Extra's Ascent

"Wait a second," Marvelous called out, halting his stride with a sudden urgency. "Are you seriously just going to walk out like that? I mean... I did hit you with my car. And you did just confirm I'm wealthy."

The words spilt from her lips before she could fully process them, and once said, even she seemed surprised at how they sounded.

What exactly had she anticipated? Yes, she had struck him, accidentally of course, but she had also done what the law required: brought him to the hospital, ensured he was treated, and covered the costs without delay or hesitation.

By every civil standard, her responsibilities had been fulfilled. And he, the injured party, had clearly acknowledged that. So why did she feel compelled to reiterate her guilt, to draw attention to what had already been addressed?

Eric turned to her briefly, his expression unreadable. "There's really nothing more to say. You hit me, I fell. You brought me here, saw that I was treated, and even took care of the bill. I'm fine now. That's the entire story."

He laid it out plainly as if drawing the final line beneath a concluded transaction. And with that, he resumed his exit, this time unhindered.

The doctor, watching her hesitation from across the room, tilted his head slightly. "Is something bothering you, Miss Kennedy?"

"N-no, it's nothing," she replied, snapping back to composure. "Really, it's fine."

Still, she stood motionless, her eyes lingering on the door Eric had just walked through. There was something unsettling about how casually he had brushed off what could've been a life-ending incident. Or was it that his attitude lacked any trace of resentment, fear, or even curiosity?

She couldn't tell what it was that stirred her unease. Maybe it was the absence of drama, the cold efficiency of the entire exchange.

Whatever it was, she forced herself to let it go. As Eric had said, their interaction had run its course. He was a mystic capable of recovering from physical trauma at a rate most humans couldn't fathom. She wasn't immersed in the world of mystics herself, but the legends of their seemingly supernatural prowess had reached even her circles.

If he said he was alright, she had every reason to believe him.

…

"To think I was out cold for more than three hours… What in the world is happening to me?"

Eric's voice echoed quietly in the solitude of the train station bathroom where he'd gone to splash cold water on his face. The cool droplets trailed down his cheeks, failing to shake off the lingering fatigue. As a seasoned mystic, someone who had spent years refining his control over mana, he should've bounced back in minutes, seconds even without needing to force energy into his core.

Unless… something was wrong.

Reviewing the past few weeks, he tried to recall if he had overexerted himself. His schedule was demanding, sure early mornings, late nights, endless drives ferrying Sir Ramprandt to meetings, overseeing his security during public appearances. But he'd always managed before. Skipping meals here and there, long stretches without sleep, those weren't new.

But there was a difference now, wasn't there?

Maybe it was the frequency with which he infused mana into his body. The constant cycling, the internal strain it placed on his organs, the perpetual tension in his muscles. Even for someone of his calibre, the body was still a finite vessel. No mystic was immortal. They only appeared that way until something gave out.

Eric sighed deeply. The truth was hard to ignore. Mystics, though powerful, were still human at their core. And the human body, no matter how enhanced, needs rest. It needed silence periods without mana pulsing through every fibre, without the rush of adrenaline or the weight of duty pressing from every side.

That kind of silence was rare in Eric's life.

But what could he do? His children, Aldrich and Saldrich were enrolled in Eldora Institute, the most prestigious mystic academy in the nation. Their tuition, supplies, and upkeep weren't cheap. His role as father wasn't just emotional support; it was financial, practical, unyielding.

"I wasn't there for them when they needed me most," he reminded himself under his breath, staring into the mirror. "The least I can do now is make sure they don't fall behind because of me."

So yes, his body may ache. His stamina may falter. But giving up? That wasn't an option.

By the time Eric returned home later that day, he stopped at the convenience store to replenish his pantry. A few essentials in hand, he made his way back to his apartment. He ate in silence, the television murmuring in the background with a sports commentary he barely registered.

The moment the plate was cleared, he dragged himself to the bathroom, took a long, warm shower, and collapsed onto the couch. Sleep claimed him fast, deep and dreamless.

Dawn crept in through the window hours later. The sky outside had just begun to shift from indigo to muted gold. By five in the morning, Eric was already on his feet. By six, he had dressed, gathered his things, and left the apartment.

He had a train to catch.

Travelling from Midstate to Upstate required precision. The earliest train was his only real option. Missing it would mean a late arrival at Sir Ramprandt's manor, a mistake he couldn't afford.

Sir Ramprandt was a man who demanded punctuality not out of arrogance, but because his own schedule was packed with obligations. His nights were sacred, reserved for personal time but every moment between sunrise and late evening was fair game for sudden work.

As the man's personal chauffeur and sole bodyguard, Eric had to be present before any of it began.

At first, the rhythm of this job had been overwhelming. The relentless hours, the need to be constantly alert, the unpredictability of high-profile business dealings. But over time, Eric had adapted. He learned to wake before dawn, to plan for delays, to memorize every turn and shortcut between districts.

More than that, he had come to admire Sir Ramprandt. The man was a titan in business, yes, but he was also grounded, calculated, and respectful. Working under him didn't feel like subservience. It felt purposeful.

Eric took pride in his role. Every handshake, every meeting, every event where he stood silently by Sir Ramprandt's side, he found fulfilment in it.

The train finally reached its stopping train track in Upstate, and he arrived.

Now in the estate, Eric disembarked and guided the sleek, black vehicle from the garage. The timing was perfect.

"A fine morning, wouldn't you say, Eric?" Sir Ramprandt said as he slid into the backseat, his tone light, but alert as ever.

Eric smiled through the rearview mirror, the engine already humming beneath them. "As fine as it gets, sir."