The Manaless Extra (A Progression Fantasy Story)

Volume 03, Chapter 111
Arthur and Dominic's Past [1]

I slowly open my eyes.

My body feels weightless—almost numb.

I push myself up and look around.

Everything around me is black. A vast, endless void stretches out in every direction, swallowing all sense of space or time.

"Where... am I?" I mutter, my voice echoing faintly in the emptiness.

The last thing I remember is the duel with Arthur—the clash of mana, the overwhelming light, the pain.

And I am certain of one thing—I lost.

A bitter smile tugs at my lips.

"Looks like some of my stats are about to get docked by fifty points..." I murmur to myself, half-joking, half-resigned.

I stare at the System window blinking in front of me.

That skill again.

The same one that triggered before—the dream I had just before the Stargate attack in the Eneforte territory...

A shiver runs down my spine.

I do not even have time to brace myself before the void around me shudders, and my vision goes black again.

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

"Ugh…"

I groan as I sit up, stretching my arms over my head.

A long yawn escapes me as I blink blearily, trying to shake off the heavy fog clouding my mind.

My vision is blurry, my head throbbing softly, as though I've been dragged out of a deep, restless sleep.

As the haze clears, I look around.

I'm lying in a field of soft grass. The blades tickle my skin, swaying gently under a sky that feels unnaturally still.

"Hahaha, you Manaless!"

"You suck! HAHAHAHA!"

"You're the worst of the worst!"

Shrill, mocking voices pierce the calm.

I turn toward the noise—and freeze.

A group of children is gathered near a worn-down playground, cornering a boy no older than five.

He has messy black hair, trembling blue eyes, and bruises forming along his skinny arms.

He's crying.

Shielding himself from the jeering crowd.

It doesn't take a genius to recognize him.

That boy… that is me. Or rather, that was the original Dominic.

A cold knot tightens in my stomach. Is this… a memory?

I stay back, watching silently.

"B-But I tagged you!" young Dominic cries, his voice cracking with desperation. "You're cheating! Every time I tag you, you change the rules!"

One of the boys snorts. "Pfft! No, you just suck at it!"

"Renard's right! Manaless are just slow!" another sneers.

So, one of the bullies is Renard. It makes sense now—the name and face feel familiar. But more disturbingly, they are gaslighting Dominic, twisting the truth until he doubts his own reality.

"B-But… but I saw it…!" Dominic whimpers.

"Shut up, Manaless."

Renard bends down, grabs a rock, and hurls it at Dominic.

Dominic flinches, shielding his face.

The rock strikes his hands with a sickening sound. He stumbles backward, pain flashing across his tear-streaked face.

"Ah! S-Stop it!"

Renard's smile widens, malicious and triumphant. "Come on, guys! Let's drive this loser out!"

I clench my fists.

I want to step in. I want to punch Renard. To shield that boy.

But I can't.

I'm just a spectator trapped inside this memory.

And I'm not just watching it—I'm feeling it. Every sting. Every humiliation. Every lonely, aching moment of confusion.

This… this is why he followed Arthur everywhere. Not because he wanted to outshine him, but because being alone was worse.

Because being alone meant being prey.

Even the smallest scrap of protection—even if it meant living in someone else's shadow—was better than being isolated and forgotten.

Could this be Dominic's past? If so, then Chronicle Insight must be a skill that lets me borrow the memories of the original Dominic across timelines.

The System's cheerful tone feels almost inappropriate against the bleakness of what I'm seeing.

I stare at the shimmering window of information.

Then, I realized something.

The dream I had before the Stargate attack—the vision where a man fought a high-ranking demon—that was Dominic. It was a memory, and I experienced it…

"And the man cradling Dominic in his dying breath…" I whisper. "That was… Célestin."

My heart twists painfully.

The young Dominic, sobbing and battered, runs across the playground, seeking refuge anywhere far from the cruelty.

I follow him. Each small footstep he takes, each shudder of his tiny frame, weighs heavily on my chest.

Eventually, young Dominic finds a hiding spot behind a large tree, its thick trunk shielding him from the jeering world beyond. He sinks to the ground, hugs his knees tightly to his chest, and buries his face in his small arms.

His body shakes with each ragged sob.

"Why…"

His voice is barely audible.

"Why am I Manaless…?"

A fresh sob wracks his frame.

"I wish… I wish I had Mana…"

Watching him, I feel an ache deep in my chest.

This is a glimpse into Dominic's childhood—a lonely, painful chapter filled with isolation and a desperate longing for something that defines status, strength… and worth in this world.

"Got you!"

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

I turn at the sudden shout.

A boy with messy blond hair and lively green eyes darts across the playground, laughter bursting from his lips. A few other kids chase after him, but he's too fast, too nimble, his carefree energy leaving them behind.

There's no mistaking it.

Arthur.

Even at this age, his spirit is undeniable.

Arthur dashes toward the tree Dominic is hiding behind, using it as cover. He presses his back against the trunk and peeks around with a mischievous grin.

But then—his eyes drop. He spots Dominic, curled at the base of the tree.

The grin fades.

The playful glint in Arthur's eyes vanishes, replaced by something gentler—concern.

He slowly crouches down, inching closer to the crying boy.

"Hey," Arthur says softly, his voice breaking the silence like a warm breeze. "Are you okay?"

Dominic sniffles, peeking up from his arms. His cheeks are wet, his eyes swollen and red. He stares at Arthur with confusion, distrust, and—beneath it all—a fragile glimmer of hope.

Arthur waits patiently. "What's wrong?" he asks again, even more gently. "Why are you crying?"

Dominic wipes his eyes with a dirty sleeve, his hands trembling. "I… I got bullied…" he mumbles, the words heavy with shame.

Arthur's brow furrows, genuine outrage flashing across his young face. "Why?" he demands.

"They… they hate Manaless…" Dominic whispers. "They threw rocks at me…"

Arthur clenches his small fists. "That's not fair," he says, as if it's a universal truth.

He sits beside Dominic, warm and steady.

"You don't need magic to be awesome," Arthur declares. "What's your name?"

Dominic hesitates. "…Dominic."

Arthur beams, like hearing the name is the best part of his day.

"Hi, Dominic," he says brightly. "I'm Arthur."

Dominic blinks, disbelief etched on his tear-streaked face.

Arthur grins wider and thrusts out his fist. "Wanna be friends?" he asks. "We can fist bump to make it official."

Dominic stares at the offered hand.

Slowly, almost fearfully, he extends his own.

Their fists touch.

It's a small gesture—barely a brush of knuckles.

But somehow, it carries the weight of a promise.

"…Fist bump," Dominic echoes, his voice trembling with something between hope and wonder.

Arthur chuckles. "See? Now we're friends."

He leans back against the tree, completely at ease.

"Let's just sit here and talk for a bit," he says casually. "We don't need those other guys to have fun anyway."

Dominic sits there in stunned silence.

It's the first time—perhaps ever—that someone has offered him friendship without hesitation. Without conditions. Without caring about his lack of Mana.

So this is how they met.

I watch them, feeling something twist in my chest.

How easily it had started and how pure it had been.

And yet…

I can't help but wonder… when did things begin to change? When did admiration turn into resentment? When did friendship start to feel like competition?

At what point did Arthur, who once shielded Dominic with his kindness, begin to feel eclipsed by the very boy he had saved?

The seeds of a bond—and the seeds of future pain—are both planted here, under the shade of that old tree.

And somehow…

I feel like I'm witnessing the beginning of everything.

-Bzzt!

The world around me glitches violently.

The grassy field, the playground, the towering tree—all of it fractures into shards of memory, twisting and blurring.

And then, it stabilizes.

I find myself in a typical French-grade school classroom. The walls are adorned with colorful posters. The soft murmur of students chatting and the steady scratch of pencils fill the room with comforting noise.

I glance around.

There they are, Dominic and Arthur, sitting side by side.

Arthur has that same easy, mischievous grin, while Dominic looks… painfully shy. He's almost shrinking into himself, his fingers fiddling with the frayed edge of his notebook.

"Dominic, what club do you want to join?" Arthur asks brightly, leaning over his desk.

"Uhh… I don't know," Dominic mumbles, avoiding eye contact.

Arthur taps his chin thoughtfully, as if this decision is a life-altering one.

Then—snap!

His eyes light up. "I've got it! How about you come with me to the Chess Club?"

Dominic's head jerks up, eyes wide with a mixture of hope and disbelief. "A-Are you sure?" he stammers.

"Yeah! I'm sure!" Arthur beams. "It'll be fun!"

Dominic hesitates, casting his gaze downward, twiddling his thumbs—the universal sign of someone bracing for rejection.

"But…" he whispers. "What if they don't like me? What if… what if they don't want me there because I'm Manaless?"

Arthur scoffs, brushing the fear away like it's nonsense.

"Don't worry about that, Doms!"

Dominic blinks. "D-Doms?" he echoes.

Arthur grins. "Yeah! Your name's kinda long. Besides, friends give each other nicknames. And you're my friend, right?"

Dominic's mouth opens and closes wordlessly before he nods, a shy, almost disbelieving smile forming.

"I—I like it," he murmurs.

Arthur leans back, arms crossed smugly. "Good. It's official now. You're Doms."

He says it so casually, like it's obvious. Like someone like Dominic was always meant to belong.

"Anyway," Arthur continues, "you'll come with me, right? We'll both join the Chess Club. It'll be awesome."

Dominic lowers his head again, fingers tightening on the notebook.

Watching from the sidelines, I can feel the battle raging inside him. The part that wants to believe... and the part that has been burned too many times before.

But then, slowly, hesitantly—

Dominic lifts his head. "I'll join," he says, voice trembling but firm. "If you're joining, then I want to join too."

Arthur grins so wide I think his face might split in two. Without hesitation, he claps Dominic on the back.

"That's the spirit!" he says proudly. "We're gonna have a blast, Doms! Just wait!"

Dominic's smile grows wider, his cheeks flushed with excitement. For once, he's not afraid of being left behind.

He's not afraid at all.

Watching the scene unfold, a deep, bittersweet realization settles into my chest.

Arthur wasn't just Dominic's first friend.

He was Dominic's lifeline.

Arthur gave him a reason to hope. A reason to believe he belonged. That he wasn't broken. That being Manaless didn't mean being worthless.

But at the same time…

Dominic gave Arthur something too.

Responsibility.

Purpose.

The pride of lifting someone up.

Arthur does not just offer friendship that day.

He offers salvation.

And Dominic takes it, clutching it like a drowning boy clings to a lifeline.

"Okay, let's do it," Dominic says, his voice barely above a whisper, but strong enough.

Arthur laughs and ruffles his hair. "Great! Let's go crush some chess nerds together!"

Dominic's shy, hopeful smile lingers long after the words fade.

And so, sitting in that classroom, a promise is made—

A promise of loyalty. Of friendship. And, inevitably... of heartbreak yet to come.

-Bzzt!

The scene around me glitches again—the world stuttering, flickering like a broken film reel.

When the static fades, I find myself in another classroom.

But this one is different.

Long rows of chess tables line the room, glossy boards neatly arranged, each piece standing perfectly in its place. A worn chalkboard hangs at the front, the words "Chess Competition" hastily scribbled in bright white chalk.

And there they are again. Arthur and Dominic—sitting near the door, side by side.

Both wear medals around their necks.

A gold medal hangs proudly from Dominic's neck, gleaming against his white shirt.

Arthur's silver medal hangs a little lower, catching less of the light.

The room bursts into polite applause. Parents, teachers, and a handful of students clap and cheer.

Amidst the small crowd, I spot two familiar faces.

André and Celine stand in the middle of the audience, clapping proudly, beaming with joy.

And then there is Uther.

He stands stiffly at the back.

He claps too—but barely. His expression is unreadable, but the aura he gives off… it screams disappointment.

A suffocating pressure radiates from him.

Heavy. Cold.

The kind of silent judgment that cuts deeper than any words ever could.

Dominic, oblivious to the brewing storm, turns to Arthur with a bright, innocent smile. "I can't believe I won, Arthur!" he says, his voice bubbling with genuine excitement.

Arthur smiles back. A hollow, fragile smile. "Yeah… you were amazing, Doms."

The words are right. The tone is almost right. But the body betrays the truth.

Arthur's hands are clenched tightly into fists on his lap, the knuckles pale under the pressure. His shoulders, usually so relaxed, are stiff—rigid with a tension he does not even seem to realize he is carrying.

I can see it.

This is the moment. The fracture point.

Admiration—pure, bright admiration—begins to twist.

Into something darker. Into something colder. Into envy.

Arthur is not just proud of Dominic. He is hurting.

Because despite all his effort… despite being the heir to the Lyon family, blessed with light magic and wealth and status—

It is Dominic, the Manaless boy, who stands in the brightest spotlight.

It is Dominic whose name is being praised.

It is Dominic who wins.

And Arthur, no matter how much he smiles… cannot pretend it does not hurt.

The memory freezes there for a moment, as if the world itself understands the gravity of it.

The cheers fade.

The smiles flicker.

And somewhere, deep within Arthur's heart—

The first crack.

The first spark of resentment.

And from that day forward…

That crack only grows.

-Bzzt!

The world glitches violently again, colors tearing and reshaping, and I find myself back inside the familiar classroom.

It is the same one where Dominic and Arthur had once eagerly planned their future together, choosing clubs and dreaming like any normal kids would.

But this time…

The atmosphere is different.

Heavy.

Awkward.

Arthur sits beside Dominic, fiddling with the hem of his sleeve, avoiding eye contact.

"Doms…" Arthur begins, his voice low, almost reluctant. "I think… I want to switch clubs."

Dominic's eyes widen, his entire posture stiffening.

"W-Why?" Dominic asks, his voice cracking slightly.

Even though it is subtle, I can feel it—Dominic's panic, rising quietly beneath the surface. Like a child sensing the ground beginning to crumble under his feet.

Arthur shifts in his seat, still not meeting Dominic's eyes.

"Well… I wanted to…" he hesitates, forcing the words out. "I want to join the Art Club. I just… I want to explore more options for myself."

It is a carefully worded excuse.

Even Arthur does not fully understand the reasons twisting inside him. The suffocating weight of always being second. The shame he cannot name yet.

He just knows he needs space.

Distance.

Dominic, however, does not hear the unspoken feelings beneath the words. All he hears is that Arthur is leaving.

And he clings to the only thing he can think to say:

"C-Can I come too?" Dominic blurts out, desperation leaking into his voice.

Arthur finally looks up at him.

I can see the hesitation—clear as day—etched into every small movement. The tightening of his jaw. The flicker of guilt in his green eyes.

Arthur is trapped.

He does not want Dominic to follow.

But he cannot say no, either.

Not to Dominic. Not yet.

"Well…" Arthur falters, then forces a smile. "S-sure… You can come."

Dominic's face lights up with tentative relief.

But Arthur's smile? It does not reach his eyes. Not even close.

-Bzzt!

My surroundings glitch again, warping like a broken signal until everything solidifies.

This time, I stand inside a gymnasium filled with art pieces displayed on easels and tables, their colorful canvases catching the afternoon light that filters through the tall windows.

Students and parents mill about, admiring the works. The air buzzes with chatter, excitement, and the occasional flash of camera clicks.

I turn toward the front of the gym where a small wooden stage has been set up.

A crowd gathers there, faces bright with anticipation.

"All right, time to announce the winners!" calls out an enthusiastic teacher holding a clipboard.

The crowd hushes.

"Second place belongs to… Arthur Lyon!"

Polite applause ripples through the room.

I watch as Arthur climbs the steps onto the stage, cradling his art piece carefully in his arms.

It is a semi-realistic lion, fierce yet majestic, the brushstrokes raw and alive. It is genuinely impressive, especially for a child so young.

But Arthur's face…

It tells another story.

He smiles—but the corners of his mouth tremble. His emerald eyes, which should be filled with pride, are dim. The smile does not reach them.

It is the smile of someone forcing themselves to be happy. The smile of someone pretending it does not hurt.

"And the winner for the best art piece is… Dominic!"

The applause grows louder.

I turn and see Dominic, his face lit up with genuine surprise and joy, climbing the stage with an almost dazed smile.

He clutches a painting so detailed, so lifelike, that even from here I can see the individual blades of grass and the way the light kisses every curve and shadow.

It is a masterpiece.

A piece that speaks of meticulous hours and a staggering gift for realism.

The crowd's admiration is tangible.

Arthur steps back politely, letting Dominic take center stage.

He claps, too, just like everyone else.

But the way his hands move—slow, mechanical—betrays him.

I catch it.

That split-second flicker of his eyes, darting to Dominic's radiant face. That small slump of his shoulders as he lowers his head, hiding his expression.

Arthur is not just disappointed.

He is devastated.

Again.

Outshone.

Again.

No matter where he goes, no matter how hard he tries to carve out something for himself… Dominic is always there.

Not maliciously.

Not intentionally.

But inevitably.

Dominic's brilliance is not something he can escape.

It chases him.

Overshadows him.

Swallows him whole.

And the saddest part is—

Arthur still smiles for him.

Even when it hurts more than anything.