The Extra's Rise-Chapter 94: New Year’s Party II

As we waited in the living room, the soft hum of approaching voices and footsteps signaled the arrival of more guests. Rachel excused herself to greet them, leaving Aria and me to exchange a quick look—her wide-eyed excitement a stark contrast to my practiced calm.

Lucifer Windward was the first to enter, his polished demeanor as striking as always. His forest-green suit complemented his vivid verdant eyes, giving him an air of effortless regality. He strode into the room with the kind of presence that made everyone unconsciously straighten up, his gaze cool and sharp as it swept across the room.

"Arthur," he greeted, his tone measured but respectful. "Good to see you again."

"Lucifer," I nodded in return, feeling the usual undercurrent of rivalry between us. There was no malice—just the unspoken acknowledgment of our positions and the gap I was steadily closing.

Ian Viserion arrived next, his golden eyes warm and friendly as he offered Rachel a polite bow. Dressed in a navy-blue suit with subtle dragon-scale embroidery, he looked every inch the Southern prince, yet his relaxed demeanor made him far more approachable than his appearance suggested.

"Arthur!" Ian greeted me with a wide grin, clapping me on the back. "Still standing strong, huh? You're making it harder for the rest of us to keep up."

"You'll manage," I replied with a faint smirk. Ian's lightheartedness was a welcome change from Lucifer's composed intensity.

"I'm sure I will," Ian said, his grin widening. "Though I can't wait to see how this party goes. Something tells me it's going to be... lively."

Ren Kagu entered shortly after, his sharp purple eyes immediately honing in on me like a hawk spotting prey. He wore a simple black suit with a crimson tie, his stark white hair lending him an almost spectral appearance. Unlike Ian, Ren's presence carried a weight of calculated precision. He didn't smile, but there was an unmistakable intensity in his gaze.

"So," Ren said, his tone clipped, "still holding up after mid-terms, Arthur? Or did I leave you in pieces?"

"You tried," I replied evenly, meeting his gaze without flinching. Ren's lips twitched, almost forming a smile, but he quickly suppressed it. There was no warmth in his demeanor—only the fierce drive of someone who thrived on competition.

Jin Ashbluff followed shortly after, his stoic presence as unyielding as ever. His dark suit was understated, almost austere, yet it suited him perfectly. Jin's ice-blue eyes were cool and detached, scanning the room as if cataloging every detail. He gave a curt nod to Rachel, then to me, before finding a quiet corner to observe in silence.

Cecilia Slatemark was next, her entrance as dramatic as one might expect. Her crimson dress shimmered like molten fire, drawing every eye in the room. Her ruby-red gaze flicked to me for a brief moment, her lips curling into a smirk before she turned her attention to Rachel.

"Ray-Ray," Cecilia said, spinning slightly to show off her dress. "You've outdone yourself. This party already feels scandalously perfect."

Rachel smiled politely, though there was a slight edge to her expression. "Thank you, Cecilia. I'm glad you approve."

Finally, Seraphina Zenith entered the room, and the atmosphere shifted immediately. Her silver dress, accented with intricate black detailing, shimmered like starlight. The design matched my suit almost perfectly—a detail that didn't go unnoticed by anyone in the room.

Ian, ever the one to lighten the mood, raised an eyebrow and grinned. "Well, well," he said, his golden eyes flicking between me and Seraphina. "Matching outfits? That's a bold choice. Coordinating with Seraphina of all people, Arthur? Impressive."

Before I could respond, Seraphina did something entirely unexpected. She smiled—a faint, barely-there curve of her lips, but a smile nonetheless.

The room collectively froze. Rachel's bright smile faltered for just a fraction of a second, a subtle crack in her usual composure. Cecilia's ruby-red eyes narrowed slightly, her expression unreadable as she crossed her arms and leaned against the wall, her gaze lingering on me.

"Coincidence," I said quickly, trying to dispel the tension. "It's just a coincidence."

"Is it?" Cecilia asked, her tone light but pointed. Seraphina's ice blue gaze flicked to Cecilia briefly, then back to me, her faint smile vanishing as quickly as it had appeared.

Rachel stepped forward, her voice warm and steady as she addressed everyone. "Well, it's lovely regardless. Everyone looks amazing tonight. Let's make this a party to remember."

The tension eased slightly as Rachel's words redirected the focus, but I couldn't shake the feeling that something unspoken was simmering beneath the surface. Seraphina's rare smile, Rachel's fleeting crack, Cecilia's narrowed gaze—it all felt like the prelude to something far more complex than a simple party.

"Let's grab some drinks," Ian suggested, clapping me on the shoulder. "I need to see what kind of spread the Creighton estate puts on for an occasion like this."

As the group began to mingle, I caught Seraphina retreating to a quiet corner of the room, her serene expression firmly back in place.

'Why are all of them being annoying and betraying my expectations? And where did Seraphina even come from with that outfit?' I thought, trailing after Ian like a bemused spectator of a play where the script had been tossed out the window.

We made our way to the bar where a perfectly polished bartender stood waiting. The faint hum of quiet chatter and the clinking of glasses filled the space as Ian leaned casually against the counter, his golden eyes shimmering with that insufferably easygoing confidence of his.

"You know," Ian began, motioning for two mocktails because apparently being underage didn't mean we couldn't pretend to be classy, "you're truly amazing."

I blinked at him. "I am?"

"Of course, of course," he said with a grin that made it clear he thought I was being deliberately modest. "In strategy, you're already a league above the rest of us. But I'm talking about something bigger than that. Even Lucifer's starting to feel the heat, thanks to you."

He grabbed his drink—a tall, vibrant concoction that somehow managed to look pretentious despite the lack of alcohol—and took a slow sip, watching me over the rim of the glass. "You're doing something very dangerous, you know."

I tilted my head slightly, waiting for him to elaborate, but Ian, being Ian, seemed to delight in dragging out the suspense.

"Well," he finally said, swirling his drink like it held the secrets of the universe, "everybody can see it. Including Lucifer. And let's be honest—Lucifer's not the type to play dirty. He'll let you grow, let you build yourself up, and then, just when you think you're ready, he'll crush you. Completely. Probably in the Sovereign's Tournament."

"I'm not trying to replace him," I replied, my voice steady but my grip tightening on my glass.

Ian chuckled, leaning in slightly. "Perhaps not. But that's what it looks like, my friend. And perception, as they say, is reality." His grin softened, but his golden eyes burned with a rare intensity. "I'll admit, Lucifer's... fixation on destiny and the weight of being the so-called Second Hero isn't exactly healthy. But still... he's Lucifer Windward."

The name hung in the air like a challenge. Lucifer Windward. A talent that surpassed even Julius Slatemark, the founder of the Empire, and Liam Kagu, the first Hero. A man so prodigious that the world collectively decided he would save humanity before he'd even reached adulthood. The Second Hero.

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"I don't want people to play roles they think they have to," I said, my voice quieter now, though no less firm.

Ian arched an eyebrow, his grin returning, sharp and curious. "So you'll dethrone him?"

"If that's what it takes," I replied without hesitation.

Ian froze for a moment, his mocktail halfway to his lips. Then, slowly, he broke into a wide, delighted grin. "You," he said, pointing at me with his glass, "are the only person—other than Ren, of course—who hasn't completely given up on surpassing that monster. And honestly, I respect the hell out of that."

His laughter rang out as he clinked his glass against mine, his golden eyes practically glowing with amusement and something else—hope, maybe, or admiration. I wasn't sure, and frankly, I didn't care. What mattered was the path ahead.

Lucifer Windward might be the Second Hero. The world might expect him to carry the weight of destiny on his shoulders.

But I was Arthur Nightingale. And I had no intention of bowing to anyone else's script.