The Extra's Rise

"Arthur," Rachel murmured, leaning in slightly, "Should we go—"

She didn't get to finish.

Because that was when Cecilia arrived.

The atmosphere shifted instantly, the murmur of conversation dipping ever so slightly, as if the ballroom itself had noticed the entrance of someone who refused to be ignored.

She stepped onto the ballroom floor like it was her personal stage, dressed in a flowing gown of deep crimson, its fabric layered with sheer black accents that caught the light in a way that made her seem half-shadow, half-fire.

Her long, dark red hair had been styled deliberately loose, tumbling over one shoulder, framing her face with almost lazy elegance.

She smiled.

That smile.

The one that said, I am here to cause problems, and I am going to enjoy every second of it.

Her crimson eyes flickered over the ballroom, scanning for her favorite targets—and the moment she spotted us, her smile widened.

Rachel sighed.

Lucifer, to his credit, simply crossed his arms, watching with mild amusement.

And then, just like that, Cecilia was in front of us.

"Well, well, well, look at you all."

Her gaze swept over us, lingering briefly on Rachel before locking onto me, her grin stretching into something that bordered on conspiratorial.

"Arthur," she said sweetly, tilting her head. "I must say, you do wear a suit rather well."

Rachel rolled her eyes.

Lucifer just chuckled under his breath.

"Where's your date, Cecilia?" Rachel asked, entirely unimpressed.

Cecilia laughed, the sound light, playful, and completely devoid of sincerity.

"As if I need one," she replied smoothly. "I prefer to keep my options open."

Ian finally turned from his audience, flashing her a grin.

"You're late, Ceci."

"I prefer fashionably late," she corrected, tapping her chin. "Besides, I had to make an entrance."

"That you did," Lucifer said, still amused.

Meanwhile, Jin and Ren remained completely detached from the entire conversation.

Jin had not moved from his isolated corner, his sharp, calculating gaze flickering over the ballroom, no doubt assessing everyone's mana signatures for his own amusement.

Ren, meanwhile, was pretending we did not exist, still standing near the refreshments table, looking as if he was two seconds away from punching someone for looking at him wrong.

Cecilia glanced at them briefly, before sighing dramatically.

"The anti-social duo is in full force tonight, I see."

"You should go bother them," Rachel suggested dryly.

Cecilia smirked. "Oh, I will. But first—"

She turned her attention back to me.

"Shall we dance later, Art?"

Rachel tensed instantly, her sapphire eyes narrowing.

I blinked. "Uh—"

Cecilia laughed, twirling a lock of hair between her fingers.

"Relax, Ray-Ray, I'm just teasing," she said, voice dripping with amusement.

Rachel clenched her jaw.

Lucifer chuckled again, while Ian looked far too entertained by all of this.

Cecilia then clapped her hands together, pivoting effortlessly.

"Alright, alright," she sighed. "Enough fun—for now. But I do expect a dance or two before the night is over."

She waved dramatically, before sashaying off to find her next source of entertainment.

Rachel watched her go, then let out a deep breath.

Lucifer just smirked. "You two are going to fight one day."

Rachel scoffed. "Obviously."

I exhaled slowly, mentally preparing myself for the rest of the night.

Something told me, it was only just beginning.

The clinking of glass rang through the air, cutting through the hum of conversation with effortless precision. It wasn't just the sound—it was the intent behind it, the subtle manipulation of wind magic carrying it just right so that it commanded attention without feeling forced.

The room fell silent.

At the center of the ballroom, Instructor Nero stood tall, clad in a sleek navy-blue suit, looking far too comfortable in an event that many of us were still adjusting to.

"Welcome, everyone, to the Freshman Ball at Mythos Academy!" he declared, his voice carrying the warmth of a man who knew exactly how to hold a crowd's attention.

"You are all freshmen at the world's finest institution, destined for greatness and success in your lives post-graduation."

He let the words settle, letting the weight of them sink into the gold-trimmed, chandelier-lit air.

Then, with a slightly more relaxed tone, he continued.

"However, life is not just hard work and the pursuit of strength. To truly live, one must find pleasure in making connections, in spending time with those you consider precious. This event is designed to foster such connections—an occasion for pure leisure, to step outside the confines of our classrooms and training halls."

He smiled, then lifted his glass slightly.

"And so, we will now proceed with the first dance. I hope you all thoroughly enjoy the evening."

The orchestra, waiting for the signal, let the first soft notes of the waltz unfurl like a delicate thread of silk, weaving its way into the grandeur of the ballroom.

The moment had arrived.

I turned to Rachel, inhaling sharply before dropping into a formal kneel, meeting her gaze squarely.

Her sapphire-blue eyes met mine, and for a moment, the rest of the room faded into the background.

"Would you honor me with this dance, my Lady?"

Rachel blinked, startled just for a second, before her lips curled into a small, delighted smile.

She placed her hand in mine, her fingers soft but sure.

"I would be delighted, Sir Nightingale."

I rose, her hand still resting lightly in mine, and together we stepped onto the dance floor, joining the other couples as the waltz began.

The music wrapped around us, filling the ballroom with a gentle, rhythmic grace.

Rachel and I moved in sync, our steps falling into the elegant rhythm of the waltz, the kind of dance that had survived centuries for a reason—timeless, fluid, a conversation without words.

One hand on the small of her back, guiding her movements, the other clasping hers firmly but carefully.

Rachel moved with natural poise, her every step graceful, effortless, as if she were meant for this.

Her dress swirled around her, shimmering under the chandeliers, catching the light with every turn, making her look like she had stepped out of some celestial painting.

I had read about moments like this before.

I had just never expected to be in one.

The tempo shifted, picking up slightly, and we followed its lead. Twirls, spins, steps that required unspoken trust to execute flawlessly.

Rachel's smile never faltered, her sapphire eyes glinting with something close to exhilaration.

And then, finally, the last soft note faded, bringing the first dance to its elegant conclusion.

We stood there for a moment, still locked in place, our hands still connected.

Then, Rachel tilted her head slightly, her smile softening.

"Not bad," she murmured.

I huffed out a quiet laugh. "Coming from you, I'll take that as high praise."

She laughed lightly, slipping her hand from mine but not moving away completely.

We stepped off the dance floor, heading toward the refreshment tables where a lavish array of mana-infused delicacies awaited.

The Academy did nothing by halves—even the food here was enhanced, the flavors sharper, the energy it provided borderline addictive.

Rachel and I were in the middle of picking out something when—

A familiar voice rang out.

"Sorry, sorry! But I already have a partner!"

I turned, eyebrows raising slightly at the sight of Cecilia Slatemark, surrounded by a small horde of suitors, each one desperately vying for a chance to dance with her.

Which, honestly, made perfect sense.

She was a princess, the strongest Rank 6 first-year, and a walking enigma wrapped in dangerously deceptive charm.

If I hadn't known her true nature, I might have been among them.

Cecilia, however, had no intention of entertaining them further.

Because she was already walking toward me.

Rachel sighed, already bracing for whatever came next.

And then, before I could even process it, Cecilia was right in front of me, her hand latching onto my arm with the kind of certainty that didn't allow for refusal.

"Arthur is my partner for this dance!" she declared, flashing me a wink.

Rachel's expression flattened instantly.

"You're serious?"

Cecilia grinned wider, then leaned in slightly, her voice dropping just enough to be dangerous.

"Please, please do me this favor," she murmured, her breath warm against my neck.

The temperature of the room spiked dangerously, though I was fairly certain it was just me.

Rachel's eyes narrowed, but she said nothing.

And just like that, I was led back to the dance floor.

Cecilia, naturally, ignored the standard positioning entirely, guiding my hand lower on her waist, closing the distance between us just enough to be scandalous.

My heartbeat kicked up a notch, my body acutely aware of every shift in movement, every press against me as she moved with practiced ease.

Her lips curled into a lazy, knowing smile.

She knew exactly what she was doing.

The waltz began, and I forced myself to focus on the steps, ignoring the way Cecilia occasionally leaned in closer than necessary, how she timed certain movements to brush against me just so.

And then, at one particularly bold moment, she tiptoed, bringing our faces dangerously close, her crimson eyes locked onto mine.

I barely had time to react before she sidestepped at the last second, avoiding a full collision by a fraction of an inch, choosing instead to brush her lips against my ear.

"You're quite intriguing, Arthur Nightingale," she whispered, her breath hot against my skin, sending an involuntary shiver down my spine.