The Extra's Rise

There were seven superpowers in the world, their influence sprawling across the five continents like titanic beasts, each one holding dominion over their respective territories.

The Slatemark Empire stood at the heart of the Central Continent, the undisputed rulers of the most powerful human nation. The Ashbluff family reigned over the Western Continent, commanding the dead with their mastery of necromancy. The Creightons and the Windwards dominated the Northern Continent, one through sheer spellcasting prowess, the other through unrivaled martial might. The Viserions ruled the Southern Continent, their draconic heritage placing them a step above the rest—though diluted blood kept them from reaching their true potential. And in the East, two great powers held sway: the Mount Hua Sect, standing as the pinnacle of martial swordsmanship, and the Kagu family, heirs to the First Hero's bloodline.

Becoming a superpower wasn't a matter of politics alone. Strength was everything.

Each of these forces had earned their place through sheer might. If they were a martial family, they wielded a Grade 6 art, techniques so powerful that they bent reality itself to their user's will. If they were spellcasting dynasties, they possessed unrivaled magical bloodlines, their power woven into their very genetics.

The Viserions, in a rare stroke of luck—or perhaps cruel irony—had both.

Yet even with their formidable abilities, their diluted draconian blood kept them from rising beyond their station, forever caught between what they were and what they could have been.

And then there was Class 1-A of Mythos Academy.

By some cosmic coincidence—or perhaps a deliberate twist of fate—every one of these superpowers had a representative child in the current first-year class.

Not just any children, but monsters in human form, prodigies who eclipsed their predecessors in sheer talent.

Each of them carried the potential to reach the realm of demigods, the heights of high Radiant-rank, where only legends like the First Hero, Liam Kagu, had once stood.

And then there was Kali Maelkith.

A product of the Western Continent, born into a family that had once stood alongside the Ashbluffs as rulers.

Once.

Centuries ago, the Maelkith family had commanded fear and respect, wielding a Grade 6 martial art that made them untouchable.

Until they lost it.

Not just a part of the art. Not just a weakened version.

They lost everything.

Every master of the technique was wiped out during the Ogre King's invasion. The sacred martial art manual was destroyed, erasing their greatest weapon from existence.

And with that, the Maelkith family fell.

Strength was everything.

And without it, they had nothing.

That was the piece I was going to use.

"We should discuss the incoming VR mock war," Lucifer said, his voice calm but absolute.

He had gathered all eight of us—Class 1-A, the undisputed monsters of our year—in the lounge of the Ophelia dorm, the only place where we could talk without the weight of other students listening in, whispering, scheming.

"Discuss?" Ren scoffed, leaning back against the armrest of a sofa like he had better things to do. "Do we really need to?"

"Yes," Jin said, his voice quiet but firm. That alone made Ren pause.

Jin rarely spoke. When he did, people listened.

"As Professor Nero said, this is a battle of tactics, not just strength," Jin continued, expression unreadable.

"And that makes a world of difference," Rachel added smoothly, her sapphire eyes flicking between us. "We need a leader, a team of advisors and strategists, everything a real battle requires."

"Rachel's right," Lucifer agreed. His posture was relaxed, but his presence alone dictated the room. He was the kind of person who could say something as a suggestion, and it would become an order by default.

"I think I should be the Commander," he said, as if it were obvious.

His gaze swept over the room, gauging reactions. Waiting for opposition.

Ren's eyes gleamed, his lips curling slightly. There it was. The challenge, the instinct to resist authority, to demand a fight over something as simple as leadership.

But then—he didn't protest.

Interesting.

"Should we not talk to the other students too?" I asked, glancing at the rest of them.

"Nah, we don't need to worry," Cecilia waved a hand dismissively, her lazy smile completely unconcerned. "With our status, how will they dare defy us?"

Right. That was also true.

The seven of them, together, had absolute control over the world to some extent. Their lineages, their power, their future authority—it was uncontested.

No student in Mythos Academy would dare cross them.

Except me, apparently.

Seraphina said nothing, simply watching with her usual blank expression, like an outsider studying the group rather than an active participant.

Rachel leaned forward slightly, hands clasped together. "I think we should turn all other seven of us into Unit Leaders," she said. "We're substantially stronger than the other first-years, so it makes sense for us to each lead a team."

"Actually, I want to suggest something else," I said before anyone could agree.

Seven sets of eyes turned toward me.

"Even though I'm ahead of the other first-years, I'm still far from being on your level."

It was the truth.

My mana rank was equal to Seraphina and Ian's, but both of them would easily crush me if they went all out.

I was strong. Stronger than almost anyone else here.

But I was still not one of them.

"Then what do you suggest?" Lucifer asked, watching me carefully.

I met his gaze, my voice steady.

"Let me take care of the tactics."

"Tactics," Lucifer murmured, rolling the word over his tongue like he was testing its weight. His gaze flicked toward me, assessing, calculating.

"Honestly," he admitted, "I tend to get narrow-minded in battle. Too focused on the immediate fight. And I'll likely have to deal with Kali."

The unspoken implication hung in the air. He would be occupied.

Rachel tapped a finger against her arm, considering. "I think it could work," she said, her tone measured. "Arthur's smart. And since he's the weakest out of the eight of us, he can focus on overseeing the battlefield rather than diving straight into the fight."

She glanced at me, a faint smile on her lips. "It makes sense, doesn't it? He can direct us while keeping an eye on the other students. And as for getting them to listen…" She shrugged. "We just order them."

Cecilia nodded, resting her chin on her palm, studying me with mild amusement. "Honestly, whichever unit Arthur's in would be at a real disadvantage compared to the rest of us. Let's not pretend we're equal here."

Her gaze flicked to Lucifer, smirking slightly. "Obviously, he's far ahead of us. But his main job is dealing with Kali first, right?"

Her crimson eyes slid back to me. "Arthur's unit will be slower than the rest. Weaker. Even more than Seraphina's or Ian's."

"Trusting him may just be idiotic," Ren muttered, arms crossed. "Do you really think he's learned tactics? He's a commoner."

Lucifer's verdant eyes glinted. A warning.

But he didn't immediately shut Ren down.

For once, Ren had a point.

It was a valid question.

Could I actually lead a battlefield? Did I know tactics—truly know them—or was I just a desperate fighter who had scraped through survival by instinct alone?

I didn't get a chance to answer.

"Just shut up and trust him, Ren," Cecilia sighed, as if this entire conversation was a personal inconvenience to her.

Ren turned his glare on her, but she didn't even acknowledge it.

"I vouch for him," she said, flicking her crimson gaze to Lucifer. "Is that enough?"

Lucifer studied her for a moment, then nodded.

That was it.

Cecilia tilted her head toward me, her expression unreadable for a fraction of a second—a moment where I actually thought she might have been genuinely helping me.

Then she smiled.

And in the next instant, her voice curled into my ears, her mana carrying it in a whisper that no one else could hear.

"Now just don't fail~"

A shiver ran down my spine.

Cecilia Slatemark never did anything without a reason.

And somehow, that single whispered sentence felt heavier than the entire conversation before it.