The Extra is a Hero?-Chapter 236: THE GOLDEN TWELVE

Chapter 232: The Golden Twelve

The dinner with Maria ended not with a dramatic declaration, but with a quiet understanding.

We stood on the rooftop terrace of Ristorante Luna, the wind tugging at her silver dress and my suit. The city lights of Arcadia sprawled below us, a grid of mana and ambition.

"So," Maria said, leaning against the railing, her cheeks still faintly flushed from the wine. "The Dwarf Kingdom. The Ironhold."

"It’s going to be dangerous," I said, dropping the playful facade. "More dangerous than Sky Island. The Tournament attracts the world, Maria. And where the world gathers, shadows lengthen."

She turned to me, her eyes sharp. "You’re not talking about the competition."

"I’m talking about the things that watch the competition." I adjusted my cufflinks. "Keep your guard up. Even when the cameras are off."

She studied me for a moment, then nodded. "I will. Thank you for the dinner, Michael. It was... real."

"I aim to please."

We parted ways there. No kiss. No hug. Just a lingering look that said more than a thousand sonnets.

In the game, this was the moment the "Ice Queen" route unlocked. But I wasn’t playing for routes. I was playing for survival. And having an S-Rank Ice Mage who genuinely trusted me was the best life insurance money couldn’t buy.

[Three Days Later – The Grand Colosseum]

The Selection Trials concluded with the brutality of a sledgehammer.

Over the next two days, the "Golden Generation" of the First Year tore through the Second Year ranks.

It wasn’t a total sweep—the seniors were experienced, and their average mana density was higher—but the peaks of our class were simply too high.

Leon Lionheart defeated three D-Rank seniors in a row, his White Flame burning so hot the judges had to reinforce the barriers.

Eric William fenced a duel against a C-Rank Speedster and won by predicting every single movement, his [Light Arts] dazzling the crowd.

Lyra Braveheart blew up half the arena to secure her spot.

Aiden Stromfang, despite his injuries from Sky Island, utilized a berserker style that overwhelmed a Second Year shield-bearer.

And me?

I won my remaining matches without drawing Draken. A well-placed tripwire here, a telekinetic nudge there, a burst of [Aura Dominion] to rattle a caster’s concentration.

I fought like a ghost. I didn’t overpower them; I dismantled them.

By Friday, the dust had settled. The healers were working overtime, and the arena floor was scorched, frozen, and cracked.

Fifty students stood in the center of the Colosseum. The winners. The losers. The hopefuls.

Evelyn Whitehound walked onto the dais. She held a scroll sealed with the Academy’s crest.

Beside her stood Arthur Pendragon.

The Captain of the Team.

He looked exactly as he had in the library—bored, imposing, and utterly unbothered by the violence that had just occurred. He hadn’t fought. He didn’t need to. His spot was guaranteed by the virtue of being the strongest student in the school.

"The Trials are concluded," Evelyn announced, her voice echoing in the silent arena. "The judges have deliberated. We have analyzed combat data, adaptability, mana reserves, and psychological resilience."

She unrolled the scroll.

"The following twelve students will represent Arcadia Hunter Academy at the Grand Convergence Tournament in the Kingdom of Nidavellir."

The air left the room. Hearts pounded.

"Captain," Evelyn read. "Arthur Pendragon (2nd Year, Class A)."

Arthur didn’t blink. He just stared at the crowd.

"Vice-Captain," Evelyn continued. "Varkas (2nd Year, Class A)."

A murmur went through the First Years. Varkas. The guy I had humiliated at the gate. He stood up, his jaw set, glaring at me. He had fought his way back through the loser’s bracket with a terrifying display of Earth magic, proving that his loss to me was... a fluke? Or so he told himself.

"Member. Gareth ’The Wall’ (2nd Year, Class A)."

The tank I had flicked. He grunted, crossing his massive arms.

"Member. Elara Vance (2nd Year, Class A)."

A Wind Mage senior, cousin to our Kaelen, known for her aerial mobility.

"Member. Jax (2nd Year, Class B)."

A Rogue specialist.

"That concludes the Second Year selection," Evelyn said. "Five slots."

She looked at us. The First Years. 𝒇𝙧𝙚𝓮𝔀𝓮𝒃𝙣𝓸𝒗𝒆𝒍.𝙘𝒐𝒎

"Now, the Junior Division representatives."

"Member. Leon Lionheart (1st Year)."

Cheers erupted. Leon stepped forward, bowing humbly.

"Member. Eric William (1st Year)."

Eric nodded, accepting his due.

"Member. Michael Wilson (1st Year)."

The cheers were mixed with whispers. The "Cursed King." The Anomaly. I stepped forward, hands in pockets, standing next to Leon.

"Member. Maria Frostheart (1st Year)."

She walked up, cool and elegant.

"Member. Lyra Braveheart (1st Year)."

Lyra pumped her fist.

"Member. Aiden Stromfang (1st Year)."

Aiden grinned, high-fiving Lyra.

"And finally," Evelyn said, looking at the last name. "Seraphina Croft (1st Year). Designated Marksman."

Seraphina let out a breath she had been holding for three days. She stepped forward, completing the lineup.

"These twelve," Evelyn declared, "are the blade of Arcadia. You have one month to prepare. We leave for the Iron hold on the first of next month."

She turned to Arthur.

"Captain. They are yours."

Arthur Pendragon stepped forward. He walked down the steps of the dais, his heavy boots thudding on the sand with a slow, deliberate rhythm.

He stopped in front of us. He towered over Leon. He loomed over me.

He looked at the line of seven First Years and four Second Years behind him, his expression flat.

"A joke," Arthur said. His voice wasn’t a growl; it was just a statement of fact.

"Five seniors. Seven freshers. The Faculty isn’t building a team; they’re chasing headlines."

He turned his grey eyes to Leon.

"You have a lot of firepower, Lionheart. I saw the footage. But you burn out too fast. In a tournament, if you can’t go twelve rounds, you’re just a liability."

He shifted his gaze to Eric.

"And you, William. You’re fast. But you have no weight behind your strikes. Speed is useless if you can’t break a guard."

Finally, he looked at me.

The gravity around me increased, pressing down on my shoulders like a heavy hand. He was testing me. Again.

"And you," Arthur said, his voice dropping an octave. "The ’strategist.’ You think you can outsmart a spear to the throat? The Imperial Institute doesn’t fall for parlor tricks, Wilson. They don’t play games. They just break things."

I didn’t buckle. I let my own aura push back—just enough to keep my spine straight.

"Then I guess I’ll have to break them first," I said calmly.

Arthur’s eyes narrowed, searching for fear and finding none. He scoffed, a short, dismissive sound.

"War Room. Ten minutes," he commanded, turning his back on us. "If you’re late, you can walk to the Ironhold."

He marched toward the exit, his red cape swirling behind him.

Varkas and the other Second Years followed, shooting us dirty looks, but they didn’t say a word. Their Captain had spoken.

"Friendly guy," Aiden muttered, rubbing his neck where the gravity pressure had lingered.

"He’s right, though," Leon said, his voice serious as he watched Arthur leave. "He’s strong. Ridiculously strong."

"He’s arrogant," Eric corrected, sheathing his sword with a sharp click. "But for now, he’s the Captain."

Eric looked at me.

"We have to work with him, Wilson."

"We don’t have to work with him," I said, watching Arthur’s retreating back. "We just have to win beside him."

I checked my quest log.

[Main Quest Updated: The Grand Convergence]

[Objective: Place 1st in the Tournament.]

[Side Objective: Secure the Trust of the Dwarf King.]

[Warning: Cult Activity Detected in the Northern Sector.]

"Let’s go," I said to the team. "The mountain is waiting."

(To be continued)