The Extra's Rise-Chapter 144: Spring Break (6)

Seraphina was sitting at the very edge of the cliff, her legs dangling lazily above the churning waters below. The moonlight bathed her in silver, accentuating every curve, every strand of her ethereal hair that shimmered like spun moonlight. And then there was her swimsuit—a simple bikini that somehow managed to seem regal on her, as if the very concept of swimwear had been invented just for her use.

I froze mid-step. My brain short-circuited.

For the first time in a long while, I genuinely questioned the legality of something. Because surely looking this good in front of me—me, of all people—had to break some sort of natural law.

Her presence was disarming. I’d grown used to being around beautiful people—Rachel and Cecilia weren’t exactly slouches in the looks department. But Seraphina wasn’t just beautiful; she was otherworldly. The kind of beauty that knocked the air out of your lungs and left you wondering how the hell the universe had sculpted such a person.

And the worst part? She was completely unaware of it.

"You’re staring," she said without even glancing my way, her voice cool and unbothered, but her head tilted ever so slightly to catch me in the corner of her gaze.

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My face heated instantly. I turned away so fast it was a miracle I didn’t give myself whiplash. "I wasn’t staring."

I heard her soft chuckle, and when I dared to look again, I caught the faintest pink on her cheeks. Seraphina Zenith. Blushing. For a fleeting moment, I felt like I’d witnessed something that no mortal ever had before.

"You’re staring again," I said, trying to wrestle some semblance of control back into the conversation.

"So what?" she replied, entirely unfazed. Her eyes didn’t leave mine, though there was a tiny smirk playing on her lips. "What are you going to do about it?"

I gave up. There was no winning here. With a sigh, I jumped down from my perch under the waterfall, using a soft burst of wind magic to guide my fall. I landed next to her as lightly as I could manage, though the uneven ground still made me stumble slightly. Seraphina, of course, didn’t even flinch.

"So," I began, sitting beside her and letting my legs dangle into the abyss below, "did the princess of Mount Hua fancy a swim tonight?"

"Perhaps," she said, her tone as elusive as ever.

"In water that cold?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.

She turned her head slightly, her silver hair catching the moonlight in a way that almost made me forget what I’d asked. "I’m a half-elf, Arthur," she said simply. "My mother was the princess of the Northern Sea Ice Palace. I’m more used to the cold than you’ll ever be."

Ah, right. That made sense. Mount Hua was already cold, but the water from this waterfall? It was liquid frostbite. To her, though, it probably felt like a mildly refreshing bath.

We sat in silence for a moment, the sound of the waterfall roaring in the background. The moon hung heavy and luminous above us, casting the entire cliffside in shades of silver and grey. It was peaceful, in a way that felt almost unreal.

"Why are you pushing yourself so hard?" she asked suddenly, breaking the quiet. Her voice was softer than usual, almost tentative.

"Because I need to," I replied automatically, my gaze fixed on the distant horizon.

"Arthur." Her tone sharpened, and I felt her shift beside me. Before I could react, she leaned in close—too close. Her face was just inches from mine, her eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that made my breath catch.

I instinctively leaned back, though there was nowhere to go. "S-Seraphina," I stammered, my voice cracking slightly.

Her scent hit me then—warm and sweet, like honey on a summer morning. It was a smell I’d noticed before, faintly lingering around her, but here, with her so close, it was overwhelming. Distracting.

"Tell me," she said, her voice dropping to a near whisper. "I want to know."

I swallowed hard. Her eyes were so piercing, so unrelenting, that for a moment, I felt like she could see right through me. My heart pounded in my chest, loud enough that I was sure she could hear it.

"Seraphina," I managed, my voice barely above a whisper. "C-can we, um, maybe establish some boundaries here?"

She blinked, as if just realizing how close she was, and leaned back to her original position. Her face betrayed nothing, but I thought I caught the faintest twitch of amusement at the corner of her lips.

"You get flustered too easily," she remarked, brushing a strand of silver hair over her shoulder.

"Well, forgive me for being human," I muttered under my breath, though the heat in my cheeks probably ruined whatever dignity I had left.

She didn’t respond immediately, her gaze fixed once more on the moonlit horizon. The silence stretched between us, not uncomfortable but charged with something I couldn’t quite name.

"Arthur," she said eventually, her voice softer now, almost contemplative. "Why do you push yourself so hard? Really."

I glanced at her, unsure how to answer. But then I saw her expression—not cold, not distant, but… genuine. For the first time, it felt like she wasn’t asking because she was curious, or because she felt obligated. She was asking because she cared.

"I… don’t know," I admitted finally, my voice low. "Maybe because I feel like I have to. Like if I don’t, I’ll fall behind. Or worse, I’ll lose something I can’t get back."

She didn’t respond immediately, her eyes searching mine for something I couldn’t quite place. Then, slowly, she nodded.

"I see," she said quietly, her voice carrying an unfamiliar softness, like the edge of a blade wrapped in silk.

Then, without warning, she added, "So you’re a crazy bastard."

I blinked, caught off guard by her choice of words. "I’d prefer you didn’t call me that."

"Crazy bastard," she repeated, almost as if testing how it sounded in the air. Her ice blue eyes narrowed, and she folded her arms like a disapproving elder sister. "I don’t care how crazy you are, Arthur. Stop hurting yourself."

Her words struck harder than I expected, heavier than the waterfall that had battered me all day. There was no mocking edge, no detached curiosity—just something raw and unfiltered, something almost… protective.

I turned to face her, unsure how to respond. "I’m not—"

"Don’t lie," she cut me off, her tone sharp enough to slice through steel. "You think I don’t see it? The way you throw yourself at danger, the way you push past your limits like they don’t exist. Do you think that makes you strong?"

"It’s necessary," I said, a bit more defensively than I intended.

"It’s reckless," she snapped, leaning forward, her silver hair catching the moonlight like molten mercury. "You’re chasing strength like it’s the only thing that matters. But what happens when you break yourself in the process? What good is your strength then?"

Her words were blunt, cutting, but beneath them, I caught something else. A quiet fear, buried deep but undeniably there. It was strange, hearing that from someone like Seraphina, who carried herself like nothing in the world could shake her.

I didn’t know what to say. For the first time in a long time, I was speechless.

"Become as strong as you want," she said, her voice dropping to a near whisper. "But don’t hurt yourself to get there. As long as you’re not hurt, I don’t care."

The weight of her words settled over me, heavy and unyielding. I opened my mouth to respond, but she spoke again, her tone softer now, almost contemplative.

"You’re trying too hard to force it," she said, her gaze drifting to the waterfall. "That’s why you haven’t figured it out yet."

"Figured what out?" I asked, my brow furrowing.

She turned to look at me, her ice blue eyes piercing in their clarity. "Your art. God Flash, or whatever you’re trying to make it into. You’re treating it like a puzzle you can brute-force your way through. But a Grade 6 art isn’t something you can force."

I frowned, her words both frustrating and intriguing. "Then what am I supposed to do? Sit around and wait for it to magically come together?"

"No," she said simply. "You need to stop fighting it. You’re thinking about it like it’s a spell, like it has to follow strict rules. But a Grade 6 art isn’t just a technique, Arthur. It’s an expression. A manifestation of who you are, not just what you can do."

Her words hit me like a freight train. She wasn’t wrong—I had been treating God Flash like a problem to be solved, a formula to be perfected. But an art wasn’t a formula. It was something more. Something deeper.

"Expression…" I muttered under my breath, the word lingering in my mind like an echo.

She nodded, her gaze steady. "You’re trying to make it perfect. But perfection doesn’t come from logic or calculations. It comes from… feeling."

Feeling. The word resonated in my mind, stirring something deep within me. I thought back to the moments when God Flash had felt most natural, most alive. It wasn’t when I was overthinking it, breaking it down into steps. It was when I let go. When I trusted myself, my instincts, my sword.

"You need to stop chasing the art," she said, her voice almost gentle now. "Let it come to you. Let it… breathe."

Let it breathe.

The pieces didn’t just click into place—they snapped together with the clarity of a lightning strike. My thoughts, my instincts, my experiences—they all converged into a single, undeniable truth. My chest tightened, but not with tension. It was a thrill that surged through me, electric and all-consuming.

I understood now.

Not just the art, but the why of it. Why it had always felt incomplete, why it didn’t fully resonate with me before. It wasn’t just about speed or precision or power. It was about me. About my journey, my choices, my will to carve out something uniquely mine.

I closed my eyes, the waterfall’s relentless torrent now a backdrop to the clarity roaring in my mind. God Flash wasn’t just a technique—it was an extension of me. A moment that defied hesitation, that thrived on instinct and trust. It was a declaration. A challenge. A refusal to falter, even in the face of overwhelming odds.

When I opened my eyes, they burned with purpose.

"Thank you," I said, my voice steady, resolute.

Seraphina blinked at me, her cheeks still tinged with the faintest pink. "For what?"

"For this," I said, gesturing vaguely at the waterfall, the stars, and her—all of it. "For being here. For saying what I needed to hear."

She crossed her arms, her gaze flickering between amusement and embarrassment. "Just don’t make me regret helping you, crazy bastard."

I chuckled, but it was different now. Lighter. Freed. "You won’t."

Because I knew. The road ahead wasn’t just possible—it was inevitable. If a Grade 6 art was an expression of self, then this was my truth. Not Lucifer’s. Not anyone else’s.

Mine. And it always would be.