The Extra's Rise-Chapter 459: Mind Break (4)

"What?" Cecilia said, her voice sharp with surprise, like she’d bitten into something that wasn’t supposed to bite back. "What did you just say?"

The conference room fell silent, its stark lighting casting harsh shadows across the faces of everyone present. Professor Nero stood at the head of the table, his expression carefully neutral, hands clasped behind his back—the practiced pose of someone accustomed to delivering unwelcome news to volatile recipients.

"We’ve been granted a three-day extension by Lord Daedric," he repeated, slowly and clearly, as if announcing a weather delay and not an unfolding diplomatic mystery. "We’ll resume investigations for three more days, which will culminate in a formal festival hosted by the Palace."

Silence.

The kind that isn’t born from awe but from suspicion—heavy and charged, like the air before lightning strikes.

Rachel’s gaze narrowed. "Three days," she muttered, voice almost too quiet to hear. Her thoughts had already darted far ahead, landing squarely on the only person with enough influence—and gall—to arrange something like this. Alyssara Velcroix. Of course.

Rachel clenched her fist beneath the polished obsidian table, feeling her nails bite into her palm. There was no doubt in her mind. Alyssara had done this too.

The other girls didn’t need to say anything. Rachel caught their glances across the table—Seraphina’s subtle nod, her silver eyes calculating; Rose’s brief tightening of her jaw, fingers curling around her datapad until her knuckles whitened; Cecilia’s narrowed crimson glare burning with the intensity of a dying star. All thinking the same thing.

The Southern Sea Sun Palace’s Advisor, Alyssara Velcroix—the woman wrapped in riddles, velvet words, and veiled threats—had, in one graceful move, completely disrupted everything again. The same woman who had somehow driven Arthur to the brink, twisted him into a mana-deviated storm they’d barely managed to restrain. And now this.

An extension. A festival. A delay. And for what?

It wasn’t generosity.

It was maneuvering.

"Is there anything else we should know about this... festival?" Seraphina asked, her voice cool and measured, betraying nothing of the suspicion Rachel knew she harbored.

Professor Nero shook his head. "Details are still forthcoming. I’m told the official announcement will come tomorrow morning. Lord Daedric seemed... pleased with the arrangement."

"Pleased," Rose echoed, the word hanging in the air like a challenge. "How unexpected."

Professor Nero’s eyes flicked briefly to her, then away. "That’s all I have for now. I suggest you all use these additional days wisely."

With that, the briefing ended. The professor gathered his notes with mechanical precision and departed, leaving behind a room thick with unspoken questions.

No one suggested a meeting.

They didn’t need to.

There were no spoken invitations. No messages. Just an unspoken agreement formed from shared looks and mutual dread.

Rachel’s room, as always.

It had become the unofficial war room for matters involving Arthur. And lately, those were the only matters worth discussing.

Rachel kicked her door shut behind them, the magnetic locks engaging with a soft hiss.

She sat down with a sigh, her boots kicked off in the middle of the floor, eyes staring at nothing. The setting sun spilled orange light through the western windows, painting stripes across the utilitarian furnishings. From somewhere outside came the distant sound of training drills—life continuing as normal, despite everything.

"It’s always my room," she said wearily, running a hand through her auburn hair.

"Deal with it, Ray-Ray," Cecilia shot back, flopping onto the couch like she owned it, her long legs dangling over the armrest.

"Don’t fight," Seraphina said, voice cutting through the tension like a scalpel through silk. She stood by the window, silhouetted against the sunset, her silver hair capturing the dying light. "This is important."

That shut them up.

Because, yes, of course it was. Of course it was important.

But that didn’t make it easier to accept.

Rose settled into a chair near Rachel’s desk, her movements precise and controlled. Of the four, she appeared the most composed, but Rachel knew better. The slight tightness around her eyes, the way she kept her spine too straight—Rose was wound tight as a coiled spring.

"Has anyone been allowed to see him?" Rose asked, breaking the heavy silence.

Rachel shook her head. "Medical wing’s locked down. Director Voss won’t even let me in—says Arthur’s condition is ’delicate.’" The word tasted bitter on her tongue.

None of them had seen Arthur lose control like that. Not ever. He was the anchor in chaos, the calm in battle, the one who always had a plan—usually a terrifying one that worked better than it had any right to.

But not this time.

This time, he’d cracked.

And not because of war. Not because of enemies.

Because of her.

Because of Alyssara Velcroix.

And that made it worse.

Because the enemy wasn’t something they could punch or blast or stab. It was subtle. Wrapped in silk and lips that smiled while slipping daggers between your ribs.

And none of them knew how to fight that. Not yet.

"Who the hell is she?" Cecilia said, sitting up abruptly, pacing like she was deciding which wall to punch first. Her crimson eyes flashed in the fading light, power rippling beneath her skin like barely contained lightning. "How—how can she mess with Arthur’s head that much?"

She didn’t shout. Not really. But the force behind her voice was enough to rattle the windows slightly—possibly out of sympathy.

No one answered right away.

Because what could they say?

There was no easy explanation for Alyssara Velcroix. She was beautiful, yes. Charismatic, certainly. But this wasn’t infatuation. This wasn’t a teenage crush spun out of control. Arthur wasn’t weak-minded—Arthur didn’t break. And yet he had. Shattered like porcelain under pressure.

"Something’s not right about all this," Rachel said suddenly, her voice cutting through the tense silence. "The timing is too perfect."

Three pairs of eyes focused on her intently.

"What do you mean?" Seraphina asked.

Rachel stood, pacing a tight circle. "Think about it. Two days ago, Alyssara corners Arthur in the West Corridor. Yesterday, he has his... episode. Today, we get this mysterious extension and festival announcement."

Cecilia froze mid-pace. "You think she planned all of it?" Her voice had lost its edge, replaced by something dangerously close to concern.

Rachel nodded. "It’s too coordinated to be coincidence."

"But what could she possibly gain?" Rose whispered. "What’s her endgame with Arthur?"

Seraphina sat silently with her arms crossed, eyes narrowed in thought. Her fingers tapped a complex rhythm against her arm—a nervous habit she’d never fully conquered.

"She has an agenda," Seraphina concluded. "The extension, the festival... she’s creating opportunities. But for what?"

Rose’s lips were pressed into a thin line, fingers drumming restlessly against the side of her leg. "Access," she suggested. "To Arthur, to us, to something in the Palace itself."

Rachel said nothing, her gaze fixed somewhere between memory and anger. The sunset had faded, leaving the room in twilight gloom.

Then came a knock.

They all looked up, instantly alert. Four pairs of eyes locked on the door like it had personally insulted them.

Cecilia’s hands ignited with a subtle crimson glow. Seraphina shifted her weight, ready to move. Rose had somehow produced a slender blade from nowhere.

Rachel stood, signaling the others to stay back. She moved to the door with the deliberate caution of someone approaching an unexploded mine.

"Identify," she demanded, voice flat.

"It’s Lucifer," came the reply, muffled through the door.

Rose got up, joining Rachel at the door. She moved with the kind of cautious grace that suggested she fully expected something on the other side to explode. With a soft hiss of magnetic locks disengaging, the door slid open.

Her brown eyes widened slightly. "Lucifer?"

He stood in the hallway, tall and composed in his academy uniform, dark hair falling across one eye. His expression was unreadable, but there was a tension in the line of his shoulders that Rachel recognized immediately.

"I figured you’d all be here," he said, standing just outside, posture calm and unreadable as always. "Mind if I come in?"

Rose glanced back. A brief, silent conversation passed between the four women. Rachel nodded once—tight, reluctant, but definite.

Rose stepped aside. "Fine. Come in."

Lucifer walked in with the careful energy of someone entering a room filled with armed negotiators. Which, technically, he was.

"You’re probably talking ab—"

"Hey, stalker," Cecilia cut in, glaring at him with all the fire of a volcanic political scandal. "How the hell did you know we were meeting here?"

Lucifer blinked, momentarily disarmed by the sheer volume of chaos packed into one crimson-eyed princess. He’d forgotten how... intense Cecilia was when not distracted by Arthur.

She’d mellowed a bit after falling for him. Or maybe just redirected the madness in his direction. Either way, it was easy to forget that under the charm and teasing and slightly-terrifying fondness, Cecilia Slatemark was also utterly, unapologetically dangerous.

"In my defense," Lucifer said, hands raised as though fending off divine judgment, "it was fairly obvious you were all rattled by the announcement and Arthur’s... incident."

He paused, then added: "Also, I asked Deia to confirm it."

"You’re that close with her?" Seraphina asked, arching an eyebrow.

Lucifer nodded without hesitation. "She respects bluntness. I’m very blunt."

Rachel crossed her arms, her gaze narrowing slightly, but she said nothing. In the quiet that followed, she reached over and activated the room’s lights. Warm illumination chased away the shadows, revealing the concern etched on Lucifer’s usually impassive face.

"What do you want?" Rachel finally asked, voice flat.

Lucifer exhaled and looked around at the four of them. "Look. I’m not here to make trouble. I came because... I think you need to hear something. All of you."

His voice wasn’t cold. But it was steady. Too steady.

And that was the first sign that what he was about to say wasn’t going to be good.