The Extra is a Hero?-Chapter 234: THE GAUNTLET AND THE ROSE

Chapter 230: The Gauntlet and the Rose

The Monday of the Selection Trials dawned with a sky the color of bruised iron. The artificial weather system of the Academy had seemingly calibrated itself to match the mood on campus: heavy, overcast, and threatening storm.

I stood on the balcony of the Gilded Lotus Inn, watching the sunrise over Rolune one last time before we headed back to the Academy grounds proper.

My inventory was organized. My [Void Vault] was secure. The Holy Sword was sleeping in its lead-lined bed.

But there was one piece of unfinished business I needed to address. A personal quest line that had been flashing in my peripheral vision since the Labyrinth.

Establish a connection.

I checked the time. 06:30 AM.

According to my knowledge of the character schedules—and my observation of the last week—Maria Frostheart was an early riser. She practiced her mana control in the hotel’s private garden before breakfast.

I adjusted my collar, checked my reflection in the glass door—clean uniform, [Fenra’s Eye] concealed by a glamour, hair acceptable—and headed down.

The garden was a quiet enclosure of white stone and mana-infused heavy flora. The air was cool and misty.

And there she was.

Maria Frostheart sat on a stone bench near a pond of koi fish. She wasn’t meditating in the traditional sense. She was levitating a sphere of water from the pond, freezing it into complex geometric shapes—a dodecahedron, a star, a perfect rose—and then melting it back down, only to freeze it again.

It was an exercise in extreme precision.

She wore a simple white training gi, her silver hair tied back in a high ponytail. She looked less like the "Ice Queen" of the Academy and more like a focused artist.

I walked onto the gravel path. Crunch.

The water sphere instantly froze into a jagged spike, aiming at my throat before hovering.

Maria opened her eyes. The ice spike melted, splashing back into the pond.

"Wilson," she said, her voice cool but not hostile. "You’re up early. plotting another market crash?"

"The market is stabilizing," I said, walking over to the bench. "I’m here for something more... volatile."

"Oh?" She raised an eyebrow, wiping her hands on a towel. "Is the Cult attacking the hotel?"

"No. Something scarier."

I stood in front of her. My heart, usually a steady drumbeat regulated by [Mindbreaker], skipped a beat.

This wasn’t a dungeon boss. This was social interaction with a high-tier heroine. The difficulty scaling was absurd.

"We survived Sky Island," I started, keeping my voice casual. "We cleared the Tower. We’re about to walk into a meat grinder against the Second Years."

"Accurate," Maria nodded. "Your point?"

"My point is," I said, looking her in the eyes. "We haven’t celebrated. Not really."

Maria tilted her head. "We had dinner with the team yesterday."

"That was a team dinner," I corrected. "Alex was eating ribs with his hands and Kaelen fell asleep in the soup. It wasn’t exactly... atmospheric."

I took a breath.

"I’m asking you to dinner, Maria. Just us. Tonight. After the first round of trials."

Silence descended on the garden. The only sound was the splash of the koi fish.

Maria stared at me. Her expression didn’t change, but her aura did. The ambient temperature around the bench dropped about five degrees.

"A... dinner," she repeated slowly.

"Yes."

"Just us."

"Yes."

"Like... a date?" The word seemed foreign on her tongue.

"Exactly like a date," I confirmed. "I know a place in the Upper District. Quiet. No cameras. No fans. And no Alex."

Maria looked down at her hands. A faint, almost imperceptible flush crept up her neck, contrasting sharply with her pale skin and silver hair.

She was flustered. The Ice Queen was rebooting.

"Why?" she asked finally, looking back up. Her gaze was searching, analytical. "You don’t do anything without a reason, Michael. Is this... an alliance proposal? Are you trying to secure House Frostheart’s support for your business? Or is this about the team formation for the tournament?"

I couldn’t help it. I laughed.

"Maria," I said, shaking my head. "Not everything is a scheme. Sometimes, I just want to have dinner with the girl who didn’t laugh when I proposed with a rock in a dungeon."

Her eyes widened slightly at the memory. The ghost of a smile—rare and genuine—touched her lips.

"That was a very nice rock," she murmured.

"It was," I agreed. "So? What’s the verdict? Do I need to submit a formal application to your family, or can we just go get pasta?"

She stood up. She was slightly shorter than me, but her presence was tall.

She smoothed her gi.

"If you die in the trials today," she said, her voice regaining its composure, though her eyes were shining, "I am not eating alone."

"I don’t plan on dying."

"Good." She turned to walk back to the hotel, then paused. She looked over her shoulder. "7:00 PM. And wear something... not a uniform."

"Yes, ma’am."

I watched her walk away.

My [System] pinged.

[Relationship Update: Maria Frostheart]

[Status: Interested.]

[Sub-Plot Initiated: The Ice Queen’s Thaw.]

I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding.

"Harder than a boss fight," I muttered. "Definitely harder."

[The Academy Arena – The Gate of Trials]

The sentimental mood evaporated the moment we stepped onto the Academy grounds.

The atmosphere was toxic.

The Selection Trials were being held in the Grand Colosseum, the same place where we had formed our squads. But today, the entrance wasn’t open.

A crowd of First Years—easily two hundred students—was gathered at the main gate, milling about in confusion and growing anger.

"What’s going on?" Alex asked, his shield strapped to his back. "Why aren’t we going in?"

"Blockade," Gideon whispered, pointing a long, pale finger.

Blocking the massive archway of the Colosseum stood a line of thirty students.

They were older. Their uniforms were slightly different—the blazers cut sharper, the insignias denoting Second Year status gleaming on their chests.

They weren’t just standing there. They were radiating mana.

A wall of C-Rank pressure pressed against the First Years, keeping them at bay.

At the center of the line sat a young man on a conjured earth-chair. He was cleaning his fingernails with a dagger.

He had a shaved head and a scar running through his eyebrow.

[Target: Varkas (2nd Year)]

[Rank: C+]

[Affinity: Earth / Fortification]

"This is the Gauntlet," Seraphina said, her voice tight. "It’s a tradition. The seniors block the entrance. If you can’t push through their aura, you aren’t ’worthy’ to even register for the trials."

"It’s hazing," Kaelen squeaked, hiding behind Alex.

"It’s a power move," I corrected. "They want to break our morale before we even draw weapons."

Ahead of us, Magnus Daven was losing his patience.

"Move aside!" Magnus roared, stepping out of the crowd. His team, Ironclad, flanked him. "We have the right to enter! The instructors said—"

"The instructors aren’t here, little boy," Varkas interrupted, not looking up from his nails. "This is student business. You want in? Pay the toll."

"Toll?" Magnus bristled. "What toll?"

"Kneel," Varkas said calmly. "Apologize for stealing our media coverage. Admit that you’re just lucky children. And then crawl through my legs. Then, you can enter."

The Second Years laughed. It was a cruel, barking sound.

Magnus turned red. "I’ll make you kneel!"

He charged. His mace flared with mana.

Varkas sighed. He didn’t stand up. He just stomped his foot.

BOOM.

A wall of earth erupted from the pavement, slamming into Magnus. The impact was heavy. Magnus flew backward, crashing into his own teammates.

"Weak," Varkas yawned. "Next?"

The First Years recoiled. Magnus was one of our strongest. He had been swatted like a fly.

"This is bad," Alex muttered. "If Magnus couldn’t break it..."

"They’re establishing dominance," I said. "If we wait for the instructors to clear them, we look like children running to mommy. If we fight and lose, we look like weaklings."

"So what do we do?" Seraphina asked, her hand drifting to her bow.

"We walk," I said.

I stepped forward.

The crowd parted for me. They recognized the #1 Team. They recognized the "Cursed King."

"Oh?" Varkas looked up as I emerged from the sea of nervous freshmen. His eyes narrowed.

"Michael Wilson. The ’Monarch’. I was wondering when you’d show up."

He stood up, kicking his earth-chair away. It crumbled into dust..

"You think you’re special because you killed a few wolves in a simulation?" Varkas sneered, his aura flaring.

The air grew heavy, smelling of dust and stone. "Let’s see if you can handle real gravity."

He channeled his mana. The pressure intensified. The First Years behind me groaned, some falling to their knees.

I didn’t stop walking.

I didn’t draw Draken.

I walked straight toward him, my hands in my pockets.

"You’re Varkas, right?" I asked, my voice conversational. "Arthur’s lapdog?"

Varkas’s vein bulged. "I am the Vice-Captain of the Vanguard! Watch your mouth, trash!"

He punched the air.

[Earth Cannon]

A fist of compressed stone, the size of a boulder, shot toward me.

"Chief!" Alex yelled, moving to intercept.

"Stay back," I ordered.

I didn’t dodge.

I activated [Fenra’s Eye].

+20% Stats.

And I activated my Title.

[The Tyrant of the Tower]

[Effect: Increases fear/intimidation effects.]

I raised my right hand and simply... slapped the air.

I infused the slap with [Spatial Distortion]—a tiny, precise warp of space right at the point of impact.

CRACK!

My hand met the boulder.

Physics broke. The stone projectile didn’t hit me; it shattered into a thousand pebbles that rained harmlessly around my feet.

I didn’t slow down.

I stepped through the dust cloud, instantly closing the distance to Varkas.

He blinked, shocked that his attack had been casually backhanded.

Before he could cast again, I was inside his guard.

I didn’t punch him. I placed my hand on his shoulder.

"Down."

I released [Aura Dominion] at point-blank range.

It wasn’t a wave. It was a spike. A focused drill of pure will aimed directly at his spinal column.

Varkas’s eyes rolled back. His knees didn’t buckle; they smashed into the pavement.

CRUNCH.

He fell to his knees in front of me, gasping for air, his mana circuit temporarily paralyzed by the shock.

I leaned down, my face inches from his.

"You wanted a toll?" I whispered, loud enough for the silent crowd to hear. "Here is your toll: I’m letting you keep your teeth."

I stood up and stepped over him. 𝙧𝙚𝙚𝔀𝒆𝓫𝓷𝙤𝓿𝒆𝙡.𝒄𝙤𝓶

"Move," I said to the line of Second Years blocking the gate.

They looked at their strongest defender, kneeling and drooling on the ground. They looked at me.

They moved.

The wall of students parted like the Red Sea.

I walked through the archway, into the cool shadows of the Colosseum tunnel.

Behind me, the First Years erupted into cheers. They surged forward, following my wake, trampling the morale of the seniors into the dirt.

"Show off," Seraphina muttered as she caught up to me, though she was smirking.

"Efficient," I corrected. "I didn’t want to waste stamina on a doorstop."

We entered the arena.

The stands were packed. Not just with students, but with VIPs. I saw the banners of the great guilds. I saw scouts from the Hunter Association.

And in the center of the arena, on a raised dais, sat the Student Council.

Arthur Pendragon sat on the central throne. He wore a cloak of deep crimson. His greatsword was stabbed into the floor beside him.

He watched me enter.

His expression didn’t change. He didn’t look angry about Varkas. He didn’t look impressed.

He looked bored.

Evelyn Whitehound walked to the center of the arena, her voice amplified by magic.

"The gauntlet is broken," she announced. "The Selection Trials will now commence."

She pointed to the massive crystal screen floating above the arena.

"The format is simple. Duel. Winner takes the spot. Loser goes to the bench."

The screen flickered. The names randomized.

The first match appeared.

[Match 1]

[Eric William (1st Year) VS Sarah Vane (2nd Year)]

The crowd buzzed. Sarah Vane. A relative of the Gravity Councilor. A wind mage known for her cruelty.

Eric stepped into the arena, his white uniform gleaming. He looked up at the stands, then at me.

He drew his sword.

"Watch closely, Wilson," he mouthed.

I leaned back against the wall of the waiting tunnel.

"I’m watching," I whispered.

But my mind was already on 7:00 PM.

The war had started. But for now, I just had to survive the day so I could make it to dinner.

(To be continued)