Transmigrated as an Extra: Awakening of The Ex‐Class'-Chapter 95 :School Festival part 5

So it was a difficult matter of pity. I didn’t believe in ideals as stupid as running at the cry of a damsel in distress. Amelia wasn’t a defenseless maiden, nor a flower that needed to be protected from the wind. She was a storm. But even storms have an eye, a center of brittle calm. At least I had to be there to support her. It was my responsibility as her friend and as the person who forced this situation.

She carried more than she let on. And she did it alone. Too alone. Perhaps in moments like these, she reminded me of myself.

Many avoided her because of her last name, because of the coldness with which she walked through the halls of the academy, because of that difficult personality that didn’t ask for permission or forgiveness. But beneath all that rigid facade, there was someone who was also suffering.

Amelia didn’t take her gaze off me. For a moment that seemed eternal, she stared at me with such intensity that it made me lose my breath. The anger had long since disappeared from her eyes... this time, something more was evident.

Finally, as if something inside her couldn’t be contained, she let out a barely audible sigh. Her hands, which had once tightly gripped my palms, began to loosen as if a crack had opened in the armor she always wore.

The sun, which was already beginning to set between the thin clouds and the light of the sunset, painted her face with golden and copper tones. A soft wind slipped between the hinges of the porch, making the strands of her reddish hair dance and slightly lifting some of its strands.

And then, in a low, barely perceptible voice, she said:

"Thank you."

That word, so simple, sounded like a spell. A little harsh, but full of sincerity. It was the sincerity of someone who didn’t expect support... and who still didn’t know if she deserved it.

I simply nodded. I said nothing more. There was no need to.

We stood there, in the middle of the gallery, bathed in the orange rays of the sunset. The filtering light cast our shadows softly on the tiles, as if the world had decided to grant us this brief moment of tranquility. Outside, the distant murmur of the festival continued, indifferent to what had just happened, as if life continued without stopping... but for us, time seemed to have stopped.

We knew that rumors would fly before the sun had fully set, that reports would reach the noble houses, that Amelia’s father would be notified, and that the Viscount’s daughter would not let this incident be forgotten, but... at this moment, none of that mattered.

I glanced at her. She slowly turned her gaze toward me. There was no sadness in those eyes, or at least I didn’t see it. There was only calm, perhaps a faint trace of tenderness. I dared to smile at her softly.

"You squeezed my hand too hard," I murmured, loud enough for her to hear.

Amelia blinked at this; she was visibly embarrassed. Color rose to her cheeks as if the sunset light had reached her and touched her insides.

"Shut up," she murmured, looking away. And then, as if trying to hide her embarrassment, she lightly punched me in the side with her closed fist. "...stupid!"

I laughed softly. This was the girl I knew. This was the Amelia I liked the most. Not the heiress of the feared guild, nor the cold and haughty mage, but the young woman behind that facade, the one who could still blush and react awkwardly when her guard was lowered. Although we had had few interactions, I’ve been able to see many sides of her.

"Hey, that hurt," I joked, rubbing my side exaggeratedly.

She looked at me again, struggling between leaving annoyed or giving in to the laughter that trembled on her lips. In the end, she just sighed, defeated by the warmth of the moment.

"You’re unbearable..." she said, but this time with a barely visible, genuine smile.

"And yet you didn’t let go of my hand."

"Because you’re a fool who doesn’t set boundaries," she whispered, lowering her voice, almost as if she didn’t want anyone to hear.

Her hand brushed against my fingers again, barely a touch at first, almost imperceptible as if it were involuntary. Then, slowly, she sought my palm with more precision, sliding with a smoothness and intention that contrasted completely with the strength with which she had held me before.

I didn’t push her away.

Nor did she.

She wasn’t looking at me anymore, nor was I, there was no need to. The silence said it all. It wasn’t the distant silence I had grown accustomed to in my world, in my room, but a softer, warmer one.

The gusts of wind that blew through grew stronger, gently caressing the corridors of the gallery, lifting the strands of our hair. In the distance, the sound of birds, previously drowned out by the festival music, was now more audible, as if even nature respected this moment of respite.

And for that moment, between everything that had happened... and everything that was yet to come...

At least for today, we could forget everything.

It was just her and me.

And the shared silence, which had accompanied us and listened to us even when we didn’t want it to.

The warmth of her hand in mine intensified. I couldn’t see my face or hers in those moments, but if we did, I was sure we’d find two red, blushing faces.

I don’t know how long we stayed like that. Maybe it was only seconds, minutes, or maybe even an hour... I couldn’t tell for sure; it just felt like a long time, too long. It was as if time had stopped for us. As if a small bubble had been created where we were no one but two people who, for some reason, had decided not to let go.