The Extra's Rise-Chapter 310: Inter-Academy Festival (2)

The formal part of the ceremony was done—everyone had sat still, looked important, and applauded on cue. Now came the real battlefield: the social part.

The air was laced with a low hum of conversation, the clink of glasses, and the subtle shuffle of shoes against the polished marble floor. It was the kind of atmosphere where everyone smiled too much and secretly measured each other's power levels like it was a futuristic role-playing game. Which, to be fair, it kind of was.

Five great academies, one from each continent, were represented here in full regalia and full ego. Slatemark Academy from the Central continent, all poised prestige and imperial confidence, their uniforms trimmed in gold that somehow looked both tasteful and obscenely expensive. Starcrest from the East, full of martial pride and mysterious ancient techniques. Ashenhold of the West, looking like they'd walked straight out of a necromancer's gothic daydream, all dark fabrics and silver accents that caught the light like tiny stars. Serpentstone from the South, always sharp and proud, their students adorned with subtle scales and serpentine motifs that seemed to shift when you weren't looking directly at them. And Pillen from the North, whose students looked like they'd been surviving blizzards since birth and were wondering what all this warm air was doing in their lungs, their pale faces flushed slightly in the heated room.

And then, of course, Mythos Academy. The host, the crown jewel, the big cheese. Us.

"Are you excited, Arthur?" Rachel said as she drifted to my side, her shoulder brushing mine like it was an accident even though we both knew it wasn't. Her golden hair caught the light, creating a halo effect that reinforced her Saintess image with almost theatrical precision. "You look excited."

Her sapphire eyes studied my face with that particular mixture of genuine care and subtle possession that was uniquely Rachel. She adjusted her formal uniform—a bit more elaborate than our daily wear, with silver trim that emphasized her status—and leaned slightly closer, her perfume carrying notes of vanilla and something floral I couldn't quite identify.

Excited?

Yes. Absolutely.

I wasn't here to survive. Not this time.

I was here to win. For the fun of it. For the thrill. For that moment where everyone else is watching, and you know you're the one they're watching for.

"I want to win," I said, smiling at her. "Against everyone. I want that moment where everything else fades and it's just victory ringing in your bones."

Rachel blinked, like she hadn't expected that level of honesty. Then she tilted her head and gave me one of those radiant Saintess smiles that could probably purify minor sins and make flowers bloom out of brick.

"Well," she said, "it's nice. I'll be rooting for you. And, you know—" her voice dropped to a whisper "—you must win." Her hand found mine briefly, a gentle squeeze that conveyed more than words could. "Not just for you. For us. For what we could be."

There was something vulnerable in her expression then, a brief glimpse behind the perfect Saintess façade to the girl who harbored very human desires and fears. It vanished almost immediately, replaced by her usual warm confidence.

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"Thanks, Rach," I said, genuinely touched by the momentary transparency. "I'll give it everything I have."

She leaned in a little more, about to say something else—

—and that's when the air went sugary-sweet.

The smell of honey and mild hostility floated in. I turned, and there they were.

Cecilia and Seraphina, flanking me like twin moons on either side of a rather unfortunate planet.

"Arthur," Cecilia purred, her crimson eyes gleaming with mischief as she sidled up to my right side. Her golden hair was arranged in an elaborate style that somehow managed to look both effortless and like it had taken hours to perfect. "We have Boundary Breach together~ Isn't that just perfect? You, me, and a battlefield." She tapped my chest with one perfectly manicured nail. "I do so enjoy breaking through your boundaries."

Rachel's smile tightened almost imperceptibly.

"I also have Tactical Simulation with Arthur," Seraphina said, her voice calm and cool, like a glacier pretending not to be jealous. The half-elf stood to my left, her silver hair falling like a curtain of moonlight down her back, her posture regal and distant despite her obvious interest in staking her claim. "Our tactical compatibility is optimal. Other partnerships would be inefficient by comparison."

"I'm in that too," Rachel added, not to be outdone, her arm sliding through mine with practiced casualness. "Arthur and I have already discussed our strategy, haven't we?"

We hadn't, but I wasn't about to contradict her in the middle of this increasingly tense four-way standoff.

"And I've got Boundary Breach as well!" Rose declared as she practically teleported in from the void like a cheerful ninja with auburn hair. She appeared just behind me, her violet eyes sparkling with intelligence and something that might have been amusement at the situation she'd just walked into. "I thought we might coordinate our approach, Arthur. My Paradox manipulation works quite well with your... improvisational style."

Within seconds, I was the centre of a planetary alignment of dangerous affections. Four of the strongest young women in the world, standing in a loose square of territorial energy, all subtly eyeing each other like diplomats who knew the war was only on pause.

"Isn't this cozy," Cecilia observed, her tone dripping with honeyed venom. "The four of us, all competing for—I mean, collaborating with Arthur." She pointedly examined Rachel's grip on my arm. "Though some seem to be taking the physical aspect of teamwork quite literally."

"Physical contact enhances coordination," Seraphina stated flatly, though her ice-blue eyes narrowed slightly. "Though excess is unnecessary."

"We're all friends here," Rose said diplomatically, though her smile had an edge to it. "Besides, Arthur appreciates having options, don't you, Arthur?" The loaded question hung in the air like a grenade with the pin half-pulled.

"What Arthur appreciates," I began carefully, "is talented teammates who can focus on winning rather than—"

"Rather than fighting over him like he's the last lifeboat on a sinking ship?" Cecilia finished for me, her smile widening. "But that's half the fun, darling."

Before the gravity of that emotional singularity could collapse into open skirmish, I slipped sideways like a magician doing a coin trick and made a beeline for someone safer.

"Elara, Naomi! Fancy meeting you here," I called, zeroing in on the two girls from Slatemark Academy I'd first met at the Tower of Magic Conference what felt like several lifetimes ago.

Behind me, I heard Cecilia's melodic laugh, Rachel's frustrated sigh, Rose's diplomatic "Perhaps we should discuss this later," and Seraphina's cool "Tactical retreat noted."

"Hey Arthur," Elara said with her signature calm smile, violet eyes twinkling. There was something deeply relaxing about her presence, like a soft-spoken librarian who could also collapse a building with a flick of her hand.

Naomi just waved, eyes bright, smile unfiltered.

Ah. Peace. Relative peace.

In my mind, Luna let out a long, exasperated sigh.

'Running from your harem straight into more girls. Classic Arthur.'

'What the hell do you mean 'classic Arthur'?'

'Don't play dumb with me, you Lady Magnet,' she grumbled. 'At this rate, we'll need a spreadsheet just to keep track of your complicated relationships.'

I sighed internally. Externally, I kept the smile.

I turned my attention fully to Elara, because talking to her was like wrapping your brain in a warm blanket. She had that soft, measured way of speaking that made even terrifying topics like ancient magic theory sound like bedtime stories.

"How've you been?" I asked, keeping my tone casual.

She tucked a strand of auburn hair behind her ear, her expression brightening just enough to show it was genuine. "Busy. Slatemark's curriculum is still brutal. But I've been keeping up. I was actually looking forward to seeing Mythos again. You know, without demons trying to destroy things this time."

"Always a plus," I said with a grin. "Glad you came back. You look well."

She looked down slightly, not blushing per se, but just… softening. "You do too. Stronger, somehow. Not just magically."

Before I could respond, the air shifted.

Not physically. But perceptibly.

Like a heat wave you couldn't see, but could feel in your teeth.

Jack Blazespout had entered the conversation.

He didn't announce himself. He never did. He just appeared, like a very expensive but utterly cursed perfume, slipping into conversations and draining them of sincerity.

"Arthur," Jack said, and his voice was dipped in velvet and venom, "You're here. How wonderful."

"Elara," he added smoothly, his eyes flicking to her like she was a fine wine he was considering tasting. He leaned slightly in her direction, not quite close enough to be improper, but close enough to be noticed. "Always a pleasure."

I didn't smile.

"Elara," I said, calmly but clearly, "Did you hear? Jack's entering the Tactical Siege event."

"Oh?" she said, a little confused. "That's not usually his area."

Jack gave a lazy chuckle. "I thought I'd challenge myself. Besides, it wouldn't be fun without a bit of pressure." He looked at me, and there was a glint in his eyes that had nothing to do with the event and everything to do with last time.

The memory of our last conversation was still etched in my mind—the provocation, the veiled threats, the smug suggestion that Rose could be taken like a prize off a shelf.

"You like pressure?" I said, my voice even. "You'll get plenty of it."

Jack's smile widened slightly. "From you?"

He turned his gaze back to Elara, and for a second too long, let his eyes linger. "I suppose that's what makes it so thrilling."

Elara, to her credit, didn't flinch. But she did shift a half-step closer to me. It was subtle. But I noticed.

So did Jack.

His smile didn't break, but there was a flicker behind his eyes. Irritation, maybe. Or disappointment. Or just calculation.