The Extra's Rise

Arthur sighed, the weight of the entire evening pressing down on him like an unshakable burden. He lay there, head in Rose's lap, staring up at the soft glow of the venue's chandeliers filtering through the trees. He had just been yanked through a full-scale royal skirmish, his existence fought over like some kind of mythical artifact, and now… now Rose was casually patting his head as if he were a particularly exhausted cat.

"Arthur," she said, voice gentle, "you feel bad about this, right?"

He exhaled slowly. "Yeah."

She hummed thoughtfully, her fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns through his hair. "I get it," she said, nodding to herself. "It's because you think it's unfair."

Arthur glanced up at her. "It is unfair."

"Is it?" Rose tilted her head, considering. "I don't think it is. I mean, each of us has our own unique advantage, you know."

Arthur blinked. "Unique advantage?"

"Mhm." Rose's lips curled into a knowing smile. "Cecilia is sexy and seductive. Rachel is energetic and seductive. Seraphina is icy and seductive."

Arthur frowned. "Why does seductive keep showing up?"

Rose chuckled, the sound light and teasing. "Because all three of them are super possessive over you." She tapped his forehead playfully. "They don't even realize how much."

Arthur groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "Gods above."

"Exactly," Rose said, laughing. "Meanwhile, I'm different. I like you just as much as they do, but I don't get possessive like the princesses." She stretched her arms behind her head, eyes twinkling with something he couldn't quite place. "So, that's my advantage."

Arthur turned his head slightly to look at her properly. "You're saying not being possessive is your strength?"

Rose grinned. "Think about it." Her fingers brushed against his temple, slow and deliberate. "I'm not as elegant as Seraphina, not as bold as Cecilia, and I don't have Rachel's, um… heat—" she hesitated, cheeks tinging pink for the first time that night before quickly recovering, "—but I have something none of them do."

Arthur raised an eyebrow. "And what's that?"

"I want you to be happy," Rose said simply. "Not just with me. Just… happy."

Arthur froze.

Rose smiled softly, leaning down slightly so that her face was just above his. "If being with all four of us makes you happy, then I want that too." Her gaze held his, unwavering, steady. "As long as you're smiling, as long as you're happy—that's enough for me."

Arthur's throat felt tight. No one had ever said something like that to him before.

"You think the others don't see it the same way?" he asked after a moment, his voice quieter than before.

Rose sighed, shaking her head slightly. "They do," she admitted, "but not in the same way."

She lifted a hand, scratching her cheek, clearly choosing her next words carefully. "I know them well enough to tell you this: they want you to be happy, but they want to be the only reason you're happy." Her lips pressed into a small, wry smile. "Because they're perfect princesses, they've never had to think otherwise. They don't realize that happiness doesn't work that way."

Arthur stared at her.

She met his gaze, unflinching.

And just like that, everything clicked.

She understood.

Not just the situation. Not just him.

She understood all of them.

And that, in itself, was terrifying.

"But they can," Rose nodded, her fingers still tracing absentminded circles against Arthur's temple. "Since they want you to be happy, I believe they'll get there. They just… might push the boundaries a bit first."

Arthur sighed, though there was a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "That's one way to put it."

Rose hummed in agreement, then tilted her head slightly. "They're used to getting what they want, Arthur. And what they want—" her fingers moved to lightly pinch his cheek, "—is you."

Arthur winced, rubbing the spot. "I noticed."

She laughed softly, the sound warm and familiar. "You'll survive."

He gave her a look. "Will I?"

Her smile widened. "Probably."

Arthur shook his head, amused despite himself. "You're too mature about this."

"Well, someone has to be." Rose grinned. "And besides…" Her voice dipped, her touch lingering just a second longer. "I want you too, Arthur."

The words were quiet but certain. There was no teasing in them, no game. Just a truth spoken simply.

Arthur swallowed.

Then, before he could say anything, Rose leaned in.

A soft brush of lips, a feather-light warmth pressing against his own. The world seemed to still for a moment, her breath mingling with his. Then, just as quickly, she pulled back, a playful glint in her eyes.

"Do you like my lap pillow?" she whispered.

Arthur blinked, still processing. "What?"

"I know it's not like Rachel's," she continued, voice light, teasing. "You don't have to lie."

Arthur scoffed. "Doesn't matter."

"Oh?" Rose raised an eyebrow.

"It's yours," Arthur said simply. "And I like you."

For the first time that night, Rose's composure cracked.

A flush bloomed across her cheeks, spreading down to the tips of her ears.

Then, in a very un-Rose-like moment, she actually giggled.

"You're too charming for your own good," she muttered, tilting her head to the side as if to hide her expression.

Arthur smirked. "I'm just telling the truth."

"That's the problem," she sighed dramatically. "You make it too easy to fall for you."

Arthur chuckled, relaxing slightly. "Good."

Rose huffed, but there was no real annoyance behind it.

Just warmth.
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Cecilia stared at Nate, the Imperial Knight, with the patience of someone who knew they would get their way in the end.

"Find him," she said, voice sweet but laced with steel.

Nate hesitated. "Your Highness, we are in Mythos Academy," he tried, though his tone lacked any real conviction.

Cecilia blinked.

Then, she smiled.

It was a dazzling thing, bright and warm, the kind of smile that could make hearts race and kingdoms kneel.

It was also terrifying.

Still smiling, she made a small slicing motion across her neck, her crimson eyes never once breaking contact with Nate's own.

The Imperial Knight sighed, shoulders slumping.

He didn't need words to understand the threat.

He looked at Luke, the seven-circle mage from the Creighton family. Their gazes met, and a silent conversation passed between them.

'You too?'

'Yeah.'

'Damn.'

'Gotta work for the merits.'

'But still…'

Nate exhaled, rubbing the bridge of his nose before activating his senses.

An Ascendant-ranker like him could find anyone in the Academy, Gift or no Gift. And sure enough—there. A ripple of mana, faint but distinct.

The mage sensed it too. They shared another glance.

Then, without another word, both of them moved, leaving trails of raw mana in their wake as they shot forward.

Behind them, Cecilia and Rachel followed, their presence more like a gathering storm than a pair of teenage girls chasing their shared boyfriend.

"Sorry about this," Nate muttered as he swung his astral blade, his tone resigned.

"Don't worry," Luke replied as he blocked it with a flick of his staff. "I get it."

Nate gave him a grateful nod.

Neither of them wanted to be doing this, but when the princesses gave an order, the only thing worse than obeying was not obeying.

Ahead of them, the air shifted, the scent of flowers thickening. The world itself seemed to ripple, blue petals floating unnaturally through the air.

"Supernatural," Luke murmured, eyes narrowing.

Nate nodded grimly.

They had found Rose.

Just as they prepared to move, another powerful presence descended. The Mount Hua Elder landed gracefully, his robes barely disturbed by the wind.

The three men—knight, mage, and elder—shared a look.

Then, without hesitation, they attacked each other.

The air split as their weapons clashed. The sheer force of their blows cracked the earth, sending arcs of mana rippling through the field of blue flowers. Every strike was careful—controlled. None of them wanted to be the one responsible for actual destruction. This was a contest of superiority, not a real battle.

Or at least, it was.

Until someone stepped between them.

Nate's eyes widened as his sword came down.

A flash of movement—effortless, precise.

Parried.

The strike that should have landed was deflected with almost insulting ease.

On his other side, Luke's staff was knocked off-course, forced back before the spell could fully form.

And the Mount Hua Elder? He had stopped moving entirely, his gaze fixed on the one who had interrupted them.

Arthur.

Arthur, standing calmly in the middle of three Ascendant-rankers, looking vaguely annoyed.

For a split second, none of them moved.

Then, reality crashed back down on them all at once.

Luke felt the weight of a presence behind him—Erebus, the Lich, standing ominously at Arthur's back. A flicker of mana, a silent promise of retaliation.

Nate gritted his teeth, adjusting his stance. He could break out of this, easily. Any of them could.

But they wouldn't.

Not because Arthur had overpowered them.

But because of the simple, undeniable fact that hurting him—the boy who had somehow bewitched not one, not two, but three princesses—was equivalent to signing their own death warrants.

Their lives were already difficult enough.

No need to add execution-by-royalty to the list.