Why is Background Character the Strongest Now?

The music pulsed like a slow heartbeat through the club, heavy bass threading through the chatter and laughter. Colored lights swept lazily across the floor, catching glimpses of bodies moving in rhythm.

Dravis was somewhere in the crowd with a brunette in a black skirt and a dangerously sheer top. Lyrian and Daelen had claimed their own corner of the dance floor, while Renji and his girlfriend spun in the light like they were in their own world.

Ezra stood apart, one hand resting lightly on the bar, the other holding a glass that reflected the shifting colors. He wasn't here for the music, or the crowd. His thoughts lingered on a single name—Elena Voncrest.

In the original history, she had died by Sergei Valstovich's hand, a detail marked and forgotten by most. In the novel version, she was barely more than a passing description—"beautiful." But standing here, in reality, she was… more. Her beauty wasn't just in the symmetry of her face, but in the way she stood, the quiet composure, the self-assured way she occupied space without demanding it.

A faint curl of cigarette smoke brushed past him before her voice followed.

"So you're Ezra Celestrian," she said, her tone even, but carrying the faint lilt of someone who already knew the answer. She sipped from her glass as if the drink was just an accessory. "I've heard about you from Daelen."

Ezra turned, his expression polite yet unreadable. "It's nothing remarkable. But… Lady Voncrest—seeing you care so deeply for your brother is… admirable."

Her lips quirked in faint amusement. "Careful, Mr. Celestrian. I'm not the lady of the Voncrest family. That title belongs to my mother. You can simply call me Elena."

"Then it's only fair you call me Ezra," he said, a hint of warmth beneath the formality.

"Alright… Ezra." Her gaze didn't waver. "I heard from Daelen that you fought a Rank 6."

He studied her for a moment. Her eyes were sharp—measuring, as though she was weighing the truth of his answer against the rumors she'd heard. He considered the easy path of modesty… and discarded it.

"Perhaps it would be safer to downplay it," he said evenly, "but not here. Not in front of you. Yes. I killed Rank 6 Ryun Jae Suk."

Her laughter was low and unhurried. "You're quite the man, Ezra. I like you."

He allowed the corner of his mouth to lift. "Don't say that. It might shatter the hopes of more than a few men."

A spark of challenge lit her eyes. "Hmm… so, would you like to duel me?"

Ezra's gaze lingered on her—not just the flawless features, but the quiet confidence that told him she'd said those words to test him. "Why not? But now isn't the time. After the semester break."

"If you say so." She exhaled slowly, the smoke curling upward between them like a veil.

The low thump of bass rolled through the air, glasses clinking in rhythm with laughter and muffled chatter.

Ezra was finishing his drink at the bar when Daelen appeared beside him, grabbing two glasses from the counter.

"Hey, sis," Daelen called over Ezra's shoulder, spotting Elena a few seats away. "Now that you've met my friend, why don't you head home?"

Elena glanced at him lazily, swirling the liquid in her glass. "Mmm… I think I'll be upstairs for a bit," she said, lifting her drink and stepping away without further explanation.

Daelen turned to Ezra. "You wanna dance or something?"

Ezra shook his head.

"Your loss," Daelen chuckled, heading back toward Lyria.

Ezra's gaze lingered on the stairs where Elena had disappeared. Something about the unhurried way she walked… too deliberate to be casual. He set his glass down and followed.

————-

The rooftop terrace was a different world. The city's hum was a distant whisper, and the music below came as nothing more than a faint tremor through the floor. Moonlight spilled across the stone tiles, painting silver edges on everything it touched.

Elena stood near the railing, cigarette in one hand, drink in the other. She was looking up—at the stars, at the moon—expression unreadable. The glow caught in her hair, outlining her in pale light.

She turned when she heard him approach, a small, knowing smile curving her lips.

"Are you following me?"

Ezra's tone was even. "Didn't you call me here?"

"Oh… so you caught the signal," she said, taking a slow sip.

He didn't answer. He closed the distance between them, his steps steady. Then, in a sudden burst, he launched forward—a blur of motion, twisting into a sharp side kick aimed at her ribs.

Her cigarette dropped to the side as her free arm shot up, palm bracing against his shin with a dull thud. Her block was clean, almost lazy in precision.

"Impatient, aren't we?" she said, her smile widening just enough to show she was enjoying this.

Ezra landed lightly, not giving her time to reset. His palm lashed forward in a thrust; she sidestepped, her heel sweeping low toward his ankle. He pivoted, avoiding the trip, and flicked a burst of mana into his next strike—air pressure cracked softly as it missed her by inches.

She chuckled. "So that's the famous precision I heard about."

"And this," he replied, twisting his body to catch her forearm mid-strike, "must be the grace of the Voncrest line."

For a moment, their gazes locked—her eyes bright with challenge, his with measured calm.

They broke apart in perfect sync, both landing light on their feet.

"Strong," she said simply.

"You too," Ezra replied, his breathing barely disturbed.

She lowered her guard, retrieving her cigarette from where it had fallen, brushing ash from her dress. "Give me your number."

Ezra shook his head. "No point. You can't reach me from outside."

"I'll get permission," she said, not as a boast, but as if stating the weather.

He paused, then recited the digits. Turning toward the stairs, he glanced over his shoulder.

"It was nice meeting you, Elena Voncrest."

Moonlight caught her faint smile as he left, the ember of her cigarette glowing in the quiet night.

—————-

Somewhere Else – Midnight

The rooftop was bathed in cold moonlight, the city below reduced to a hushed sprawl of faint lights and sleeping streets.

On the highest point of the building, a lone figure sat cross-legged, unmoving, as if carved from the obsidian shadows themselves.

His features were sharp, almost sculpted, but it was the aura around him that unsettled the air. It wasn't the oppressive pressure of raw power alone—it was the kind of presence that made the world seem thinner, as though reality bent slightly to accommodate his existence.

Behind him, space rippled without sound.

A woman in the crisp, formal attire of a knight stepped out of the distortion. Her armor was blackened steel, unadorned save for the silver crest over her heart—a mark that hadn't been seen openly in decades. She lowered herself to one knee, her voice calm but laced with urgency.

"My lord… we have found him."

The man's eyes opened slowly. They were not merely looking—they were dissecting, peering past the flesh, as if he could see the lines of destiny itself.

"Where?" His tone was soft, yet it pressed against her skin like a blade's edge.

"Etherlight School of Awakeners," she replied. "However… there is a complication regarding his elimination."

The air thickened—not with mana, but with something colder. An unseen weight descended, and her breath hitched against her will.

"What complication?"

His voice carried no rise in volume, but each syllable pressed deeper. The rooftop seemed smaller, the shadows leaning inward.

"M-my lord… a large-scale purge has begun within the Human Federation. Vampires, werewolves, and Dark Society members are being hunted and executed. The Sword Emperor himself has entered the field, personally pursuing a man named Halden Kairen. Halden is currently in werewolf territory… so, for now, he remains beyond the purge's reach."

The man's expression remained unreadable.

"Let them kill Halden."

The knight's head snapped up in shock.

"But my lord, Halden is crucial to the Great Plan—"

"Then we will replace him." His gaze turned back toward the horizon. "With that boy."

She hesitated, weighing her words against the crushing weight in the air.

"My lord… that boy is under the protection of beings whose strength is—"

He raised a hand, and the sentence died in her throat.

"Protection is only a matter of perception," he said lightly, almost amused. "When you step beyond the threshold, even the tallest walls feel like sand."

The knight swallowed, her throat dry. The unspoken warning was clear—this was not a man who measured threats the way others did.

"As you command." She bowed low, retreating into the distortion from which she came, though the weight of his presence lingered like frost on her skin long after.

Alone again, the man lifted his eyes to the moon. Its pale light reflected in his gaze, turning them almost silver.

"…Someone has tampered with fate," he murmured. His lips curved—not in joy, but in the sharp anticipation of a hunter who had scented something rare.

"How… delightful."

The wind shifted, carrying the faint scent of rain. His eyes closed once more, and the oppressive atmosphere seemed to coil inward, folding into him.

Silence reclaimed the rooftop.

And somewhere deep within the weave of destiny, threads began to tangle.