The Extra is a Genius!?-Chapter 167: Erick, the Brave

The sky was gray. Not stormy—just still, and felt heavy.

As if the heavens themselves hadn’t quite decided how to mourn.

Noel stood alone in the cemetery outside the Holy Capital. Rows of fresh graves stretched behind him, each marked with a simple headstone. Wind rustled through the dry grass.

The one before him read:

Erick

You were brave, even when you shouldn’t have had to be.

The others had names, too. Children who never got to grow up. Faces Noel remembered from the orphanage, from laughter and small moments. Now all carved in stone.

He stood there, hands buried in his coat pockets, head low.

His thoughts swirled in silence.

’I could’ve stopped this. Earlier. Before it spiraled out of control.’

He’d known something was wrong. The timeline had shifted, yes, but he had knowledge no one else in this world possessed. That was supposed to be his advantage. His curse. His power.

And still... he’d failed.

’All that foresight. All that analysis. And what did I do with it?’

He clenched his jaw, his throat tight.

’I waited. I hesitated. I tried to play safe. I thought I had more time.’

The system had rewarded him. Labeled the mission a success. But Noel didn’t feel victorious.

’The system sees a savior. But all I see is a headstone with a name that shouldn’t be there.’

And in that quiet, guilt settled on his shoulders like snow.

Heavy.

Cold.

Endless.

He didn’t brush the tears from his eyes. He just let them fall.

Because no one was watching.

Noel’s eyes were still on the stone when he finally spoke.

His voice barely broke the silence.

"Status."

The familiar window appeared, hovering quietly before him. He didn’t even blink.

[Mission Complete: Defeat Arya the Scytheborn]

[Reward Available: Claim?]

He stared at it for a moment.

His reflection flickered faintly on the translucent surface.

"Claim."

The system responded at once. A soft sound—neither magical nor mechanical. Just final.

[Reward Granted: +30% Core Progress]

[Current Core Progress: 40.25% – Mana Core: Adept]

[New Item Acquired: Diary of the Forgotten Son]

A small pulse of light gathered in his hand, and suddenly the book was there—heavy, old, bound in black leather with a gray ribbon tied loosely across its cover.

Noel blinked.

"A book?"

It felt too light to carry anything important. But when he opened it, his brows immediately furrowed.

Only two pages were filled.

The rest of the book—dozens, maybe hundreds of pages—were completely blank.

He flipped through them slowly, faster, then back to the beginning.

Still only two entries.

’What is this?’

He leaned against a nearby stone, holding the diary in one hand.

He wanted to read it. Needed to.

But he wouldn’t get the chance just yet.

Because someone was approaching.

He felt the presence before he heard her steps.

Red hair. Hazel eyes. Familiar warmth, even behind a changed face.

"Charlotte?"

The girl stopped.

For a moment, she looked almost offended.

"No? I think you’ve got the wrong—"

She trailed off as soon as she met his eyes.

The playful smile she wore froze on her lips.

Because Noel’s gaze wasn’t sharp or cold like usual.

It wasn’t distant. Or calculating.

It was... broken.

Faintly red.

Slightly swollen.

Still wet.

Charlotte followed his line of sight—toward the gravestone he stood beside.

Then at the others nearby.

Erick.

The children.

Noel had been here for a while. Long enough that his boots were coated in dry dust.

Long enough that he’d cried alone without a sound.

Charlotte didn’t say anything.

She just stepped forward.

And without a word, pulled him into a gentle hug. Arms around his waist. Head resting against his chest.

"It’s not your fault," she whispered. "What happened... it’s not on you."

Noel’s hands stayed limp at first.

He didn’t cry loudly.

Didn’t shake.

But the tears started again, quietly, without warning.

Because now someone was there to see them.

Noel’s breath hitched softly.

He hadn’t cried like this in years.

And never—not once—had he done it in front of someone else.

But now, with Charlotte’s arms around him, her voice quiet against his chest...

it was different.

His hands slowly lifted, hovering in the air for a second before resting gently on her back. Not tight. Not desperate. Just... enough.

She didn’t ask questions.

She didn’t let go.

"Can you..." he murmured, voice barely audible, "...not lift your head?"

Charlotte didn’t move.

Didn’t nod.

Just stayed there, silent.

Noel exhaled shakily.

The tears weren’t heavy anymore, but steady—falling one by one, soaking into the top of Charlotte’s hair. Her cloak. Her presence.

He knew how this looked.

Knew what it meant to drop his mask, even for a moment.

But right now, it didn’t matter.

He wasn’t strong. He wasn’t clever. He wasn’t in control.

Not here.

Not today.

And Charlotte said nothing.

Because she understood what he was feeling right now.

Time passed quietly.

The wind whispered through the cemetery trees, tugging at cloaks and leaves. Somewhere in the distance, a bell rang softly—calling no one in particular.

Charlotte remained still in Noel’s arms.

Eventually, he pulled away just enough to breathe again, wiping at his eyes with the sleeve of his coat. His expression had returned to calm—but now it was a different kind of calm. One carved from sorrow rather than discipline.

She looked up at him now. Her hazel eyes, even in their false form, were soft.

Noel tried to speak, then stopped.

His throat was dry.

He turned to the book still resting on the grave beside him—Diary of the Forgotten Son. The pages remained closed for now.

"It wasn’t supposed to be like this," he finally said. "Not for them."

Charlotte looked at the gravestones beside Erick’s.

"No... but they were lucky," she whispered. "Because someone tried."

Noel didn’t respond.

Because deep down, he still didn’t believe he’d done enough.

But as Charlotte slid her hand into his, not saying more, not demanding answers—just being there—something inside him steadied.

"Let’s go," he muttered, saving in his new Diary in the Dimesional Pouch.

She nodded, and they began to walk back toward the Holy Capital.

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