The Extra's Rise-Chapter 138: Prelude to Spring Break (3)

"God, acting all chummy with you is so annoying," Cecilia muttered, walking briskly away from the table, her crimson eyes flashing as she shot Rachel a sidelong glance.

Rachel sighed, long and loud, as though the weight of the world—and perhaps Cecilia—rested squarely on her shoulders. "Haa, give me a break. I already had to deal with you being a nuisance during the mission, and now you’re dragging Arthur into this too."

Cecilia’s lips curled into a sharp smirk. "Oh, you mean your precious Arthur?"

Rachel’s eyes narrowed, but her voice was steady, like someone clinging to the last thread of patience. "Yes, he’s precious to me. So stay away from him."

The venom in her tone might have unnerved a lesser opponent, but Cecilia didn’t so much as flinch. If anything, the challenge in Rachel’s glare seemed to amuse her. "Oh, precious to you, is he?" she said, her voice dripping with mockery. "Precious because you want to sleep with him, maybe?"

Rachel’s face turned a shade of crimson that could’ve matched Cecilia’s own eyes. "I—I care about him as a person! Don’t lump me in with you, you shallow—ugh!" She spluttered, her words tangling as she tried to regain the high ground.

Cecilia tilted her head, her expression as nonchalant as a cat surveying its next victim. "Oh please," she said with a dramatic roll of her eyes. "He’s handsome, I’ll give you that. But I’m not that shallow."

Rachel blinked, then stared, her mouth hanging open as though Cecilia had just declared the sky was green. "You? You’re saying that? You?"

Cecilia sniffed, her nose tilting upward with practiced aristocratic disdain. "Don’t look at me like that. It’s unbecoming."

This chapter is updat𝓮d by freēnovelkiss.com.

"You just said you’re not shallow," Rachel said, her voice rising an octave. "You! Cecilia Slatemark, the Queen of Judging People on Appearances Alone!"

"People," Cecilia corrected, holding up a single finger, "are not Arthur."

Rachel froze, her eyes narrowing suspiciously. "What’s that supposed to mean?"

"It means," Cecilia said, her tone clipped, as though the very act of admitting this was physically painful, "Arthur is… precious to me too."

Rachel choked on air, her hands clutching the table for support as though the sheer shock of Cecilia’s statement had physically staggered her. "W-wait! I must be hallucinating! Did Cecilia Slatemark just—did you just say a boy is precious to you?!"

Cecilia’s face darkened, a faint blush creeping up her neck. "Shut up."

"Oh, this is gold," Rachel said, her giggles bubbling into full-blown laughter. "No, this is better than gold—it’s platinum. Cecilia Slatemark, Miss Ice Queen herself, thinks a boy is precious!"

"Shut. Up." Cecilia’s words were sharp enough to cut glass, but Rachel only laughed harder, clutching her stomach.

The laughter abruptly stopped when Cecilia’s sharp gaze zeroed in on something metallic glinting in Rachel’s hand. Her voice dropped, deadly and calm. "Wait… why is your phone out?"

Rachel grinned, holding up the device with a triumphant flourish. "Oh, I’ve learned from the best," she said, sticking her tongue out playfully. "Thank you for this recording, Cecilia. It’ll make such a wonderful keepsake."

"You recorded me!?" Cecilia’s face was a mix of outrage and genuine disbelief. "Rachel! Give me that phone—"

But Rachel was already darting down the corridor, her laughter echoing behind her. "Too late! I have evidence now! Precious, you said—precious!"

Cecilia stood frozen for a moment, her fists clenched, before stalking after Rachel. "You’d better delete that, Creighton, or I swear—"

"Stupid kids," Seraphina muttered, shaking her head as she observed the unholy spectacle of two supposedly dignified princesses behaving like quarreling schoolchildren. Rachel Creighton, the future Saintess, and Cecilia Slatemark, the future Archwitch, were currently locked in a very undignified game of cat and mouse down the corridor, one waving a phone triumphantly, the other looking ready to summon fire and brimstone.

It was almost enough to make Seraphina laugh. Almost.

Instead, she sighed and folded her arms, her silver hair catching the artificial light like threads of spun moonlight. "Unprincesslike doesn’t even begin to cover it," she murmured to herself, though there was no real malice in her tone—just a faint, lingering bemusement. If anything, it was oddly endearing to see the two of them let their walls down, even if it was at the expense of decorum.

Still, as much as their antics grated on her sense of order, she couldn’t entirely fault them. She’d seen it—the way Rachel’s eyes softened when Arthur spoke to her, the way Cecilia’s voice lost its edge when she teased him. They were two very different women, but when it came to Arthur Nightingale, their emotions were laid bare.

’They like him,’ she thought, the realization settling in her mind with the inevitability of sunrise. Both of them. Rachel, with her brilliant warmth, and Cecilia, with her fiery confidence. Two of the most extraordinary women in the Academy had fallen for the same boy. The implications of it were almost absurd.

And yet, when Seraphina thought about it, it wasn’t really surprising. Arthur had a way of disarming people. He wasn’t perfect—not by a long shot—but there was something about him, something that made you want to believe in him. Maybe it was his recklessness, his absolute refusal to back down in the face of impossible odds. Or maybe it was the way he treated everyone, noble or not, with the same unflinching honesty. Whatever it was, it made people gravitate toward him.

"It makes sense," she muttered under her breath, a faint, almost imperceptible smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

And then, as though catching herself in a moment of weakness, she shook her head, the smile vanishing as quickly as it had appeared. The world wasn’t going to stop turning just because two princesses and one enigma of a boy were caught in a tangled web of emotions. There were more important things to worry about—like the Spring Break invitation she’d extended to Arthur.

Still, as she turned and walked away, she couldn’t quite banish the thought. Arthur Nightingale was many things—reckless, irritating, and frustratingly brilliant. But most of all, he was someone who made you look twice. Someone who made you feel.

Seraphina didn’t know whether that was a blessing or a curse.

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The coffee shop smelled like roasted beans and nostalgia. I leaned back in my chair, the warmth of the coffee cup radiating through my hands. Across from me, Rose sat with the kind of calm confidence that made you wonder if she’d ever been thrown off her rhythm. She sipped her cappuccino, her caramel eyes scanning the room lazily, but I knew better—Rose never missed a detail.

"You know," she said, setting her cup down, "I don’t think I’ve ever worked this hard for someone else’s project before. Helping you with your Lich has been like juggling flaming swords while blindfolded."

I couldn’t help but smile, swirling my coffee absently. "I’ll take that as a compliment. I think."

She gave me a pointed look. "Take it however you want, Arthur. But seriously, a Lich? Using an eight-star Blood Wyvern skeleton, an Arch Lich Skull, and a Basilisk Heart? You do realize you’re basically taking the playbook of every insane necromancer in history and cranking it up to eleven, right?"

I chuckled, taking a sip. "You make it sound so dramatic. I prefer to think of it as... ambitious."

"Ambitious is buying a secondhand hovercar and hoping it runs. What you’re doing is... well, let’s just say if this doesn’t work, your name will be in a textbook under the ’Don’t Try This at Home’ section."

She wasn’t wrong, but the teasing tone in her voice made it hard to take her seriously. "It’s not just about making a Lich, Rose. It’s about making something extraordinary. Something that grows with me."

She smirked, leaning forward slightly. "Ah, the classic Nightingale charm. Always aiming for the stars—sometimes literally. But tell me, how in the world did you get the money for all this? Don’t tell me you pulled a heist."

I laughed, shaking my head. "No heists, I promise. Just a little bit of strategic investing and some... well-timed information sales."

Her eyebrow arched, a playful glint in her eye. "Strategic, huh? Remind me to never underestimate you. You’ve got a knack for turning impossible into barely possible."

"That’s the plan," I said with a grin. "But I couldn’t have done it without Vakrt. Or you, for that matter."

She rolled her eyes, but I caught the faintest hint of a blush. "Don’t start getting sentimental on me, Arthur. I only helped because you’re a paying customer."

"Sure," I said, drawing the word out. "It had nothing to do with you being impressed by my insane ideas."

She smirked, sipping her coffee to hide her smile. "Alright, maybe a little. You do have a certain... flair for the dramatic."

We fell into a comfortable silence for a moment, the soft hum of the coffee shop filling the space between us. Outside, the city buzzed with life—hover-cars zipped past, neon signs flickered in the fading afternoon light, and pedestrians moved like rivers through the streets. Maven City had its charm, though it always felt like it was teetering on the edge of chaos.

"So," I said, breaking the quiet, "how’s everything on your end? Vakrt must’ve been a madhouse with all the custom orders I threw at you."

Rose shrugged, brushing a strand of auburn hair behind her ear. "Busy, yeah. But nothing we couldn’t handle. My father was impressed, by the way. Not just with the materials, but with you. Said you’ve got a good eye for... well, everything."

I smiled faintly. "Tell him thanks. Though, to be fair, a lot of it was just luck."

"Don’t sell yourself short," she said, leaning back in her chair. "Luck might’ve gotten you the materials, but making it all come together? That’s skill. Insane, stress-inducing skill, but skill nonetheless."

I chuckled, finishing the last of my coffee. "Coming from you, I’ll take that as high praise."

She smirked, but her eyes softened, just for a moment. "You should. But seriously, Arthur, don’t screw this up. A Lich isn’t just some pet project—it’s a legacy. You pull this off, and people will remember your name for centuries."

I exhaled, the weight of her words settling over me. "No pressure, right?"

"None at all," she said with a wink, standing up and stretching. "Come on, let’s walk for a bit before you head back. I could use some fresh air."

We stepped out of the coffee shop into the cool evening air, the city lights casting a soft glow over everything. As we walked, I couldn’t help but feel a surge of gratitude. For Rose, for Vakrt, for the ridiculous journey that had brought me here.

"Thanks, Rose," I said after a while, breaking the quiet.

She glanced at me, her smirk returning. "For what?"

"For everything," I said simply.

She rolled her eyes but smiled. "Don’t get sappy on me now, Nightingale. You’ve still got a Lich to make."