The Manaless Extra (A Progression Fantasy Story)

Volume 03, Chapter 113
Arthur and Dominic's Past [3]

-Bzzt!

The world shimmers again.

When the haze settles, I am standing in Dominic's bedroom.

The air is still. Quiet.

Dominic sits on the edge of his bed, shirtless. His small frame is covered in fresh bruises and healing scars, while Arthur kneels in front of him, carefully applying ointment to the purple and yellow bruises marring his skin.

The only sound is the soft rustling of gauze and the quiet tap of glass bottles against the nightstand.

Arthur finishes wrapping the last bandage and sits back with a sigh. "There. All done."

Dominic looks down at the neat layers of gauze and tape crisscrossing his ribs and arms. "Thanks, Arthur… I'm sorry you had to deal with that."

Arthur's face darkens—not in anger at Dominic, but at the situation itself. "Don't apologize. You shouldn't have to go through that. Not alone."

He sits beside Dominic, resting his elbows on his knees. The silence that follows stretches, not awkward, but heavy with weight.

After a moment, Arthur breaks it.

"…Doms," he says, eyes fixed on the floor. "Be honest with me. Did the bullying get worse… when I left the Photography Club?"

Dominic looks down, his fingers fidgeting with the edge of the bedsheet. "Yeah… it did."

Arthur's fists clench slowly.

Dominic continues. "They pretended to like me when you were there. Gave compliments, laughed at my jokes. But when you left… they stopped pretending."

Arthur looks up, guilt rippling through his expression.

"They only liked me because I was friends with you," Dominic says, forcing the words out like they had been locked in his throat for days. "Once you were gone, I didn't matter anymore."

Arthur says nothing, but I can see the tremble in his knuckles. He is replaying it—every missed sign, every time he believed the smiles were real.

He is not just angry at them.

He is angry at himself.

I understand now. They used Dominic. Treated him like a stepping stone to get closer to Arthur. And when Arthur left, Dominic became expendable—less than nothing in their eyes. The betrayal cut deeper than any blow. And Arthur… he carries that weight now.

"Doms…" Arthur whispers.

"Yeah?" Dominic asks, his voice almost hopeful.

"…Do you want to join the Magitist Club with me?"

Dominic's head snaps up. "R-really?"

Arthur nods, his voice quieter now. "I can keep an eye on you there. Make sure they don't do anything like that again."

Dominic's eyes shimmer. "I'd like that."

But from where I stand, the truth is clear.

This is not just a friendly invitation. This is Arthur surrendering again.

He had once dreamed of the Magitist Club as his own, a place where he could finally grow without comparison. Without being overshadowed. It was supposed to be a new start.

But guilt is a heavy thing.

Arthur is willing to give up that solitude, that space, just to make sure Dominic will not be alone again.

The cycle is not broken.

It is repeating.

And this time, Arthur is the one restarting it willingly.

I want to speak, to reach out, to tell him he does not have to sacrifice his light for Dominic's. But I am just a ghost in a memory.

So, I watch as Arthur sits beside his best friend… torn between the boy he wants to become, and the boy he cannot stop protecting.

And Dominic? He just smiles softly, unaware that once again, Arthur is setting himself aside… for him.

-Bzzt!

My surroundings glitch again.

When the distortion clears, I find myself in a middle school laboratory—sleek countertops lined with beakers, arcane runes etched beside scientific instruments, and Mana condensers humming faintly beside chalkboards filled with diagrams.

The room buzzes with focused energy. Students move about eagerly, conducting experiments that blend alchemical reactions with magical manipulation.

At one of the side tables, Arthur stands hunched over a beaker, carefully adding droplets of glowing liquid into a glass vial. His brow is furrowed in concentration, his eyes fixed on the subtle shimmer dancing above his concoction.

Across the room, Dominic sits at his station, surrounded by fragments of polished crystal and Aether-channeling rods. His hands move with calm precision as he guides streams of Aether into a crystalline core.

A whisper cuts through the ambient murmur.

"Hey, look... the Manaless is playing Magitist now."

"He probably thinks this club is easier than the others."

"Why bother? He can't even feel mana."

The words are quiet but sharp. Barbed. Deliberately cruel.

Dominic freezes, his shoulders stiffening.

Arthur looks up, and his eyes immediately find the source of the voices. His expression hardens.

Just one glare from Arthur is enough. The whispering boys flinch and go silent.

Dominic turns to look at Arthur, a small, thankful smile tugging at his lips.

Arthur returns the smile—faint but sincere.

Dominic turns back to his experiment, his hands steadier now. Focused.

He gently presses the Aether deeper into the crystalline core. The crystal pulses—once, twice—and then bursts into light, sending brilliant rays of blue and violet energy dancing across the surface of the desk.

"Whoa!" someone gasps.

Students from every corner turn toward Dominic, drawn by the light.

"What's going on over there?"

"Did his crystal just sync on the first try?!"

Students begin gathering around Dominic, eyes wide with awe.

Dominic blinks in surprise at the crowd but quickly composes himself. With calm finesse, he balances the stream of mana, stabilizing the pulsating crystal. His expression is focused, but humble.

This is not a display.

It is simply him doing his best.

A tall woman with silver-rimmed glasses and an elegant blue robe approaches. She glances at the glowing crystal, and her eyes widen.

"Dominic…" she murmurs. "Do you realize what you've done?"

He looks up, hesitant. "I just… followed the procedure and practiced a little at home."

Her tone shifts, now filled with genuine awe. "This experiment takes most Magitists months to get right. And even then, it is rarely this stable. Your control over the Aether input is exceptional."

Dominic blinks, stunned. "R-Really?"

She smiles. "Really. That is a remarkable achievement, especially for someone without Mana." She looks over her shoulder at the class. "Everyone, take note. This is the level of precision we aim for."

A smattering of applause follows. Dominic's cheeks flush pink.

But not everyone is clapping.

Across the room, Arthur stands frozen at his table, his beaker now forgotten.

He is staring at Dominic.

His fists clench slowly at his sides.

His smile… is gone.

And just like that, it happens again.

That old feeling.

That dull ache.

That quiet, creeping shadow that always slithers in whenever Dominic receives praise.

Even though Arthur has done everything right—studied harder, practiced longer, poured hours into understanding the Magitist arts—it always seems to be Dominic who stands in the spotlight.

It does not make sense. It does not feel fair.

And yet…

He cannot hate him.

That is the worst part.

Arthur's eyes drop to the notebook on his table. He turns back to his experiment, but his hands move more stiffly now. His notes, once immaculate, are suddenly unreadable as his vision blurs.

No matter how far he runs, no matter what club he switches to, the cycle follows.

Dominic does not mean to outshine him.

But he always does.

As I watch from the sidelines, I feel a pang in my chest for both of them.

For Dominic, who just wants to belong.

And for Arthur, who just wants to matter.

The line between admiration and envy… is thinner than anyone thinks.

-Bzzt!

The world distorts around me again, the static tug of memory pulling me through time.

When the glitching stops, I find myself in a familiar gymnasium—now transformed into a bustling exhibition hall.

Students move from booth to booth, eagerly presenting their creations: magical engines, Aether-infused models, and spell-tech hybrids that would leave even professionals stunned.

These are middle schoolers?

Kids in Sylvestria are built differently.

My eyes search the crowd until I spot Arthur, standing beside an intricate contraption lined with wires, runes, and what looks like an Aether stabilizer. He adjusts one of the settings, then steps back, watching it come to life.

It is not flashy, but it is intelligently crafted with meticulous care.

But then my gaze shifts.

There he is.

Dominic.

He stands beside his project—something far more complex. Its design is elegant, almost alien in its sophistication, as if pulled from the pages of some forbidden Magitist manual. Even without understanding the details, I can tell: it is the kind of invention that makes people pause. That makes judges lean in.

The original Dominic… he wasn't just smart. He was brilliant. And seeing his project in action makes me realize just how outclassed I am in comparison. The current me could never have built something like that.

And then—

"We will now announce the winner of the Most Innovative Project," the same woman from earlier says through the sound system, her voice cutting through the chatter.

Arthur and Dominic now stand side by side, both stepping closer to the front. Arthur's face is a storm of hope and dread—his posture tense. He looks like he is preparing himself for something… anything.

Dominic stands relaxed. Calm. Confident.

I already know what is coming.

"The award goes to… Dominic!"

The applause is thunderous.

And even though I expect it, something still sinks in my chest. My gaze instinctively flicks to Arthur.

His expression tightens.

His hands, clenched into fists, tremble ever so slightly.

His lips curl into a strained smile as he claps politely along with the rest of the crowd. But I see it—the same silent heartbreak. The same quiet frustration.

The cycle is repeating itself.

Dominic steps forward, receiving his certificate and polished trophy from the teacher. She beams with genuine admiration.

"Dominic, your work is beyond exceptional," she praises. "The way you merged theory and execution with Aether manipulation? This is the future of Magitistry."

"Thank you, Ms. Rivera," Dominic replies with a smile. The pride in his voice, the warmth in his gaze—it is real. And that makes it harder to watch.

Arthur stands in the background. The brilliance of the spotlight is not meant for him—not today.

Again.

Always again.

And still, Arthur steps forward after the crowd begins to disperse.

"Congratulations, Doms." His voice wavers slightly. He forces a smile. "You deserved it."

Dominic turns to him, seemingly oblivious to the shadow stretching between them. "Thanks, Arthur! Your project was amazing too. I thought you'd win!"

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

Arthur's smile falters just for a second. "Yeah… we both did our best."

But even as he says it, I see the doubt behind his eyes. The quiet question echoing in his mind: Was my best enough?

And as Dominic holds his trophy, basking in well-earned praise, Arthur stands beside him, silently folding into the background again.

-Bzzt!

The world around me distorts again, reality twitching at the seams.

When it settles, I find myself just outside the gymnasium beneath the amber hue of the late afternoon sun.

Dominic stands there, his arms gently cradling a small trophy and a rolled-up certificate, the edges curling slightly in the breeze. His face wears a smile—soft, genuine, glowing with pride.

But beside him, Arthur keeps his gaze low, his hands buried in his pockets, his expression hidden beneath the shadow of his bangs. The silence between them is loud. Too loud.

Then Dominic breaks it.

"Arthur," he says brightly, turning to his friend. "Thank you for bringing me to this club."

Arthur's head lifts. Slowly at first, then sharply, as if those words strike something raw.

"Why?" he asks—the single word clipped and shaky, betraying the tremor in his chest.

Dominic looks down at the trophy, his eyes reflecting the pride of discovery. "I found my passion here. Even without Mana, I think I can contribute to society through Magitistry, through research. This… this is what I want to do with my life."

Arthur's eyes widen, and for a moment, he forgets to breathe. His fingers curl reflexively into trembling fists inside his pockets.

That dream…

His dream…

Dominic is saying the words Arthur once said to himself—in the dark, alone, convinced he had found something just for him. And now, once again, Dominic is walking the very path Arthur had carved out first.

Arthur's breath catches in his throat. But still, he smiles.

A smile so thin it threatens to break.

"You're welcome… Doms."

It sounds sincere.

It isn't.

Dominic's grin widens, oblivious to the quiet fracture behind Arthur's eyes. "I'm really excited about the future, Arthur. I finally feel like I belong somewhere. Isn't that amazing?"

Arthur nods faintly, his mind screaming beneath the surface: It was supposed to be my space…

The applause from the competition still echoes in his ears, each clap feeling like a hammer. Every time he builds something, studies harder, dreams bigger—Dominic is there.

First in the Photography Club. Then the Chess Club. Then the Art Club. And now this.

Every place Arthur hopes to shine, Dominic follows… and outshines.

And yet—how can he hate him?

That is the cruelest part.

He doesn't.

Arthur loves Dominic like a brother. They have grown up together. Helped each other through pain. Laughed, dreamed, planned.

And now…

Now it feels like Arthur is standing in a room slowly filling with water, and no matter how much he struggles to keep up, Dominic is always floating higher, breathing easier.

A bitter thought creeps into his mind.

Maybe the only way to stand out… is to let him go.

But the moment the thought comes, guilt wraps around it like thorns. He cannot abandon Dominic. He will not.

And so, he simply stands there.

Smiling. Nodding. Bleeding inside.

And Dominic—sweet, brilliant Dominic—never notices the fracture.

-Bzzt!

The glitch washes over me like static again. When it fades, I find myself inside a grand dining room—cold, formal, and suffocating.

Polished mahogany floors. Tall stained-glass windows. A chandelier dangles overhead, casting a pale light over a table so long it feels like it belongs in a throne room, not a home.

Arthur sits at one end, his shoulders hunched, his utensils barely touched. Uther sits at the far end—rigid, composed, regal. They might as well be in two different worlds.

The only sounds are the soft clinks of silverware and the distant tick of an ornate wall clock. The silence is not peaceful—it is judgmental.

Arthur stares at his untouched food, not from a lack of hunger, but from the weight pressing on his chest.

"Arthur."

Uther's voice slices through the silence like a blade through silk.

Arthur flinches slightly, his hand tightening around his fork. He straightens his posture, trying to compose himself.

"Yes, Father?"

Uther's expression is unreadable, but his tone is sharp, clinical—surgical in its disappointment.

"I have heard that Dominic has once again outperformed you."

The words are not a question. They are a verdict.

Arthur's chest tightens. His knuckles whiten.

"…Yes, Father." His voice is quiet. Submissive.

Uther lays down his utensils with precision—every movement deliberate, a performance of control. He folds his hands, leans back in his chair, and locks eyes with Arthur across the sea of polished wood.

"How long do you plan on living in another boy's shadow?"

Arthur does not answer.

Because he has no answer.

Because he has asked himself that same question every night—when the applause is for Dominic, when the medals go to Dominic, when the teachers smile at Dominic.

The silence lingers. Uther's gaze bores into him like a weight pressing on his very soul.

"You are a Lyon," Uther says, each word slow and precise. "You were born with magic in your blood. A rare attribute. Power. Prestige. Legacy. And yet… he surpasses you. A Manaless. The shame of his region."

Arthur stares at his plate, shame burning behind his eyes.

"Do you not see the disgrace this brings to our name?" Uther adds.

Arthur's lips part slightly, but the words die in his throat.

Disgrace.

Even now, he is not being asked how he feels. Just how much of a liability he has become.

-Bzzt!

The world glitches again—and when it stills, I am back in Arthur's bedroom.

It is dim, the evening light leaking in through parted curtains. Arthur sits hunched at the edge of his bed, his head bowed, his fingers curled loosely at his sides.

I step closer and sit beside him, though I know I cannot touch him—not really.

"I'm tired," Arthur murmurs, his voice nearly a whisper. "I'm tired… of this…"

Poor Arthur.

I reach out, placing a hand on his shoulder. It passes through. I expect that. But even if I am just a ghost in this memory, I still want to comfort him.

Arthur stands and quietly leaves the room. I rise and follow.

The long corridor of the chateau stretches ahead, lined with portraits and shadows. His footsteps are soft against the marble floor, but each step carries the weight of frustration.

"What should I do…" he whispers, "What can I do… where Doms cannot overshadow me?"

He comes to a stop in front of a tall painting.

The figure within it has regal posture, blonde hair tinged with white, a trimmed beard, and familiar green eyes. The plaque beneath reads: Constantine II — Founding Lord of the Lyon Bloodline.

So… an ancestor. Maybe his great-great-grandfather.

Arthur stares at the portrait in silence. "Great-great-something-grandfather… what should I do?" he murmurs.

Just then, I feel a presence brush through me, like mist sliding across my skin.

I turn, startled.

A tall figure passes by, wrapped in a heavy white cloak trimmed with golden details. Under his hood, pale skin stands out clearly, and soft crimson eyes glint in the shadows, hinting at mysteries. Silver hair with faint red tips frames his face. He moves gracefully like a Magician, yet I sense no mana from him.

Who is he?

"You seem troubled," the man says, voice like velvet and starlight. Smooth, lighthearted… but hiding something ancient.

Arthur jumps, startled. "Who—who are you?"

The man gives a casual shrug, one shoulder rising beneath his cloak. "Oh, just a passerby… passing by."

"A passerby? How did you even get into our chateau?" Arthur asks warily. "Are you here to kidnap me or something?"

The man chuckles, eyes twinkling. "If I were here to kidnap you, young Lyon, I would have done it long ago. Besides, that is hardly my style."

Arthur narrows his eyes but does not push further. Something about this man is… disarming.

"So then…" the man steps closer, his voice lowering. "What is gnawing at your heart?"

Arthur hesitates—then, slowly, the dam cracks.

"I have a friend," he says quietly. "He is always better. Smarter. More praised by my father. He barely tries, yet he shines… and I—I study, I push, I bleed to catch up, and still…" he clenches his fists. "I am stuck in his shadow."

The man does not interrupt. He only listens.

"I want to be proud of him. I am proud of him." Arthur's voice wavers. "But I also want to be seen. Not just as the other one. Not just… someone in his orbit."

The stranger tilts his head, a smile playing on his lips. "Ah… the eternal ache of the second sun. So close to the sky, yet never quite the dawn."

Arthur frowns. "What does that even mean?"

"It means, dear Arthur," the man says gently, "you do not need to outshine the sun. You need only become the light that casts no shadow."

Arthur's eyes widen, caught off guard by the words.

The man turns, beginning to walk down the hall, cloak trailing like mist.

"Wait!" Arthur calls. "Who are you… really?"

The man pauses at the end of the corridor. With a mischievous smile, he glances back.

"Me? I'm Merlin."

And like fog in sunlight, he vanishes.

Arthur stares at the empty space, then slowly turns back to the painting of Constantine II.

His gaze hardens.

"I do not need to outshine the sun… just become the light that casts no shadow," he repeats softly.

Then he clenches his fists.

"Doms… cannot become a Stargate Raider. Not without Mana…" He looks toward the grand hallway. "Then I will. I'll become a Stargate Raider."

-Bzzt!

The world glitches once more, and when it stabilizes, I find myself back in the opulent dining room of the Lyon estate.

At the far end of the long table, Uther sits in his usual spot, posture perfect, eyes cold but calm. A few servants move quietly around the table, preparing dishes with practiced grace. Standing beside Uther is the ever-loyal Butler Max, hands folded behind his back.

"Max," Uther says without looking up, "call Arthur for dinner."

"Yes, Master Uther." Max bows and turns toward the large double doors.

Just as he reaches for the handle, the door creaks open.

Arthur stands there.

"Ah, young master," Max greets with a small smile, "you came at the perfect time."

Arthur gives a polite nod and walks slowly toward the table. He stops a few feet from Uther.

"Father," he begins, voice steady but cautious, "may I ask for something?"

Uther raises a brow. "Go on."

Arthur takes a deep breath. "Would it be… alright if you trained me to become a Stargate Raider?"

For a moment, silence settles over the room. Even the servants pause. Max's eyes widen slightly. So do Uther's.

"Why?" Uther asks, his tone sharper than before.

Arthur hesitates, then gives a rehearsed answer. "I want to inherit our guild."

I narrow my eyes. That is not the full truth. I can tell. Deep down, Arthur is not asking to rise—he is asking to escape. To escape Dominic's shadow.

Uther leans back, stroking his chin thoughtfully. "Arthur, I understand the importance of our name. The Lyon family has always been tied to Les Arcanes Éternels. But you do not have to inherit the guild. There are safer careers—painter, architect, even chef."

"I know…" Arthur looks down, then forces his gaze to meet Uther's. "But I still want to do this. As a Lyon."

Uther studies his son in silence.

Then, at last, he nods.

"Very well. I will train you alongside other instructors."

Arthur's eyes light up. "Really? Thank you, Father!"

"You must excel, Arthur. Our bloodline has produced generations of elite Stargate Raiders. You will be expected to do the same." Uther's expression remains unreadable, but his voice is firm.

Arthur bows his head. "Yes, Father. I will give it everything."

-Bzzt!

The world around me flickers once more—and when the glitching stops, I find myself inside a training hall. Rows of wooden swords line the walls. The room smells of sweat, wood, and discipline.

"Hah… hah…"

I turn and spot Arthur collapsed on the ground, his chest heaving, drenched in sweat. His muscles have developed since the last time I saw this memory—his arms and torso now appear firmer, more defined.

A wooden sword lies beside him, and his hand twitches, too exhausted to lift it again.

"That's enough for today, Arthur," says a deep voice.

I turn to see Uther, shirtless and imposing. His muscular form glistens with sweat, a wooden training sword resting casually in his hand. Despite the wear on his face, he radiates strength.

"Yes, Father," Arthur replies between breaths.

-Ding!

A sharp ringtone echoes through the training hall. Uther pulls out his Commlink and glances at the screen.

"Go freshen up and rest," he says before striding toward the exit.

Arthur slowly pushes himself upright, muttering, "Man, that was brutal…"

Just then, Max appears from the side, holding a towel. "Here you go, young master."

"Ah, thanks, Max." Arthur takes the towel and rubs it across his chest, sighing.

Max watches him quietly for a moment before speaking.

"Young master… the real reason you want to become a Stargate Raider… It's to run away from Dominic, isn't it?"

Arthur freezes. His eyes widen, the towel pausing mid-motion. "How… did you know?"

Max gives a small smile. "I've raised you since you were a baby. I can read you like an open book."

Arthur looks down, draping the towel around his neck. "Yeah. You're right. I didn't want to admit it, but… it's true. I didn't choose this path to chase greatness—I chose it to escape comparison."

Silence falls between them.

Then Max speaks again, more softly this time. "Do you regret befriending him? After all, you asked Lord Uther to enroll you in Académie d'Eñeforte just to stay by Dominic's side."

Arthur hesitates. "…No," he finally says.

"Even though he constantly overshadows you?"

Arthur fidgets with his hands, his voice dropping to a murmur. "I… I guess it's because I love him."

My heart skips.

Is that why Arthur keeps clinging to me ever since I transmigrated here?

Wait a minute…

Did they…?

I shake my head, face flushing.

Get a grip, man!

Max raises a brow, entirely unbothered. "I didn't know you liked boys, young master."

"N-No! Not like that! I mean—I love him like a brother!" Arthur waves his hands, his face red.

Oh. So that's it.

But… weirdly, I feel a little disappointed.

I don't know why, but I want the affection to mean more. Not necessarily romantic, but deeper. Like I am irreplaceable in Arthur's eyes.

Arthur clears his throat. "Anyway. It's not… that kind of love. He's like family to me. That's all."

Max nods. "Ah, I see. My apologies for the misunderstanding."

"Don't worry. It happens."

Then Max asks the question I do not expect.

"So… are you still going to leave him behind in the Magitist Club?"

Arthur pauses. The towel in his hands stills.

"…I don't know." He exhales slowly. "It's hard. Every time I leave him alone, he ends up bullied. If I'm not watching, he gets hurt."

"Then maybe… it's time you stopped watching." Max steps forward, his tone unusually firm.

Arthur looks up. "What?"

"Young master, if you truly want Dominic to grow, to stand on his own, then you must let go. Let him learn to defend himself."

Arthur's brows draw together, conflicted.

"You've always protected him. Always shielded him from the worst. But one day, you won't be there. What will happen then?" Max asks gently. "If you keep standing in the way, you might be stunting him more than helping him."

Arthur remains quiet for a long time.

Finally, he nods, his voice low. "…I think I understand."

He doesn't sound convinced.

-Bzzt!

The glitch snaps into place. I am back in a classroom, but the atmosphere is heavy, the silence between Dominic and Arthur almost tangible.

Arthur stands near the window, sunlight cutting sharp angles across his face. He turns, his voice calm but carrying weight.

"Doms… I've decided. I'm going to become a Stargate Raider."

Dominic blinks, taken aback. But then, he smiles—soft, supportive.

"I see. I'm glad you thought of that, Arthur." He looks down slightly. "You'll be a great ally to stop that cycle."

Wait.

My heart skips.

Did he just say—

Arthur's brow furrows. "…What cycle?"

Dominic snaps back into place almost too smoothly. "I mean—I'm happy for you!"

Arthur narrows his eyes, suspicious, but lets it slide. "R-Really?"

"Yeah, of course. Why are you even asking?" Dominic keeps smiling, but something in his eyes gives him away—a flicker of guilt? Hesitation? Strategy?

And that's when it hits me.

Dominic… the original Dominic… knew. He knew Arthur was growing resentful. And instead of avoiding it, he leaned into it. He let Arthur burn with those feelings. So that Arthur would grow. So he could become strong enough… to help him. To stop the cycle. To fight Malignor.

Smart. Cruel. Necessary.

Arthur hesitates again. "But… aren't you afraid? That you'll be bullied again once I leave the club?"

Dominic's smile falters. His eyes drop. "Yeah, I am scared."

There is no dramatic pause. Just honesty.

"But I've been thinking… I'm tired of hiding behind you. Of always needing you to step in. I want to protect myself. I have to. I'm tired of being the weak one. I want to change."

Arthur inhales sharply. "Doms… I—"

"You've done so much for me already, Arthur," Dominic cuts in, his tone gentle but firm. "But I have to do this on my own now. Not just for me, but for you too. For all of us."

Arthur's jaw trembles. His eyes shimmer.

"…I believe in you, Doms," he says, voice raw. "You're stronger than you think. And no matter where we end up, I'll always be your friend. That's never going to change."

Dominic smiles again—but this time, it is not forced. It radiates from him. Brighter. Stronger.

"Thanks, Arthur. And I'll be rooting for you, too. You'll make an incredible Stargate Raider."

And as I watch them… something clicks.

Dominic has not just survived. He has adapted. He turns pain into planning. Friendship into fuel. Weakness into strategy.

You manipulative genius. You know exactly what you are doing.

-Bzzt!

My vision distorts, static crawling across my senses like cold fingers scraping against glass.

And then—darkness lifts.

I gasp.

My eyes snap open.

White.

Everything around me is sterile and white—walls, cabinets, bedsheets. A quiet beeping echoes nearby, likely from a vitals monitor. I'm in a medical room, no doubt within the Lyons' chateau. One of the guest infirmaries, maybe.

I groan as I slowly sit up. Pain flares across my torso and limbs. Every muscle feels like it has been put through a grinder and then dipped in fire.

I look down.

"…Seriously?" I mutter.

I'm wearing a loose tank top—and I mean loose. It's so baggy that my chest might as well be waving hello to the world. I can feel every breeze, every shift of air through the gaping holes in the fabric. My skin erupts in goosebumps.

I tug at the hem. Useless. It hangs off me like it belongs to a basketball player who lost a bet.

Bandages wrap around my ribs, arms, and part of my left thigh. Whoever patched me up clearly took their job seriously. But their fashion sense? Zero.

"The Lyons are rich," I mutter bitterly, plucking at the fabric. "And this is what they give me to wear?"

I turn toward the window, blinking at the soft morning light filtering in.

The duel… the memories… Arthur.

I exhale. "So, that's the story between Arthur and Dominic…"

The words leave my lips quietly, almost reverently.

I lean back against the pillows and close my eyes for a moment, letting the weight of everything I saw settle in my chest. It's more than just insight—it's a burden. A truth that sinks into me like stone.

I wasn't supposed to see all that.

But I did. And now?

What do I do with it?

I sigh. "Tch… figures."

I took the L. No excuses. Arthur earned that win—with every scar, every night he spent training, every moment spent under my shadow.

"…Heh."

Despite the soreness in my limbs. Despite the lingering taste of defeat.

I smile.

Because that duel wasn't about dominance anymore.

It was about connection and I finally reached him.

Not as a rival. Not as a competitor.

But as his friend.

"Oh? Looks like Sleeping Beauty's finally awake."

I jolt at the sound and snap my head to the side.

Maurice stands there, casually leaning against the wall with that ever-present smirk on his face.

How long has he been standing there? And more importantly, why is he here?

"Professor? What are you doing here?" I ask, blinking in confusion.

He shrugs, stepping forward. "Came to check up on you, obviously. I was planning to drag you out for training since the Verdant Arcanum entrance exam is fast approaching. But instead, I find out you had a duel with Arthur Lyon of all people... and you kept up with him."

Maurice chuckles, clearly amused. "Color me surprised. You've only been out for about three hours. Waking up the day after tanking a skyscraper-sized light beam? That's not normal. That's impressive."

I scratch the back of my head, wincing slightly. "So… what did you think of my performance?"

"Not bad," Maurice says, folding his arms. "Though I would've liked to see a little more creativity from you."

"To be fair," I sigh, "I became a Manaficial literally yesterday. I didn't exactly have time to draft a spell compendium."

"Ahh, that explains the wobbly flying," Maurice muses, stroking his chin. "Still, you adapted quickly. That's a skill most seasoned mages don't have."

"Thanks, Professor."

I can't stop the small grin creeping onto my face. Getting praise from one of the strongest [SS] Ranked Magicians in Sylvestria feels surreal.

But of course, it doesn't last long.

"Buuuut…" Maurice drawls, tilting his head. "You still could've been more creative. Umbra Magic is a natural counter to Light-attribute spells. Did you already forget the very first lesson I taught you, Clark?"

I freeze.

The smile dies on my lips.

Clark.

He said my name- my real name.

"P-Professor…" My voice comes out thin, the air suddenly heavy. "Did you just say…?"

Maurice raises an eyebrow and smirks like he just stole a cookie from the jar.

"Oops. Did I say Clark? My bad."

I feel my heart pounding in my chest.

He knows.

How long has he known? How much does he know?

And more importantly… what is he planning to do with that knowledge?