The Extra's Rise-Chapter 219: Rachel’s Sweet Sixteen (4)

Rachel’s past was a wound she covered with smiles. A gaping, festering thing hidden beneath layers of bright laughter and boundless energy.

Unlike Seraphina, whose trauma had been shaped by loss, Rachel’s had been carved into her by the very person meant to protect her—her mother, Isolde Creighton.

Isolde, a Seer, had been gifted with Foresight. A Gift that should have been a blessing, but instead, it had driven her to madness. She had seen something—something so terrifying that it had broken her. The novel’s readers had long speculated about it, theorizing that she had glimpsed the world’s end. A future of unchecked destruction, of demons returning and miasmic species running rampant, wiping humanity from existence.

Whatever she saw, it consumed her.

And Rachel, her own daughter, had been caught in the crossfire.

The bright-eyed child who had once adored her mother had learned fear instead.

That was why Rachel, despite being warm, despite being friendly, never let people truly in. She stood at the heart of a crowd, but there was always a line, an invisible wall she never let anyone cross. Because if the person who was supposed to love her the most had hurt her, then what stopped anyone else from doing the same?

Her father, Alastor Creighton, had eventually subdued Isolde, trapping her beneath an unending spell to keep her contained. But the scars had already been etched deep into Rachel’s soul.

And that was what she had to overcome.

She had to step beyond the fear, beyond the walls she had built around herself.

Because if she didn’t, she would never reach her true potential.

Her Gift, Saintess, was ridiculous. It made her light magic sharper, stronger, faster. It was the reason she was already at White-rank, the reason she was accelerating past her own limits.

But it wasn’t enough.

Her light wasn’t as pure as it could be.

And I knew exactly why.

In ancient times, light magic had been called divinity, dark magic abyssal. Those names had been abandoned centuries ago, discarded after too many wars, too much bloodshed. But light and dark mana were still unique, twisted in ways that regular mana wasn’t.

When I reached Integration-rank, my White Star would evolve, creating Purelight—a light beyond conventional mana.

My Black Star would do the same, turning into Deepdark—a darkness that wasn’t corrupt or evil, but something else entirely.

Rachel’s light should have been just as pure. It should have been blinding.

But something held her back.

She wasn’t choosing to shine. Not fully.

She was letting her Gift carry her forward, letting her instincts guide her.

But she was still hesitating.

In the novel, she scraped by when she reached Integration-rank. Her Gift compensated for the imperfection in her light, allowing her to keep pace with the other geniuses. But that flaw would remain.

I couldn’t let that happen.

Not when I could fix it.

Seraphina had confronted her past and stepped beyond it.

Now, it was Rachel’s turn.

And I was going to make sure she did.

Sleep had never come easily to me.

My mind never shut up, constantly spinning, chasing thoughts that tangled and knotted themselves into problems I didn’t have answers for. And tonight, it was worse.

Because tomorrow wasn’t just another day. It was Rachel’s birthday.

And if I wanted to help her face what was coming—the memories, the weight of it all—I couldn’t afford to make a mistake.

Seraphina’s trauma had been painful, but straightforward. I could guide her through it, force her to confront it. But Rachel?

Rachel was different.

She had built walls, not around her pain, but around herself. Seraphina’s sorrow was buried; Rachel’s was locked behind doors she refused to open. A misstep could send her running.

Or worse—shutting me out completely.

Lucifer had made that mistake in the novel. He had tried to force his way in, thinking brute honesty and sheer force of will could fix her. It hadn’t. It had only driven her further away.

I wasn’t going to be him.

I sighed and turned over, staring at the ceiling. Thinking wasn’t helping. I needed to calm down.

Then came the knock.

Soft, hesitant.

I sat up immediately, frowning. Who would—?

Before I could even process the thought, the door slid open, and a blur of gold hit my chest.

Rachel.

She clung to me, arms tight around my waist, fingers gripping my shirt like I might disappear.

"What’s wrong, Rach?" I asked, my voice softer than I expected.

She didn’t answer, just held on tighter.

I sighed, wrapping my arms around her and guiding us both inside, shutting the door behind us. Only then did I notice—her ears were damp.

She had been crying.

The realization twisted something in my chest. Rachel was always so bright, so alive. Seeing her like this, trembling against me, so small—

It made my heart ache.

I reached up and wiped away the lingering tears on her cheek. "Rachel," I murmured. "What happened?"

She shook her head, pressing her forehead against my shoulder. "I didn’t mean to come," she mumbled, her voice thick. "I just… I had a bad dream."

I knew what it was.

Her mother.

It always came back to her mother.

She didn’t need to say it. I just held her, letting her cry, letting her be.

We sat like that on the edge of my bed, her body curled into mine, until the worst of it passed. Her breathing slowed, the tension in her shoulders easing just a little.

Finally, she pulled back, rubbing at her red-rimmed eyes with an embarrassed little sniff. "Sorry," she muttered. "I just… needed to see you."

"Don’t be sorry," I said, catching her hand before she could turn away. "I don’t know what you’re going through, Rach. But I want to be here. Even if all I can do is sit with you."

Her eyes met mine, wide and glistening.

Then she pushed me.

I yelped as I tumbled backward, landing flat against the mattress. Before I could react, she was on top of me, pinning me down, her golden hair cascading over us like a curtain.

"You’re unfair," she whispered.

I swallowed. "Uh—what?"

She pouted, her cheeks still damp but her lips twitching at the corners. "You’re unfair," she repeated, leaning down, her nose almost touching mine. "Making my life so hard while I’m trying not to like you."

My heart stuttered.

Then it started pounding.

Rachel’s hands curled into the fabric of my shirt, her body trembling with frustration, with something deeper, something raw.

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"You know, Arthur," she said, her voice steady despite the blush darkening her cheeks. "I may be the future Saintess, but I’m a girl too."

She exhaled sharply, her sapphire eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that sent a jolt through my chest.

"I like you. I told you I like you. And you said you like me too." Her fingers tightened, almost like she was grounding herself. "You want me to wait. Fine. I accept it. But—"

Her voice wavered.

"But—"

She shuddered, her breath hitching, and then suddenly—she snapped.

"Then don’t be like this!" she blurted, eyes burning, frustration spilling out like a dam breaking. "Don’t be so goddamn charming—so nice, so handsome and hot—I can’t stop looking at you, you idiot! If you’re going to be so effortlessly, stupidly attractive, then just—just—do me!"

I blinked.

Hard.

Words failed me, and for the first time in a long time, my brain just… stopped working.

Rachel, however, was far from finished.

"A-are you just leading me on?" she asked, turning her face away, her voice suddenly quieter, more fragile. "Do you not care about me like I do for you? Is this all just funny to you? That you have four girls who—who most guys would die for, all of them in love with you? That it’s all just handed to you?"

Her breath hitched, and she shook her head. "I don’t know what to do, Arthur."

"Rach—" I tried, but she cut me off with a finger pressed firmly to my lips.

"No," she whispered, her eyes locked onto mine, fierce and vulnerable all at once. "Shut up."

I stared at her, stunned.

"It’s already past midnight," she said, exhaling shakily. "Which means it’s my birthday." A small, shaky smile tugged at her lips, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. "And as the birthday girl, I get to do as I want."

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She leaned closer.

"So shut up, and let me talk."

I closed my mouth, because really, what else could I do?

Rachel took a breath, steadying herself. "The first person I thought of coming to, after waking up from that stupid nightmare again—wasn’t my father, or my sister. It was you."

Her grip on my shirt tightened. "You—even though you don’t know anything. You—even though I met you last, and those two are my family."

She swallowed hard, searching my face, eyes glossy and desperate.

"Tell me, genius—" her voice cracked, just slightly. "What do I do when my heart won’t stop racing every time I see you? When I turn into one of those helpless, lovesick idiots because of you? How am I supposed to control myself just because you have some mystery you need to figure out first?"

Her hands trembled. "It’s not fair."

I opened my mouth, not even sure what I was going to say, but she wasn’t finished.

"And you—you spent three weeks with Seraphina." Her breath came faster, her frustration threatening to spill over again. "She—all of them—" she shook her head, her fingers twisting in my shirt, "It’s not fair."

Her voice was shaking now, her composure crumbling. I could see it—the way she was barely holding herself together, the way her walls were cracking under the sheer weight of everything she was feeling.

I wanted to reach for her. I wanted to say something. But the moment I opened my mouth—

"Gah! Do you not know when to shut up?!" she groaned, glaring at me like I was the dumbest man alive.

Then, suddenly, her expression shifted. Her lips parted slightly. Her gaze darkened.

She tilted her head, considering something.

And then, very softly, almost like she was testing the words—she whispered, "I should teach you how to shut up."

Before I could even process what was happening, she leaned down.

A weight pressed against my chest.

Our noses brushed.

Her breath ghosted against my lips.

"This is my first time," she whispered, her voice barely more than a breath. "So don’t judge."

Then, before I could think, before I could breathe—her lips met mine.