The Extra's Rise

Suffice it to say, after that incident last night, I had one of the best sleeps in my life.

And yet, waking up felt like slamming into a brick wall of reality. My brain, still sluggish, struggled to piece together the events of the previous night.

Rachel.

The Rachel I knew—bubbly, bright, full of warmth but always keeping a careful distance—had flipped a switch.

The way she had acted, the way she had looked at me like I was the only thing in the world that mattered, the way she had kissed me like she was staking a claim—none of it aligned with the Rachel from the novel or even the Rachel I had come to know in this world.

I ran a hand down my face, staring at my reflection in the mirror.

'Did that really happen?' I thought.

Because it felt like a dream, one of those strange ones that made perfect sense when you were in it but left you bewildered when you woke up.

'Shouldn't you be happy?' Luna's voice chimed in my mind. 'From what I can tell, you like her too. So what's the issue?'

'Yeah, agreed.' I sighed. I did like her. Last night had been... something else. Something that left my heart pounding and my head spinning.

But there was a deeper issue gnawing at me, one I hadn't voiced to anyone.

The fact that I had transmigrated here, that this body wasn't originally mine, still haunted me. I had accepted this world as real. I had made my place in it. But the lingering fear remained—what if I lost this body? What if one day, I woke up and it wasn't mine anymore?

That thought unsettled me in a way nothing else did.

'But honestly, last night was refreshing,' Luna continued, her tone far too amused. 'It's the first time you've had such a reaction, huh? I thought you were a—'

"Shut up," I muttered, shaking my head as a deep red spread across my cheeks.

Luna snickered.

'It was a natural reaction,' I defended myself, though even in my own mind, it sounded weak. Because last night hadn't just been a kiss. Rachel had deliberately provoked me, reveling in my reaction.

I shuddered slightly, pushing the thoughts aside as I moved to get ready. I had already slept in way too long, and the party was going to start soon.

After showering, I put on the formal attire prepared for the event, adjusting the cuffs of my sleeves as I took one last glance in the mirror.

I looked... decent. Presentable. Nothing too flashy, but fitting for the occasion.

Then, just as I was finishing up, a knock on the door pulled me from my thoughts.

I slid the door open.

Rachel stood there, radiant as ever.

She wore a flowing golden dress, fitted perfectly to her figure, shimmering under the light. Diamonds adorned her neck, sapphires hung from her ears, and yet none of it outshone the brightness of her expression.

"Hey, Arthur," she greeted, her voice light, but her cheeks tinged with the faintest pink.

I blinked for half a second, processing. Then, I offered her a small smile.

"Happy birthday, Rachel."

She laughed softly. "You already wished me, you know." Her gaze flickered, suddenly avoiding mine. "...Last night." Find your adventure at My Virtual Library Empire

For once, it seemed she was more bashful than teasing. Her face turned a deeper shade of red.

I chuckled, but before I could say anything, she slipped her arm through mine.

"Anyway, you're my escort. Come with me," she said, her grip firm but warm.

"As you wish, princess," I replied smoothly.

She hummed in thought, then glanced at me through her lashes. "...Calling me princess sounds too impersonal," she murmured, voice quiet but clear. "Add 'my' before it."

She refused to meet my gaze, staring intently at the floor as her blush deepened to an almost impossible shade of red.

I stared at her, trying to process what I just heard.

'Wow.'

Rachel, normally so confident and forward, had just requested that in a straight voice.

And the worst part?

She was so damn cute while doing it.

Every time I thought I had a grasp on her, she flipped the script. And now, with her arm hooked through mine, the warmth of her presence pressed close, and the faint scent of something floral lingering in the air, my brain wasn't exactly at full processing speed.

The hall where Rachel's sweet sixteen was being held loomed ahead, its grand doors wide open, spilling warm golden light into the corridor. Even from outside, the low hum of conversation, the clinking of glasses, and the steady murmur of a live orchestra set the tone. The kind of event that reeked of wealth and power.

Two guards stood at the entrance, their posture rigid as they assessed us. A brief nod, a quiet exchange, and then—

"Second Princess of the North, Her Highness Rachel Creighton, and Rank 1 of Mythos Academy, Arthur Nightingale, are entering!"

Just like that, every pair of eyes in the hall turned toward us.

A sea of people. Faces I recognized, nobles, officials, the elite of the Northern Continent. Some had been at Cecilia's sweet sixteen. Some were powerful figures in their own right. And some were already assessing me, their gazes sharp, calculating.

But none of them mattered at that moment.

Because my eyes locked onto a single figure.

Alastor Creighton.

One of the two Kings of the North. A nine-circle mage. A man whose sheer presence was enough to command the attention of the entire hall.

And more importantly?

Rachel's very, very protective father.

Now, Alastor and I weren't exactly strangers. He had trained me in spellcasting, handed me the Laplace Method, even gifted me the Skull of the Arch Lich—all because he wanted me to surpass Lucifer. In a way, he was an ally.

But not when it came to his daughter.

His gaze was like a blade against my skin. Cold. Measuring. And far from pleased.

I could feel the weight of it pressing down on me.

Then, just to make things worse, Rachel leaned in, her breath warm against my ear, her voice soft but teasing.

"Pfft, you are so cute."

I stiffened.

And Alastor's eyes narrowed.

"Did you do that on purpose?" I whispered, keeping my voice low.

Rachel simply shrugged, her expression the picture of innocence—if innocence had dimples and a barely-hidden smirk.

I exhaled through my nose, forcing myself to keep a neutral face as we stepped further into the hall.

Rachel was a princess. Everyone here knew her, the future Saintess, the golden jewel of the North. But they also knew me.

The Rank 1 who defeated Lucifer. The boy who made a Lich at just White-rank. The one who danced with another princess at her birthday.

A storm of rumors swirled in this room. And tonight, Rachel had just thrown another match into the fire.

A single chime from a crystalline bell rang through the hall, silencing the murmuring crowd in an instant.

Alastor Creighton stepped forward, his imposing figure standing tall at the center of the room. The dim glow of lights cast a faint shimmer on his dark blue ceremonial robes, the intricate embroidery of the Creighton sigil—a silver eagle against a backdrop of frost—glinting under the chandeliers.

With a voice that could command armies, he spoke.

"Thank you all for attending tonight," he began, his gaze sweeping across the hall. "As you all know, today is a momentous occasion. My beloved daughter, Rachel Creighton, comes of age."

There was a pause, just long enough to let the words settle.

"My daughter, who will one day take up the mantle of Saintess of the North and continue the legacy of the Creighton family, is stepping into her sixteenth year. Let us celebrate her today, not just as a princess, but as the brilliant, compassionate, and powerful young woman she is."

The crowd erupted in applause.

Rachel, still linked to my arm, beamed. But despite her usual brightness, I could feel the slight tension in her grip.

She was never one for big formalities.

After the clapping died down, she let go of me and stepped forward. With the grace of royalty and the ease of someone used to commanding attention, she smiled and raised a hand.

"Thank you all for coming tonight," she said, her voice ringing clearly through the hall. "I know you're all incredibly busy, and yet you made time to be here. It means more to me than I can say."

A chorus of polite nods followed.

"I hope you all enjoy the evening," she continued, flashing a playful grin. "Because I certainly plan to."

That earned a few chuckles, even a few raised glasses. Rachel had that effect on people.

Then, her sapphire eyes flickered toward me.

Her smile changed.

Something softer.

Something just for me.

She turned to the center of the hall where the polished marble floor reflected the golden glow of the chandeliers. The music swelled, shifting into something elegant and fluid.

A waltz.

She extended her hand toward me, tilting her head ever so slightly.

"Arthur," she said, her voice playful but carrying a quiet expectation. "Dance with me?"

There was no hesitation.

I took her hand.

Gasps rippled through the crowd, whispers buzzing through the hall like static. But I ignored them all.

Rachel led me to the center, her fingers curling around mine with gentle but firm confidence.

The first note struck, and we moved.

Dancing was something I had only picked up after coming to this world, but I had learned quickly. I had danced with Cecilia at her birthday, but Rachel…

Rachel was something else entirely.

Unlike Cecilia's teasing precision or Seraphina's quiet elegance, Rachel danced with joy.

Pure, unfiltered joy.

She spun, the golden fabric of her dress flaring like liquid sunlight.

Her laughter was barely contained, her eyes gleaming as if she were having the time of her life.

And in that moment, I realized something.

She was.

This wasn't just a formal birthday dance.

For Rachel, this was freedom.

With every step, every twirl, she wasn't just moving—she was escaping.

From the expectations, from the weight of her future, from the past that haunted her.

And she was dragging me with her.

I let her.

I matched her steps, guiding when needed, following when she wanted me to.

The music swelled, the violins soaring, and for that fleeting moment, the world outside the dance floor didn't exist.

There was only us.