I'm an Extra, so What?

The rules were simple: one bunny, two contestants, a huge enchanted forest full of illusions, traps, and mischief.

Whoever caught the bunny first, won. But not just any bunny—this was the White-Spirit Hare, a creature so skittish and slippery that even dryads gave up chasing it centuries ago.

It shimmered with ethereal light, moved like a whisper, and occasionally disappeared into thin air just to mock your self-worth.

When the challenge was announced, Arthur smirked confidently.

This was his chance.

One-on-one.

No teammates.

No Luka.

Just him and Nuvian, in a forest, with an animal and some "charming tension."

Or so he told himself.

"This is it," Arthur muttered under his breath, flexing his fingers as he stood at the edge of the forest:

"Time to shine."

Nuvian stood a few paces to his right, calm as morning fog.

She gave Arthur a passing glance.

Arthur flashed a grin anyway. "May the best win," he said with a wink.

Nuvian didn't respond.

The tree beside her rustled ominously, as if embarrassed on her behalf.

A bell rang, and the bunny appeared in a glimmer of white light at the edge of the glade, munching calmly on a flower petal.

Then it saw them.

Blinked twice.

And bolted into the trees.

Arthur launched forward with the desperation of a man chasing both a hare and a royal's approval. "Come on! We can do this the hard way or the harder way!"

Nuvian followed, not running, but gliding over the roots and leaves like a whisper of wind.

Within seconds, the forest swallowed them.

Arthur tore through brambles, cursed at vines, and tripped on at least three roots within the first two minutes.

"Why does this place hate me?" he snarled, shaking a small mushroom off his shoulder.

The bunny had vanished, leaving behind a faint trail of glowing pawprints that danced up trees and across rocks in maddening zig-zags.

Arthur stomped after them.

Then, he heard a soft, amused sigh. "You're scaring it."

He turned and saw Nuvian casually stepping through a curtain of hanging moss, not a speck of dirt on her.

"I'm asserting dominance," Arthur shot back, chest heaving. "It respects strength."

"I doubt that," she said, kneeling to touch a leaf. "It likely thinks you're a predator. Or a loud squirrel."

"Okay, you definitely think that was clever."

Nuvian smiled faintly, then pointed ahead. "Its path veered northeast."

Arthur rushed forward—straight into a bush that exploded with pollen.

He emerged coughing and coated in sparkling golden dust.

"Not a word," he wheezed, waving his hand at her.

"I wasn't going to say anything," Nuvian said, utterly deadpan. "Though I believe you're now visible from orbit."

Fifteen minutes in—

The bunny was still ahead.

Nuvian kept gaining ground whenever she stopped to listen—to the wind, the leaves, even the direction of bent grass.

Arthur kept gaining scrapes. And bruises. And a growing resentment toward all small animals.

He finally spotted the bunny crouched near a patch of glowing mushrooms. "Aha!"

He lunged—

—and fell face-first into an invisible bog.

The bunny darted off.

From a few feet away, Nuvian knelt again. "You're standing in a whisper pit. They swallow sound."

"I'm standing in swamp disappointment," Arthur spat, dragging himself out, mud covering everything but his pride—which had long since drowned.

To his growing frustration, every time he got close to the bunny, something went wrong.

A vine would slingshot him into a tree.

A friendly-looking bird would distract him by dropping fruit on his head. At one point, a troop of tiny forest spirits hijacked his boots and made them dance without him.

Meanwhile, Nuvian stayed light on her feet, moving with elegant ease, always a few steps behind the bunny but never flustered.

She didn't chase. She observed.

"Any tips?" Arthur asked at one point, wheezing against a tree while covered in moss, leaves, and something that might have been enchanted squirrel droppings.

"Less stomping," she offered.

"Anything else, oh wise forest queen?"

Nuvian tilted her head. "Perhaps less trying to impress me and more trying to understand the creature."

Arthur blinked.

"Wait, what?"

"You're not really chasing the bunny," she said, brushing a leaf off her cloak. "You're chasing me."

"Wh- That is—no. No, I am not."

"You keep looking back to see if I'm watching you. You made that dramatic leap onto the rock earlier, then asked if I 'caught your good side.' You're performing."

Arthur looked away. "It was my very good side, by the way."

Nuvian's silence was judgment enough.

Some time passed.

They crossed over roots that twisted into symbols, through patches of enchanted fog, and past a babbling brook that offered unsolicited life advice in rhyming couplets.

"'The bunny will run, but do not fear. To catch it, you must first hold it dear,'" the stream intoned as Arthur stepped across.

Nuvian paused. "Actually, I think it's right."

Arthur groaned. "Of course you do."

Still, she knelt and began scattering bits of dried fruit from her pouch near a hollow log. "If it sees me as peaceful, it may come closer."

"Yeah, well, while you build trust, I'll build a trap."

He began fashioning an elaborate snare involving rope, sap, two trees, and an insultingly detailed bunny decoy.

Fifteen minutes later, the trap triggered—

—on him.

His feet flew upward.

He swung upside down, spinning slowly in circles.

"Your decoy is… compelling," Nuvian said dryly, inspecting his craftsmanship. "Very lifelike."

"I hate everything," Arthur said.

The bunny finally slowed its pace, bouncing lazily along a mossy ridge.

Nuvian moved with it now, not chasing, but accompanying.

Arthur limped after them, wheezing slightly, half-covered in mud, one eye twitching.

"Give up yet?" Nuvian called back.

"Never," Arthur shouted, raising a fist.

Then he stepped on a camouflaged toad that shrieked and turned into a puff of glitter, knocking him backward into a tree that promptly dropped a beehive on his head.

Screaming, Arthur ran in circles, swatting at bees, yelling something about how this was not how he pictured bonding with royalty.

Nuvian watched it all in calm silence.

Then she gently reached into her pouch, withdrew a small piece of apple, and held it out to the bunny.

It sniffed.

Hopped closer.

And with a content little squeak, it nestled against her foot.

The forest seemed to sigh.

A soft gong rang in the distance—signaling the end of the match.

"Contest over!" shouted the announcer from somewhere overhead.

Arthur stumbled out of the woods with pinecones in his hair, one sleeve missing, and possibly a family of mice living in his boot.

His jaw was set, eyes burning.

Nuvian emerged a moment later, serene and victorious, the bunny resting in her arms like a crowned jewel.

Applause rose from the elves.

Arthur glared at nothing in particular.

Nuvian approached him.

"You tried very hard," she said.

"Don't," Arthur growled. "Don't pity me."

"I wasn't," she said. "I was acknowledging your enthusiasm."

"Which is noble elf code for 'pathetic.'"

She tilted her head. "No. It's just… not the kind of strength this forest values."

"Right," Arthur muttered. "Next time I'll show up in a flower dress and try hugging my problems."

As Arthur trudged back toward the human side, a mix of bramble, mud, and forest humiliation clinging to him like shame's own armor, the gentle sound of elven footsteps approached from behind.

"Arthur," Nuvian called sweetly, voice light as wind-chimes.

He stopped without turning.

"I wanted to thank you for the entertainment," she said, walking up beside him, the spiritual bunny still curled peacefully in her arms.

He kept his eyes ahead. "You won. You don't need to gloat."

"Oh, but I do," she replied, tilting her head with an amused glint in her eye. "Your trap design was... truly unique. I've never seen anyone try to weaponize a fruit basket, tree sap, and raw masculinity all at once."

Arthur's nostrils flared.

"And your boots," she added with a delicate sniff. "Do they always squeak like that, or were they protesting your technique?"

The human team, watching from the sidelines, tried and failed not to snicker.

Even Gregor had to look away to hide his grin.

Arthur didn't respond. His lips were pressed into a hard line, and his entire body radiated a kind of stiff, trembling silence.

"Oh, don't be so grim," Nuvian went on, smiling sweetly. "You were certainly... memorable. I'll think of you every time I see someone trip over their own dignity."

That did it.

Arthur whipped around, eyes blazing—but then stopped himself.

He turned back, face reddening, fists clenched.

Nuvian gave a graceful curtsy. "Until next time, Arthur. Maybe choose a competition that doesn't involve subtlety. Or thinking."

Arthur stomped back to the human benches without a word.

When he dropped onto the log beside Gregor, still stewing, Luka leaned over casually and said, "You gonna start chasing squirrels for practice, or was that a one-time thing?"

Arthur didn't respond.

Gregor offered him a roasted root.

Arthur batted it away.

The healer tried to say something encouraging.

Arthur glared until she looked elsewhere.

And so, the group sat quietly as the next event began preparations.

Arthur, arms crossed, eyes forward, cheeks still faintly red, remained silent.

Fuming. Bruised. And vowing vengeance.

But mostly?

Embarrassed.

Silently embarrassed.

And still squeaking slightly every time he moved.