The Extra is a Genius!?-Chapter 105: Preparation Begins

The sunlight filtering through the window was gentle—no harsh heat, just the quiet warmth of early spring. The kind that settled on the wooden floor without demanding attention.

Noel lay on his bed, one arm behind his head, the other resting over Noir’s belly. The little shadow wolf was sprawled upside down, legs in the air, tail flicking slightly each time Noel’s fingers scratched a new spot.

’That went better than I expected,’ he thought, staring at the ceiling. ’Didn’t think she’d actually give me permission to help. But I guess... when you’ve tried everything else, you start looking in places you never would’ve considered.’

He glanced down at Noir, still half-asleep.

’Right?’

He smiled faintly and resumed rubbing the small wolf’s stomach. Noir kicked a hind leg in response.

Noel’s fingers paused.

"...Hold on."

He looked again. Then squinted.

"You don’t have a—" He blinked once. "Yeah, definitely no pipe. So you’re a girl."

Noir opened one eye slowly.

"Well, good thing ’Noir’ works either way," he muttered. "Would’ve been awkward."

Noir let out a soft, half-formed howl—more of a squeaky whine than anything. Noel chuckled.

"I know. You’re doing your best."

He stood up and grabbed his coat.

"Wait here. I’ll be back with food."

The academy grounds were quiet that morning. Most students had already departed for their family estates, vacations, or spring travels. Noel made his way past the empty courtyards, hands in his pockets, coat loose over his shoulders.

But the training fields weren’t empty.

They never were—at least, not when Selene von Iskandar was around.

She stood alone in the middle of the open arena, surrounded by scattered practice dummies and shallow impact craters. Her breathing was steady. Controlled. She wore a fitted training uniform that hugged her frame for maximum movement. Her short blue hair was damp with sweat, and her cyan eyes burned with quiet intensity.

Noel stopped just outside the edge of the field.

"Hey, Selene."

She didn’t look at him. "Hey."

"You going home for spring break?"

She gave a small nod, still focused on her stance.

"Right... Can I ask you something?"

Selene paused mid-motion. "What is it?"

"I need an audience with your mother."

That got her attention. She turned to face him, eyebrow raised.

"My mother?"

"Yeah. I need to speak with her. It’s important."

Her gaze sharpened. "She doesn’t accept visitors lightly. What is this about?"

Noel didn’t flinch. "I need Frostpetals."

The shift was immediate.

Selene’s hand went to the wand at her side. She raised it without hesitation, eyes cold.

"How do you know about that?"

Noel stayed still. "I can’t tell you. But I’m guessing you’ve received a letter from Iskandar. One about an illness spreading through the region."

Her grip tightened. "How do you know that?"

"It’s happening in Estermont too," Noel said. "And you know you’re neighbors."

Selene didn’t lower the wand, but her expression shifted—wariness giving way to uncertainty, then to contemplation.

"I’m trying to make a cure."

A long pause.

"...I don’t know if she’ll agree," Selene said at last. "But I’ll tell her."

"That’s all I’m asking," Noel said. "Thanks."

He turned and walked away without waiting for more.

Noel descended the rear steps of the academy, slipping past the southern gate and into the city of Valon. The market was already waking up—vendors shouting, carts rolling over cobblestone, the distant strum of string instruments.

He walked without pause, ignoring the calls of merchants and street performers, until he reached a crumbling corner of the old district. A battered wooden sign hung above a crooked door. Drunken Hammer, it read—barely legible through the faded paint.

Inside, the air reeked of stale beer, sweat, and iron dust. A few men lay passed out on tables. Others argued over a crooked card game. Noel stepped through the chaos without a word.

A booming voice cut through the noise.

"Well, well, look who decided to show up. Coming to lose more money, kid?"

Noel allowed a faint smile. "Actually, I came to spend what I won. Remember that?"

Balthor grunted. "No need to bring up worthless memories. Come on, follow me."

He led him through a side door and down a creaky stairway into a cluttered, low-ceilinged room. Shelves leaned against one another, narrow aisles packed with crates, weapons dangling from the ceiling. Dust swirled in every beam of light.

"So?" Balthor asked, scratching his beard. "What is it this time?"

"I need something for dimensional storage. I have a lot to carry."

"Oho... sounds like a trip." Balthor’s eyes narrowed with curiosity. "Heading somewhere?"

"The north. The snowy mountains."

"Iskandar? You’ll need plenty of food, then... Ah, that explains the storage. Here—look at this."

He tossed Noel a small pouch. It looked like a coin purse at best.

"This?"

"Holds up to a hundred kilograms. Thirty gold."

"I’ll take it. Do you have any sleep grenades?"

"Now that’s more like it!" Balthor pulled out a wooden box and opened it with a grin. Inside were small, round black orbs.

"They look like marbles," Noel noted.

"They break on impact and release a black gas. Everything that breathes it in? Out like a light."

"How much?"

"Hundred gold each."

Noel blinked. "No student discount?"

Balthor stared at him, then let out a raspy laugh. "Student discount? What the hell is that? Of course not. Don’t tell me you’re short on gold."

"...I am."

"Hah! I knew it!"

"We can strike a deal."

"Oh? Let’s hear it."

"I’ll bring you exclusive, rare materials. Very rare. Come closer."

Balthor leaned in. Noel whispered something in his ear.

The dwarf froze... then his eyes widened.

"Deal. Deal! But if you’re bluffing, remember—I know where to find you."

"Yeah, yeah. Thanks, old man. I’ll see you when I get back."

Noel turned and left.

Balthor stood alone in his cluttered workshop, scratching the side of his head.

"That damn kid... he’s insane. Whatever he’s planning... it’s pure madness."

Noel pulled his cloak tighter as he stepped into the bustling butcher’s district of Valon. The scent of blood, smoked fat, and fresh cuts clung thick in the air. Vendors barked prices, waving meat in front of potential buyers, while others stacked crates of salted pork or flayed beef.

He moved between the crowd with ease, avoiding bloodstains and shouting merchants alike.

’Thirty gold left,’ he thought, tapping the pouch at his side. ’That should be enough for a month of rations. Just the basics.’

He stopped at a stall run by a broad-shouldered man wearing a stained apron. Large slabs of beef and pork hung behind him like trophies. The man looked up from his cleaver as Noel approached.

"Need meat. Beef and pork," Noel said. "Enough for two meals a day. One month."

The butcher eyed him. "For how many people?"

"One. And a half."

The man raised an eyebrow.

"The other one’s a wolf pup. She’s not picky, just eats a lot."

The butcher gave a grunt of acknowledgment and started wrapping thick cuts in waxed paper. "You’ll need water too," he said.

"I’m already getting that."

Once the meat was packed and paid for, Noel crossed over to a small shop tucked beneath an overhang. There, he bought a dozen sealed flasks of spring water and a few wrapped bundles of dried fruits and grain biscuits—cheap but long-lasting.

He tucked everything into the dimensional pouch Balthor had sold him, checking twice to make sure it was properly sealed.

’That should cover us for a month. Maybe a little more if I ration it.’

The city noise buzzed faintly behind him as he stepped out of the district, heading back toward the academy.

’Now to feed the little glutton before we leave.’

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