The Extra's Rise-Chapter 297: Third Mission (4)
The next morning I woke precisely at 0600, my body automatically adhering to the strict military schedule despite having only spent one night at the outpost. A quick glance at the reinforced window confirmed the day had already begun outside—the harsh frontier sunlight casting long shadows across the compound. First order of business: mess hall for breakfast.
After a brisk shower that alternated between scalding and frigid with military efficiency, I changed into my Mythos Academy uniform.
The frontier outpost's mess hall was surprisingly impressive—a large, open space with high ceilings and actual windows that allowed the morning light to filter through reinforced glass. Unlike the stereotypical military canteen with its drab colors and utilitarian design, this place had clearly been built with morale in mind. The walls were painted in warm neutral tones, the lighting was bright without being harsh, and the tables—arranged in neat rows—were made of solid materials that didn't immediately bring to mind institutional dining.
Clana was, predictably, asleep. Despite being fully dressed in her uniform—which somehow managed to look simultaneously pristine and rumpled, a paradox only Clana could achieve—she had folded her arms into a makeshift pillow and was currently demonstrating her remarkable ability to sleep through breakfast in a room full of people. Her soft, rhythmic breathing suggested this wasn't a light doze but a committed slumber. A small puddle of drool had formed beneath her cheek, threatening the integrity of her sleeve.
Rachel noticed me first, her face lighting up with a smile that carried just a hint of the previous night's intimacy. She waved, the movement energetic enough to draw attention from nearby tables. Her golden hair caught the morning light, creating a halo effect that reinforced her Saintess image with almost theatrical precision.
"Arthur! We saved you a seat," she called out, gesturing to the empty chair beside her. The enthusiasm in her voice caused several nearby soldiers to glance over with barely concealed curiosity.
As I approached, I noticed Rose was also present, sitting across from Rachel. Unlike Clana's abandonment of consciousness and Rachel's radiant energy, Rose maintained her usual composed elegance. Her posture was perfect, her uniform immaculate, as if she'd been awake for hours preparing for a formal inspection rather than a routine briefing.
"Good morning," I said, sliding into the seat, "How are you guys feeling this morning?" I carefully avoided making any special eye contact with Rachel, aware that Rose was watching our interaction with the observational skills of a particularly attentive hawk.
"They dragged me here," came a muffled voice from the table's surface. Clana raised her head just enough to fix me with one bleary eye, the violet iris clouded with the fog of interrupted sleep. "Physically. From my bed. Before. The. Sun." Each word dropped from her mouth with the weight of a personal tragedy.
"It's 0700, Clana," Rose pointed out, her tone crisp and precise. "The sun has been up for hours. In fact, it rose approximately three hours and twenty-two minutes ago." Leave it to Rose to know the exact sunrise time without checking.
"Not in my room it hasn't," Clana muttered, before letting her head drop back onto her arms with the dramatic finality of someone planning to hibernate through winter. "I blocked the windows with spare blankets. Perfect darkness. Was perfect sleep. Until these monsters intervened."
Rachel leaned toward me, her shoulder brushing mine in a way that seemed both casual and deliberately intimate. The faint scent of her perfume—something floral with hints of vanilla—momentarily distracted me from Clana's sleep-deprived complaints. "We had to practically carry her. She sleeps like the dead, but heavier. I think at one point she was actively trying to increase her mass to make it harder for us to move her."
"A tactical application of my Gift," came Clana's muffled response, surprising me that she was even listening.
"You should eat," Rose said, pushing a tray toward me. It contained a surprisingly appetizing breakfast—scrambled eggs that actually looked fluffy rather than rubbery, some kind of golden grain with flecks of herbs, fresh fruit arranged with military precision, and bread that actually looked homemade rather than manufactured in a laboratory. "The protein content is adequate, and you'll need the energy. The marshal seems like someone who expects peak performance."
As I began eating, I became aware of the attention our table was receiving. Around us, the mess hall was filled with military personnel in various uniforms denoting their specialties and ranks. The dark blue of communications officers, the muted green of regular infantry, the slate gray of tactical specialists—all moving with the efficiency of people who had been through this routine countless times, collecting their food, finding seats, eating with purpose rather than pleasure.
But many of them were watching us. Not staring outright—they were too disciplined for that—but observing from the corners of their eyes, through quick glances between bites, in the way conversations seemed to dip slightly whenever one of us moved or spoke. A table of what appeared to be junior officers kept finding reasons to refill their coffee cups at the station closest to us.
"We're quite the attraction," Rose noted quietly, having noticed the same thing. Her fingers drummed a precise rhythm on the table, a habit she displayed when analyzing a situation. "Like exotic animals in a menagerie."
"Of course, what else did we expect?" Rachel sighed, though the slight lift of her chin suggested she wasn't entirely displeased with the attention. "We're from Mythos Academy. To them, we might as well be from another dimension."
She had a point. Mythos Academy students were rare enough—only a few hundred in the entire world—and those from Class 2-A even rarer. Add to that the presence of multiple Gifted individuals, royal blood, and power levels that pushed the boundaries of what was normal for our age, and we became something between celebrities and curiosities. Living legends in training, wrapped in teenage bodies and academy uniforms.
A group of younger soldiers at a nearby table weren't even trying to hide their interest. One of them, a freckled man with a freshly-shaved head who couldn't have been much older than us, kept darting glances at Rachel, his expression a mixture of awe and something close to reverence. His tray remained untouched, his attention entirely captured by the golden-haired Saintess three tables away.
"I think you have an admirer," I told her quietly, nodding subtly in his direction.
Rachel followed my gaze and smiled, giving the young soldier a small wave that nearly caused him to choke on his coffee. His comrades erupted into barely suppressed laughter, elbowing him mercilessly as his face turned a shade of red that would have made a sunset jealous. The poor man looked like he wanted the floor to open up and swallow him whole.
"The Saintess effect," Clana commented dryly, having raised her head just enough to witness the exchange. "Very useful in diplomatic situations. Less so in combat, unless embarrassing the enemy to death becomes a viable tactic." With that profound observation delivered, she lowered her head again, apparently having exhausted her daily quota of wakefulness.
"It's not just Rachel," Rose observed, her eyes scanning the room with calculated precision. "They're watching all of us. We represent something... different. Power outside their normal hierarchy. Potential they can recognize but not fully comprehend." She adjusted the cuff of her sleeve with deliberate care. "We are, essentially, variables they cannot easily categorize."
She was right. The soldiers around us were trained, disciplined, and many likely skilled in combat. Veterans of the frontier, faces weathered by harsh conditions and constant vigilance. But none of them had what we had—Gifts, prestigious academy training, and the potential to reach ranks that many could only dream of.
"They're trying to figure out if we're worth the hype," I said, understanding the dynamic. "If academy students are actually as special as they've heard, or just privileged kids playing at being soldiers." I took another bite of the surprisingly good eggs. "Can't blame them, really. I'd be curious too."
I finished my breakfast, which was indeed better than expected, and nudged Clana with my elbow. "Briefing in twenty minutes. You might want to actually eat something. I doubt Marshal Meilyn will accept 'I was hungry' as an excuse for poor performance."
She groaned but lifted her head and mechanically began to consume the food in front of her, eyes still half-closed as if she were sleepwalking through the process.
"So," Rachel said, her voice deliberately casual as she traced patterns in the condensation on her water glass, "how did everyone sleep?" The question carried a subtle weight, the lightness of her tone not quite matching the careful calculation in her eyes.
The question seemed innocent enough, but I caught the subtle glance she threw my way, and the equally subtle narrowing of Rose's eyes in response. The temperature at the table seemed to drop by a few degrees, despite the mess hall's efficient climate control.
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"Like a baby," Rose answered, her voice smooth as polished marble. "Though I did take a little evening stroll around the compound. The security protocols here are fascinating—layers upon layers of defenses, both physical and magical. Someone invested considerable resources into making this place virtually impenetrable." She took a deliberate sip of her tea. "I'm sure you found your own way to pass the evening, Rachel."
"I want to sleep more," Clana yawned, apparently oblivious to the subtle tension. She stretched her arms above her head, nearly knocking over her water glass in the process. "But you guys unfairly dragged me out for no reason! The briefing isn't for another twenty minutes, which is at least fifteen minutes of potential sleep you've stolen from me." She narrowed her violet eyes while looking at me. "I'm keeping track, you know. There will be retribution. Possibly in the form of me falling asleep during your most important speech someday."
"You were going to be late Clana," I said, trying not to smile at her dramatic outrage. "And somehow I doubt Marshal Meilyn is the type to appreciate tardiness, no matter how creatively you justify it."
A chime sounded throughout the mess hall. The tone was pleasant but insistent, immediately triggering a response from every soldier present. The soldiers around us immediately began clearing their tables with practiced efficiency, movements synchronized as if choreographed.
"That's our cue," I said, standing up. "Briefing time." I felt a subtle shift in my demeanor, the casual breakfast conversation giving way to the focus required for whatever mission awaited us. This wasn't a classroom exercise or a simulated scenario—this was real frontier duty, with real consequences.
