The Extra is a Genius!?-Chapter 149: Echoes in the Confessional

The golden light of the late afternoon spilled across the courtyard as Charlotte finished helping with the last of the children’s games. She was brushing some dust off her skirt when Noel approached her from behind.

"Oh? Pervert? It’s you?"

Noel sighed. "I’m not even going to ask how that nickname stuck."

Charlotte gave him a sunny, innocent smile. "You earned it. What do you want?"

"I need to ask you something," he said, his tone calm but serious. "Is there a confessional room in the church?"

Charlotte blinked. "Of course there is. Why?"

"I was thinking of using it."

She tilted her head slightly, confused. "You mean... to confess?"

Noel nodded once. "Yeah, for what else would it be?"

That took her aback. He didn’t seem like the type to believe in penance. But she didn’t press further.

"Well, they’re usually open around sunset. There’s always someone assigned to listen. Just go through the side hallway, take the third door on the left. It’s marked with a white cross."

"Got it."

She hesitated a moment, then added with a teasing smirk, "Wow, never thought I’d see the day the mighty Noel Thorne goes to cleanse his soul."

Noel didn’t reply. He simply turned to leave, hands in his coat pockets, walking away in silence.

Charlotte watched him go, blinking once.

’Weird... but maybe that’s a good sign.’

She smiled softly, then went back to her tasks, unaware that she would soon be the one listening on the other side of the confessional wall.

--

The warm tones of dusk had deepened into cooler shadows when Noel slipped quietly into the church. The main hall was mostly empty, save for the quiet prayers of a few sisters and children preparing for evening service.

He followed the directions Charlotte had given him—side hallway, third door on the left, marked with a white cross.

The confessional booth was dimly lit, split into two small compartments by a thin wooden grate covered in cloth. Noel entered the left side and sat down, the air inside smelling faintly of incense and old wood. It was quiet for a moment.

Then, a soft voice from the other side spoke.

"You may begin."

Noel stared at the grille for a second. The voice was gentle, feminine. Too soft to place. Could’ve been anyone. That was fine.

"I haven’t been a good person," he said, his tone low and even.

He paused.

’I’ve run from too many things. Left people behind to save myself. I remember...’

A flash of memory: a dim battlefield, smoke and blood. A man reaching out to him, eyes full of pain and fear. Noel’s own body, turning away.

"I’ve made choices that others would call monstrous. Abandoning people I cared about... not because I wanted to—but because I had to survive."

His voice stayed steady, though it grew quieter.

"I’ve killed, too. Not out of rage or cruelty, but because I didn’t have a choice. And I don’t regret it. Not anymore. But I know I should."

Another silence passed.

"I’ll probably do it again. If it means surviving, I’ll keep making those choices. I won’t pretend to be someone I’m not."

He exhaled slowly.

"Maybe this is karma. Maybe everything I’m living now is just the balance correcting itself. And maybe I deserve it."

Noel stood up then, brushing the front of his coat.

"That’s all." fɾeewebnoveℓ.co๓

He didn’t wait for a reply. The person on the other side remained silent.

As he stepped out of the booth and closed the door quietly behind him, Noel glanced briefly at the cathedral’s high ceiling, then left through the side door.

He had said his piece.

Or at least... the part of it he could allow himself to say.

The confessional booth remained still for a few moments after the door closed.

On the other side of the grate, Charlotte sat in silence, her hands resting on her lap, eyes wide. She hadn’t expected... that.

She blinked slowly, the weight of Noel’s words still lingering in her chest.

So much pain. So much regret. So much... solitude.

She knew the rules—confessions were sacred, anonymous. Whatever was said in that booth stayed there.

But even if she hadn’t known his voice—and she had—she would’ve felt it. That ache, buried behind his calm words. The kind of wound that doesn’t bleed, but never quite heals.

’He never told anyone that before... I’m sure of it.’

She folded her hands together.

’And he didn’t know it was me.’

A flicker of conflict passed through her gentle expression. She wanted to ask him. To say something. But doing so would betray the very thing he needed: a space where he could be honest without fear.

"I won’t say anything," she whispered to herself. "I promise."

Her gaze dropped briefly to the floor.

’Maybe... this will help me understand him better.’

Before she could think any further, the soft creak of the main door signaled another visitor. A man, likely a local, stepped in hesitantly and crossed himself.

Charlotte straightened up and placed her hands over her lap again, her face composed.

"Please, sit," she said softly.

Her duty continued, but her thoughts remained with the boy who had just left.

Evening light poured in through the stained-glass windows of the dining hall, casting warm tones across the long wooden tables. Laughter, clinking dishes, and cheerful chatter filled the air as the children finished their meals. Marcus and the others sat nearby, chatting with some of the kids.

Noel stood up from his seat with quiet intent. He picked up his tray and began walking toward the collection area, where one of the nuns—short, with pointed ears and golden hair tucked under a white cap—stood addressing the room.

"Children," she called out gently, her soft voice still managing to carry. "We have a special announcement."

The chatter died down almost instantly. Curious eyes turned toward her.

"One of you has been chosen," she said, smiling. "A family from Teralis has adopted a young girl from our home. She will be leaving in the coming days to start a new life with them."

Gasps and cheers filled the air. A small girl seated near the front flushed red as the others clapped and surrounded her in excitement.

Noel, tray in hand, paused for a moment. His emerald eyes rested on the scene briefly. He didn’t know the girl—but the sight pulled at something faint in his chest.

’Good for her. A real chance.’

He turned, placing his tray neatly onto the counter before stepping away from the noise. His footsteps were light, as he moved deeper into the quiet halls of the church.

He had somewhere else to be.

The echo of his footsteps was the only sound in the corridor now. Noel moved with practiced silence, cloak drawn close, avoiding the light spilling in from the arched windows. The night was deep and still—most had gone to bed.

He reached the side entrance of the confessional wing, a space reserved for clerics and church staff. The door creaked softly as he opened it, slipping inside.

Noel didn’t return to the seat where he had confessed earlier. Instead, he walked around the back, toward the booth used by the priest or nun assigned that day.

’There has to be something. A thread. Anything.’

He lifted a finger and whispered, "Flame."

A small, controlled tongue of fire ignited at the tip. Its glow illuminated the tight wooden space.

And there it was.

Caught in the crack between the wooden seat and the backrest—delicate, unmistakable.

A long, pink strand of hair.

The flame sputtered for a second as Noel’s focus broke. His heart thudded once, loud and sharp.

’Shit.’

He stared at the strand, unmoving.

’I knew it. I knew that voice was too soft, too gentle. But it really was her.’

His mind reeled back to everything he had said. Everything he had revealed. Every moment he thought was private, safe, sealed in anonymity.

’She heard all of it. All of it.’

He exhaled slowly, calming himself.

’She didn’t say anything... Maybe she won’t. But now... I need to be even more careful.’

He reached out and gently plucked the hair between two fingers, slipping it into a small vial.

Then, without another word, he turned off the flame and stepped back into the hallway.

Just as he reached the corridor that connected to the dormitories, familiar voices floated toward him. Marcus, Garron, and Laziel were still up, chatting in the common area between the male quarters. Noel kept his steps casual, approaching.

"Good night," Noel said quietly.

They looked up and nodded back. "Night," Marcus replied, waving.

But Noel’s eyes weren’t on them.

They were on Charlotte.

She had just returned from the washroom at the end of the hall, her damp hands still drying on a cloth.

For a brief moment, their eyes met.

Charlotte’s gaze widened slightly. She stood still, the cloth paused mid-motion.

Noel didn’t say a word. He simply held her gaze for one second longer than usual... then turned away and entered the boys’ room.

Charlotte remained there, frozen.

’He knows...’

Her heart skipped.

’He knows it was me.’

And yet... he hadn’t said anything.

Just like her.

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