The Extra is a Genius!?-Chapter 595: Three Generations of Estermont

The calm that had settled in the room did not last long. It began subtly, a shift in Elyra’s breathing, a tightening in the muscles of her arm where her hand still held Noel’s. The change was small enough that someone unfamiliar might not have noticed it immediately.

Noel did.

Her fingers closed around his like iron, sudden and without warning. For someone who normally carried herself with controlled elegance, Elyra possessed a surprising amount of raw strength when she stopped restraining it. Her nails dug into his skin hard enough that he felt them through the calluses of his palm, and the pressure forced his fingers to bend at an angle that was not comfortable.

He did not pull away.

Elyra inhaled sharply through clenched teeth, her composure wavering for the first time since he had entered the room. The healers moved quickly around the bed, their voices calm and focused as they guided her through it. "Easy... breathe. Good. Just like that." Elyra didn’t answer them. Her grip tightened again instead, pulling Noel forward enough that he had to shift his stance to keep his balance.

’She’s going to break your hand,’ Noir’s voice surfaced in the back of his mind, clearly amused.

Noel ignored her.

"Are you alright?" he asked quietly.

Elyra’s only response was another increase in pressure. Her nails dug deeper as the next wave passed through her, her body leaning forward slightly as the healers guided her breathing. Behind him, Charlotte watched with a faintly sympathetic expression. Selene remained against the wall with her arms crossed, though the corner of her mouth had developed a restrained twitch she was choosing not to act on.

’You should see your face,’ Noir added.

Another contraction came. Elyra exhaled sharply, her free hand pressing flat against the mattress as she worked through it, every muscle in her arm pulling taut. The grip on Noel’s hand intensified again, and he felt something in his knuckles protest with a clarity that was difficult to ignore.

He held on anyway. Compared to what she was enduring, a little pain in his hand meant nothing. If she needed something to hold onto, then he wasn’t moving.

’Brave,’ Noir murmured.

Noel said nothing, his jaw set, his hand firmly in hers.

The tension in the room held for several seconds after the contraction passed. Elyra’s breathing slowly steadied again, though her grip on Noel’s hand did not loosen. The healers exchanged a quiet look while preparing the next set of cloths and instruments, their movements practiced and efficient. For a brief moment, the room settled into a fragile rhythm again.

Then the doors burst open.

Noel turned his head instinctively. Lord Caeron Von Estermont had clearly forced his way inside before anyone could properly stop him, his tall frame filling most of the entrance, his expression caught somewhere between worry and determination. Behind him stood Lady Elissabeth Von Estermont, and she looked mortified.

"Caeron—" she began, her voice low but sharp.

He was already halfway into the room, his eyes immediately finding the bed. The moment he spotted Elyra, his posture straightened. "My daughter—"

Elyra’s eyes opened. They found him immediately across the room, and her expression did not soften or brighten with recognition. It hardened.

"Get out."

The words came out flat.

Caeron stopped mid-step as if someone had physically struck him, the confidence that had carried him through the door vanishing almost instantly. "...Elyra?" he said, sounding almost wounded.

Behind him, Elissabeth closed her eyes for half a second. Then she moved. Her hand reached forward with precise efficiency and grabbed Caeron firmly by the ear.

"What did I tell you?" she said quietly.

Caeron yelped. "Elissabeth— wait—!"

She began dragging him backward toward the door with the same calm authority she carried into every social function. "I said we would wait outside."

"But I just wanted to see—"

"You will see her later."

"But—"

"Later."

Caeron cast one last desperate look toward the bed as he was pulled through the doorway, his expression carrying the unmistakable devastation of a father who had just been rejected by his own daughter at the worst possible moment. The door closed behind them.

Silence returned for exactly two seconds before one of the healers quietly cleared her throat. "Now," she said gently, "where were we?"

Behind Noel, Charlotte had turned her face slightly away from the door, her shoulders trembling faintly. Selene didn’t bother hiding it. She was smiling.

The interruption did not last long enough to truly disrupt the process. Once the door closed, the room returned to its previous rhythm almost immediately, the healers resuming their positions with the same quiet efficiency as before, their voices calm as they guided Elyra through the next stages.

Noel could not have said how long it was exactly. Minutes stretched and folded together as the room filled with the steady cadence of breathing, quiet instructions, and the occasional tightening of Elyra’s grip on his hand. Each contraction came stronger than the last. Her composure held, though it no longer resembled the controlled calm she carried in negotiations or political halls. This was something more primal, more instinctive. Her breathing grew heavier, and more than once her fingers closed around his hard enough that he felt the bones in his knuckles protest again. He did not move.

Charlotte had eventually stepped closer to the foot of the bed, her earlier amusement gone and replaced by quiet concern. Selene remained where she had been most of the time, occasionally moving to pass something to the healers when they needed it.

"Almost there," one of the healers said gently.

Elyra exhaled sharply through clenched teeth as the final effort came. The room held its breath, and a moment later a new sound broke the silence. A small cry, thin at first and uncertain, but unmistakably alive. The healer carefully lifted the newborn, wrapped the small body in soft cloth, and placed her gently into Elyra’s arms.

"A healthy girl."

Elyra leaned back against the pillows, exhaustion clear across her face, but something else was there as well. Relief. Quiet happiness. Noel looked down at the child. She was smaller than Nicolás had been, though perhaps that was simply memory playing tricks on him. A faint tuft of dark hair rested against her head, and when her eyes opened briefly they carried the same clear gray tone as Elyra’s. She resembled her mother almost entirely, with very little of Noel visible anywhere in the small face.

After a few minutes one of the healers stepped toward the door. "They can come in now."

The response was immediate. Caeron entered first, and the moment his eyes landed on the child in Elyra’s arms whatever composure he had attempted to maintain shattered completely. His shoulders trembled as he stepped closer, his eyes already wet. "My granddaughter..."

Behind him, Elissabeth entered more calmly, though the warmth in her gaze was unmistakable. She approached Noel first. "I apologize for my husband’s earlier behavior," she said politely. "He tends to forget himself in moments like this."

Noel shook his head slightly. "There’s no problem."

The room settled again, quieter now, filled only with the soft sounds of the newborn shifting in Elyra’s arms. Charlotte stepped slightly closer to the bed.

"Have you decided on a name?" she asked gently.

Elyra looked down at the child for a few seconds before answering. "Elyria."

The word settled naturally into the room. Noel tilted his head slightly. "You three share similar names."

Elyra allowed herself a faint smile as she looked toward her mother. "Three generations of the Estermont family."

Across the room, Elena had entered quietly at some point, Nicolás resting peacefully in her arms. Lady Elissabeth stepped toward her with clear curiosity, greeting the boy with a soft smile. Noel watched the scene in silence. Two children now, Nicolás with Elena and Elyria with Elyra, and Charlotte’s turn would come soon. His family was growing faster than he had ever imagined, and at this rate the mansion might soon become too small.