The Extra's Reincarnation

The academy's medical bay bustled with activity as students, faculty, and even a few reporters crowded around the victorious first-year team.

The white curtains that typically separated the treatment stalls had been pushed aside to accommodate the celebration, transforming the environment into something resembling a reception hall.

Francine Evalina Aureus moved through the crowd with practiced grace, her smile radiant as she acknowledged each person who approached her.

Despite not participating in the match herself, she was receiving nearly as much attention as the actual combatants—the mastermind behind the historic victory.

"Your strategy was brilliant," Professor Riggs Bourne told her, his weathered face creased with genuine admiration.

"Positioning Kaelen as your primary offensive force while keeping Elenore as flag-bearer... inspired choices."

"Thank you, Professor," Francine replied with perfectly calibrated modesty.

"But the credit belongs to the team. They executed everything flawlessly."

Julian watched this performance from his bed at the far end of the medical bay, the curtains around his stall drawn just enough to provide the illusion of privacy while still allowing him to observe the proceedings.

The medical staff had wrapped his torso in bandages—unnecessary treatment for injuries that didn't exist, but he'd maintained his act throughout their examination.

-She's quite the actress!

Vykekard's voice echoed in Julian's mind.

-"Almost as good as you."

Julian suppressed a smile.

"High praise, coming from you."

-Waha! Don't let it go to your head. You're both amateurs compared to what I've seen."

One by one, Francine made her way to each team member's bedside.

She spent several minutes with Kaelen, as they recounted his final confrontation with Marcel.

With Elenore, she clasped hands warmly, whispering something that made the golden-eyed girl blush with pride.

Even the eliminated members received her attention—Rivaleno's sullen expression softening slightly at whatever praise she offered him, Marcus beaming as she patted his shoulder, Tiberius and Lennard sitting up straighter as she acknowledged their sacrifice.

"She's saving you for last," Vykekard observed as Francine finished with Atiana and turned toward Julian's stall.

"Of course she is,"

"That was probably her plan."

The curtain around his bed rustled as Francine slipped through, her smile brightening as she laid eyes on him.

She closed the curtain behind her, creating a pocket of privacy amid the celebration.

"You actually did your job," she said, her voice warm with approval.

"And quite impressively too. I must thank you for doing something like this for me."

Julian tilted his head slightly, studying her with cautious eyes.

"For you? I wasn't aware I was doing anything specifically for your benefit."

Francine laughed almost out loud, quickly containing her laughter.

"Come now, Julian. Let's not play games. You're acting as if I didn't know what was happening behind the scenes." She leaned forward, lowering her voice.

"I figured you weren't even injured after that attack shown on the screens. As a matter of fact, I've never seen Marcel in such a state before. It was strangely odd."

"But after all, I already knew everything was because of you."

Julian's expression remained carefully neutral as he adjusted the unnecessary bandages around his torso.

He could see right through her flattery.

This was manipulation, plain and simple.

She wasn't a person willing to let go of a valuable asset like him—someone exceptional in this lifetime, a variable she couldn't have predicted in her countless regressions.

"You're giving me too much credit," he replied evenly.

"The victory belongs to Kaelen and Elenore."

"Of course it does," Francine agreed smoothly, though her tone suggested otherwise.

"But now, to business. I promised you a reward for your participation, and I always keep my promises."

She leaned closer, her blonde hair catching the light.

"What kind of wish do you have in mind, Julian? Wealth? Fame? Power? You could have whatever you wish for."

Her hand drifted to the hem of her skirt, lifting it slightly as she added in a honeyed voice, "Perhaps you're into me?"

Julian's face darkened immediately, a scowl replacing his neutral expression.

"That's disgusting. How could you even consider giving yourself up like that?"

Rather than appearing offended, Francine's smile only grew more self-satisfied.

"I was only testing you," she said with a contented look.

"I would never ever let a man touch me. Not in this lifetime or any other."

Julian sighed uncomfortably, shifting his gaze to the window where afternoon light streamed through.

"I don't have anything I can think of right now," he admitted. "Could you give me some time to consider it?"

"Take all the time you need," Francine replied graciously, standing up and smoothing her uniform.

"After all, you and I have something in common."

That caught Julian's attention. He looked up at her, brow furrowed.

"What is it?"

Francine's smile widened, revealing perfect teeth.

"I can't tell you that," she said with a theatrical sigh.

"After all, it's my secret."

She turned to leave, pausing just before the curtain.

"Rest well, Julian. I'll be looking forward to hearing your wish when you decide."

As soon as she disappeared through the curtain, Julian released a long, tired breath.

The facade of being injured was becoming tedious, but he maintained it for consistency's sake.

"She's dangerous, just like you said," Vykekard's voice resonated in his mind.

"To think a child like her is unbelievably risky... it's nothing short of incredible."

Julian almost laughed at Vykekard's assessment.

The disembodied knight sounded like a reader experiencing this story for the first time, marveling at the audacity of Francine's character.

In truth, she had pulled this exact tactic numerous times throughout the original novel—dangling secrets like bait, offering wishes as currency, all while maintaining that infuriating air of superiority.

She'd tried it with Kaelen, attempting to manipulate him with promises of knowledge about his mysterious lineage.

With Rivaleno, she'd offered political connections that would elevate his family's standing.

Uzan had been tempted with strength-enhancing techniques from her family's archives.

She'd even attempted to bait Franz with access to forbidden magical research, though he'd seen through her immediately.

The fascinating part wasn't that she used these tactics—it was that she rarely enforced the resulting obligations.

When her manipulations succeeded, she often allowed things to proceed however they naturally would, as if the game itself was more important than the outcome.

Her detachment from consequences revealed how fundamentally out of touch she was with normal human interaction.

She was a genuinely unhinged person who somehow maintained the composure of the world's greatest defensive midfielder—never overcommitting, always in position, controlling the flow of events while appearing to merely react to them.

"Are you going to take her up on this 'wish' business?" Vykekard asked.

"I'm not sure yet," he replied quietly.

"There might be some advantage in playing along, but only if I can control the terms."

The curtain rustled again, and Julian immediately returned to his injured act, wincing slightly as Kaelen stepped into view.

"Hey," the swordsman said, his expression a mixture of concern and something harder to define—perhaps curiosity. "How are you holding up?"

Julian offered a weak smile.

"Better than I look, probably."

Kaelen shifted his weight, glancing around the medical bay before pulling up a chair beside Julian's bed.

Something in his posture suggested he had more on his mind than a simple courtesy visit.

"I wanted to talk to you about Marcel," Kaelen said, his voice low enough that it wouldn't carry beyond the curtain.

"That fight you had with him... it was impressive."

Julian blinked, feigning confusion.

"Impressive? I got thrown across half the forest."

A slight smile tugged at Kaelen's lips.

"That's not how I see it. I heard that most students—even second-years—don't last thirty seconds against Marcel. You held your ground long enough for us to secure our victory."

Julian shrugged, wincing theatrically at the movement.

"I just got lucky. Right place, right time."

"I don't believe in that kind of luck," Kaelen leaned forward.

"When I fought Marcel after finding you, I noticed something. He was... different. Worn down. Not just physically—but everything in his confidence was shaken, like he had lost the will to keep fighting."

Julian remained silent, maintaining his carefully crafted expression of mild discomfort.

"Marcel Dorn doesn't get shaken they say," Kaelen continued.

"Not by first-years, not by anyone except maybe the professors. Yet something about your encounter left him vulnerable."

"After that fight I've been thinking about it ever since. But If Marcel hadn't been worn down by whatever happened between you two, I'm not sure I could have beaten him so easily."

"You're overthinking this," Julian replied with deliberate lightness.

"You're just that good, he probably thought it was impossible to win after seeing you."

Kaelen's brow furrowed.

"I don't know about that… I feel like with you and the special admission process... I always heard how it's not just about academic potential. It's about recognizing unique talents and extraordinary capabilities—people with exceptional strengths that rival even the greatest of mages,"

"Which brings me back to a question I had before I arrived... were you holding back when you fought Marcel?"

Julian laughed it off trying to brush off Kaelen's question.

"Holding back? Look at me, Kaelen. I'm wrapped in bandages."

"Bandages can be misleading," Kaelen said quietly.

"And you're avoiding my question."

For a moment, Julian considered his options.

The truth was out of the question, but an outright denial might only increase Kaelen's suspicions.

He needed something that would satisfy Kaelen's curiosity while redirecting it away from himself.

"You want to know what I think?"

"I think you're selling yourself short. Marcel might be the pride of the second-years, but you're something else entirely."