still…'

I clenched my fist, feeling the lingering hum of mana in my circuits.

'My mental resistance is insane.'

That was the real surprise.

Most people would have collapsed or lost focus long before their mana circuits started adapting. The sheer pain, the exhaustion, the mental strain—it should have worn me down.

And yet, I had been completely immersed, as if the suffering was just another part of the process.

That meant something.

That meant I had an edge.

'With this, I can make up for my lack of talent.'

Because I wasn't gifted. No legendary bloodline, no natural affinity that let me command mana like it was an extension of my own will.

But I had endurance.

I could keep going when others would break.

And that would be enough.

I shut the water off and stepped out of the shower, wiping the steam off the mirror.

A stranger stared back at me.

Azure eyes. Black hair. The face of Arthur Nightingale.

I raised my hands—

Slap!

Both palms smacked against my cheeks, the sudden sting jolting me back into focus.

'I can't keep worrying about this.'

It didn't matter who I used to be.

What mattered was what I was going to become.

I exhaled, steadying my thoughts. I needed a goal. A real one. Something that would drive me forward without hesitation, without fear.

Something impossible.

Something insane.

"I'm going to surpass Lucifer Windward by the end of the first year," I said aloud.

And then I laughed.

A low chuckle at first, then a proper, almost deranged laugh.

Because it was absolutely ridiculous.

Lucifer Windward wasn't just strong—he was the strongest of this generation. The youngest White-ranker in history.

Surpassing him wasn't just ambitious.

It was borderline suicidal.

And yet, if I didn't set a goal that high, I would never even come close.

I ran a hand through my damp hair, my fingers gripping at my scalp as I let the madness of the idea settle in.

'Alright then, let's aim for the impossible.'

As I dried off, I thought back to my mana increase.

Two percent.

A fraction of progress, a tiny push toward the threshold of mid Silver-rank.

It wasn't a breakthrough yet. More like chipping away at a massive stone wall, getting closer and closer until eventually, one final push would send it crumbling down all at once.

When I reached mid Silver-rank, it would be an instant surge—a full fifty percent increase in power at once.

It wasn't much in the grand scheme of things.

But it would be the first real step.

And then there was Rachel.

She had noticed something.

Her gaze had lingered on me earlier, like she had sensed a change.

But that was impossible.

I hadn't gotten stronger. There was no way anyone could detect a mere two percent increase in mana purity.

And yet, she had looked at me like she had seen something shifting beneath the surface.

I frowned, toweling off my hair.

Rachel Creighton was supernaturally talented, that much was clear.

But even she couldn't possibly sense something that wasn't there…

…Right?