I'm an Extra, so What?

The airship descended slowly, billowing in the wind as the spires of the Human Academy came into view.

Luka stood near the railing, arms crossed, watching the familiar shape of the training fields, dorms, and courtyards spread below like a memory warming into focus.

Behind him, Serene adjusted her uniform and smoothed out her braid, clearly more excited than she let on.

"Looks like they rolled out the whole damn school," Gregor muttered behind him.

He wasn't wrong.

As the airship pulled down, the landing platform was packed.

A sea of students filled every staircase, railing, and balcony overlooking the arrival zone.

Banners with the academy's crest flapped in the wind.

Someone had even commissioned fireworks — modest ones, yes, but still very colorful and loud.

The moment the ramp dropped, the cheering began.

They all stepped out into a deafening roar of applause.

Teachers clapped from the sidelines.

First-years waved signs.

Upperclassmen elbowed each other, trying to get a glimpse of the infamous team who had gone toe-to-toe with the elves and won the final round.

Luka winced a little at the noise, but Serene leaned in and whispered, "Pretend to enjoy it. You deserve it."

The Headmaster waited just beyond the welcoming line.

"Students," he said, raising one hand.

The crowd went still instantly.

"You have done more than return victorious. You have represented this institution—and humanity itself—with distinction. You stood on equal ground with our most ancient rivals and proved that our spirit, our courage, and our unity remain as strong as ever."

His eyes passed over each of them, lingering on Luka for a half-second longer. "Your final match displayed not only skill, but heart. And for that, you will be honored."

He paused, then added, "I've just received a formal summons from the Imperial Palace. His Majesty the Emperor wishes to meet you all personally. He sends his congratulations—and has asked that you be brought to him at your earliest convenience."

A collective gasp swept the crowd.

Students murmured in awe.

Someone shouted, "The Emperor himself?!"

Even Luka blinked.

Gregor whistled. "Well, damn."

The Headmaster smiled faintly. "Yes. The Emperor. You have made an impression that extends far beyond these walls. You are the future of humanity. And now, you will stand before its highest throne."

The crowd erupted into cheers again as the Headmaster stepped back and waved them forward.

As the cheers began to settle into a more manageable buzz and the group made their way toward the steps leading to the inner courtyard, the Headmaster walked alongside them, hands folded neatly behind his back.

He didn't speak at first, letting them soak in the applause and bask in the moment.

But after a few paces, his voice broke the quiet.

"I assume there's a reason one of your party is missing," he said evenly, eyes forward.

The group slowed slightly. Luka didn't even look over.

"Oh, Arthur?" Luka said with an exaggerated blink. "Right. He, uh… chose to stay back. He's forging stronger ties with the elves. You know—diplomatic relations."

Serene gave a dignified cough, clearly biting her lip. Gregor snorted audibly.

The healer tried and failed to stifle a laugh, covering her mouth.

Even the mage smirked and muttered, "Truly a humanitarian."

The Headmaster arched a brow, gaze flicking between them all. "Diplomatic relations, is it?"

"Very passionate ones," Luka deadpanned.

A long silence passed, broken only by the rhythmic tap of the Headmaster's boots against the polished stone.

Finally, he sighed and gave the faintest shrug. "I suppose that's fine. I never particularly cared for the boy."

The team stopped, mildly stunned.

"You didn't?" the healer asked, genuinely surprised.

The Headmaster waved a hand dismissively.

"Arrogant. Disrespectful. Convinced the world owed him something? You'd be shocked how many complaints I've had to bury for the sake of appearances. But, alas…"

He gave another shrug. "I am still Headmaster. Which means if he doesn't come back in one piece, I'll have to deal with the paperwork."

Gregor chuckled. "Think the elves'll send him back in a box?"

"If we're lucky," the mage said dryly.

"Or with an apology letter stapled to his forehead," Serene added.

"I vote we put out a missing persons notice," the healer said. "And then forget to follow up."

The Headmaster shook his head with a weary smile. "You're all terrible…"

Luka allowed himself a quiet grin as they reached the academy gates.

Behind them, the crowd had mostly dispersed, the cheers fading into the hum of post-celebration chatter.

.

.

.

Back at the elven capital, nestled between crystalline trees and moonlit spires, a less-celebrated scene was playing out.

Arthur—bruised, dirt-smudged, and still half-covered in dried leaves—stood in the middle of an elegant elven courtyard.

Around him, a dozen elves sat at ornate stone tables, sipping floral tea and engaging in soft, poetic conversation.

He, meanwhile, was trying to cut into a suspiciously shimmering fruit with a fork that bent like paper in his hand.

"This has no structural integrity," he muttered, shaking the useless utensil and looking around for anyone who might share in his frustration.

No one cared.

Eledrin sat across from him, elegantly slicing a fruit into paper-thin wedges without even glancing down. "Perhaps it is your grip that lacks refinement," he said in that infuriatingly smooth elven lilt.

Arthur narrowed his eyes. "Where I come from, we use real steel, not decorative... whatever-this-is."

One of the elven ladies at the next table leaned toward another and whispered, "Is he always this loud?"

"I thought humans only barked like this during battle," the other replied.

Arthur tried to smile. "I can hear you, you know."

"Pity," Eledrin said, not missing a beat.

Arthur slammed the fruit down.

It bounced off his plate and skidded across the pristine marble floor.

A servant quietly retrieved it with tongs—tongs—like it was contaminated.

Vaelor, polished as ever, strolled over and clapped a hand on Arthur's shoulder like they were old friends. "How are you settling in, human?"

Arthur grunted. "Like a king. Assuming the king is being held hostage in a day spa with passive-aggressive waitstaff."

Vaelor laughed. "Ah, so you noticed the passive aggression. That's progress."

As Arthur opened his mouth to retort, a high-pitched voice cut through the courtyard.

"You!"

All heads turned. There, standing atop a small pillar like a victorious squirrel, was none other than Ahshala—arms crossed, cheeks puffed, glaring down at Arthur like she was the Goddess of Judgment.

"You're the one who tried to catch the spiritual bunny, right?"

Arthur blinked. "Uh. Yeah?"

"You chased it into a tree and cried when it kicked you."

"I—That wasn't crying. That was a tactical grunt of pain!"

The elves erupted in laughter.

Not the subtle, composed chuckles they normally exchanged like coin—but real, unfiltered laughter.

"I saw the whole thing!" Ahshala grinned like a gremlin. "You screamed 'get back here you little freak!' and then tripped over your own sword!"

Even Vaelor had to turn away to cover his smirk.

Eledrin added with a sly look, "And let us not forget when he tried to use a net and managed to catch himself."

"I had a plan!" Arthur insisted, red-faced now.

"Yes," Vaelor mused. "And it worked wonderfully. The bunny seemed quite inspired by your interpretive flailing."

Ahshala hopped down and skipped over to Arthur, placing both hands on her hips. "Can you do it again? I want to laugh that hard before bed."

"I am not a court jester!" Arthur snapped.

"Could've fooled me," Eledrin muttered.

Arthur stood, brushing off imaginary dust from his already rumpled outfit. "You know what? Fine. I'll just train. Get stronger. And next time, I'll wipe the floor with every one of you."

A long silence.

Then Ahshala offered him a perfectly serious, polite smile.

"You'll need to learn how not to fall on your face first."

The courtyard burst into even louder laughter.

A squirrel somewhere chittered in agreement.

Arthur sat back down in his seat with the defeated grace of a man who had lost not just the battle, but also whatever shred of dignity remained.

The bent fork glinted under the moonlight, mocking him.

The elven chef brought out another shimmering fruit.

He handed Arthur a spoon this time.

It snapped on contact.

Arthur said nothing.

Still—

The laughter didn't let up.

Arthur, gripping the broken spoon like it had personally betrayed him, sat motionless as another wave of jokes rippled through the courtyard.

Eledrin leaned back in his chair, arms folded smugly. "You know, there's a rumor going around you were actually the bunny's decoy. A sacrificial distraction."

"Some say the bunny had a higher combat score," Vaelor added, sipping his tea.

Ahshala chimed in with absolute sincerity, "I heard he was training to become a ranger, and after seeing you, he gave up. Said it wasn't worth it."

Arthur's eye twitched.

"I could draw you a new dignity," an elven artist offered from a corner, already sketching Arthur mid-trip, legs flailing and sword spinning through the air.

"I AM DONE!" Arthur shouted, leaping to his feet so violently his chair skidded back and knocked over a tray of delicate glass cups with a crash.

Everyone paused—then chuckled louder.

"Done, you hear me!? I am SICK of your pointy-eared smug faces and your sarcastic smiles and your weird, glowing, soft food with your—your fancy forks that don't WORK!"

"You never learned to use a spoon, did you?" Eledrin said solemnly, as if mourning a tragic loss.

Arthur pointed wildly. "You know what? Screw this place! I'm going home! Back to human lands where our chairs aren't made of polished leaves and where food doesn't sparkle like it was blessed by a unicorn!"

Ahshala was giggling so hard she had to clutch the pillar for balance. "Can I come visit your land of falling and faceplants?"

Arthur turned, cape catching on a decorative vine and nearly dragging a flower arrangement with him. He yanked it free with a loud grunt and stormed toward the gate.

"Don't follow me!" he barked over his shoulder.

"No one's trying to," Eledrin muttered, sipping from his tea.

As Arthur stomped through the courtyard, past bemused guards and confused gardeners, he shouted back one last time:

"AND I HATE ELVEN FRUIT!"

"Even the one you kissed before trying to stab it?" someone shouted helpfully.

Arthur screamed into the night. Birds flew from the treetops.

He disappeared down the marble steps, cloak flapping like a wounded bat behind him.

A long silence followed. Then Vaelor said, "So. Do we alert the humans?"

"No," Eledrin said, looking up at the stars. "Let the forest sort it out."

Ahshala, now sipping another cup of orange juice with both hands, nodded solemnly. "The trees will either spit him out or adopt him. Either way, he'll come back weird."

"Or not at all," someone muttered.

"Either is fine," said Eledrin.

The courtyard returned to its calm, tranquil state, lit by moonlight and soft lanterns.

The only reminder of Arthur's presence was the shattered spoon and the sketch artist now finishing a piece titled:

"The Human Fool"