Extra's Ascent

"Where are you headed?" Dante's voice came through the fading murmurs of the classroom, catching Aldrich mid-step as he rose from his seat.

"To the training grounds," Aldrich replied simply, his tone clipped, eyes fixed on the door ahead.

With the exams practical looming, Aldrich knew he couldn't afford to coast on past glories. His place in S-Class was not yet secured, it was earned daily, sharpened with every effort made toward survival and progress.

"There are a few things I need to tighten up," he added, adjusting the strap on his satchel. "I can't afford to fall behind. Not now."

Dante leaned back slightly, considering him with uncharacteristic seriousness. "Mind if I tag along?"

Aldrich glanced sideways, his brows furrowed in suspicion. Dante Pendragon was not the type to voluntarily seek out training. His talents came effortlessly, an innate understanding of combat mechanics meant he rarely, if ever, needed repetition to learn.

"Why would you want to?" Aldrich asked, his tone laced with cautious curiosity.

Dante didn't flinch. "I lost to Dwayne Aldaman, remember?"

Aldrich stilled. The memory surfaced, clearly an event that had left a mark deeper than the surface humiliation Dante endured.

"I had him. And then... he slipped through my fingers," Dante muttered. "He made me look like a fool fighting shadows."

He wasn't exaggerating. The duel had been a spectacle and a mystery. Dwayne Aldaman hadn't simply won; he dismantled Dante's composure and turned the tide so subtly that no one could quite explain how. The air had shifted during that fight. Something unseen and unnerving had taken place.

Till now, all who bore witness are left in the dark still, unable to come up with a logical explanation to discern what truly transpired that day, what Dwayne Aldaman did to Dante Pendragon to turn him into that?...

"I'm fine now," Dante continued. "I let pride speak louder than reason and challenged someone without knowing what I was really up against."

It wasn't regret he spoke with, it was analysis. Calm. Focused. The kind of reflection that came only after the sting had worn off and a hunger for understanding took its place.

"I just want to know how I lost," he finished, "and what trick he used to make me fight a ghost of himself."

Aldrich could only imagine the mental storm that revelation had triggered. Dante wasn't one to dwell on failure, but when something cracked his pride truly cracked it, he pursued the answer until it lay bare before him.

"Fine. You can come," Aldrich said after a pause, not because he was eager for company, but because he understood the weight of pride. And in this world, broken pride needed closure before it could heal.

They didn't get far before a voice called out behind them.

"Al, where are you off to?"

Turning around, Aldrich saw his sister standing just beyond the classroom doors. Her expression was unreadable, but her presence was unmistakable.

"The training grounds, Sal," he answered, gesturing to the companion at his side. "Pendragon and I need to stretch out a bit."

Her eyebrow lifted slightly. "Getting a head start on the test prep?"

"Something like that," Aldrich replied. "It wouldn't hurt to prepare early. You might want to do the same."

Not that Saldrich needed much preparation, if any. Her prowess was practically etched into the narrative of the world. In the original novel, she'd been a guaranteed second-year S-Class student, a fixture of talent forged in desperation after Aldrich's comatose state left the Aldaman legacy in her hands.

But that plot was no longer intact.

This wasn't the story he had read.

His presence, awake and active, had altered the story's trajectory. What had once fueled her climb, the absence of her brother and the burden of their family name was now gone. Would she still rise with the same fire? Or would her edge dull without the pressure that once shaped her?

That very uncertainty had been one of the reasons Aldrich was hesitant to tamper with the original storyline. Yet here they were.

'No use crying over spilt milk,' he thought, though he wasn't even sure if he got the idiom right. Still, the point stood.

Saldrich had more than tragedy driving her. Ambition. Pride. A desire to prove herself not only to their father but maybe even to him.

She would be fine.

She had to be.

And if there was one lesson Aldrich had learned since waking in this world, it was that these people weren't just characters. They had minds of their own, motives unbound by written narrative. And more than once, they'd surprised him.

"Yeah, I'm not doing that," Saldrich said bluntly. "You do you, I'll do me. That way, the world goes ring, ring, ring and everybody's happy."

Aldrich blinked. "What... does that even mean?"

"Don't know, don't care," she shrugged, grinning. "Just make sure you don't put on a crappy show when the time comes."

With that final jab, she turned on her heel.

Aldrich sighed, shaking his head with a half-smile. "Whatever you say, Sal. Just don't embarrass us."

He was about to step away with Dante when—

"Al..."

That voice.

His spine stiffened.

"Oh. Uh... Fiona!" he stammered, barely managing to turn without tripping over his words. "I—uh—I've got something... y'know, important—with Dante... So I'll, uh, catch you later?"

He didn't wait for her response.

Grabbing Dante by the shoulder, Aldrich all but sprinted down the hallway. His excuse had been as transparent as glass and just as brittle.

Back at the classroom entrance, Saldrich watched them vanish.

"What was that about?" she asked, tilting her head as Fiona stepped beside her.

"I thought you might know," Fiona said, still watching the hall as though expecting Aldrich to turn back.

Saldrich gave a defeated sigh. "It's my brother we're talking about. If he were a puzzle, the pieces would be from ten different boxes."

Fiona chuckled, though something thoughtful lingered in her gaze.

Saldrich bumped her shoulder. "C'mon. Let's grab a bite. I'm starving."

"Sure," Fiona replied, allowing herself to be led away. "No reason not to."