The Extra's Rise

Night had given way to morning, and after a restless sleep filled with strategic planning and memories, I found myself back in the grand arena of Mythos Academy. The stands were packed with spectators – students, faculty, dignitaries from across the continents, and even some of the most powerful figures in the world hidden away in private observation rooms. The weight of their collective expectation pressed down on the twenty of us who stood in formation, waiting for the Crown Challenge to begin.

Vice Headmaster Valerie von Lampez stood upon an elevated platform that allowed her to address not just us competitors but the entire assembly. The microphone she spoke into carried her voice throughout the arena and to the viewing screens worldwide where millions watched what had become far more than a simple academy competition.

"Distinguished guests, honored representatives of the continental powers, students of our allied academies, and viewers across the world," she began, her golden eyes surveying the arena with measured confidence. "Welcome to the culmination of the Inter-Academy Festival – the Crown Challenge."

She gestured upward, and a massive holographic display activated above the arena, showing the magnificent seven-spired Crown rotating slowly, each spire catching light differently.

"For centuries, this Challenge has identified not merely the most skilled fighters or the most tactically brilliant minds, but those who embody the virtues that true leadership requires. Those who may one day stand among the ranks of the continent's protectors."

I felt eyes on me – not just from the stands but from the other competitors. Jack Blazespout smirked from his position two places to my left, while Lucifer Windward maintained his characteristic stoic expression from the opposite side of our formation. Rachel caught my eye briefly, her expression controlled save for a wink she sent my way. Beside her, Cecilia's calculating gaze scanned the arena, already mapping advantages and potential threats. Rose stood at ease, but the tension in her shoulders betrayed her readiness. And Seraphina, her silver hair pulled back in a tight braid, nodded almost imperceptibly when our eyes met.

"Today's Challenge differs from years past," Valerie continued, drawing my attention back to her. "The Crown seeks seven virtues in its potential bearer: Courage, Wisdom, Resilience, Vision, Harmony, Conviction, and Sacrifice. Each competitor will face trials customized to their personal history, designed to reveal not just ability but character."

She held up a small fragment that matched the material of the Crown itself. "Each of you wears a Crown Shard. These will measure your responses to the trials you face and determine your worthiness to proceed. They are also your means of withdrawal should you choose to forfeit – simply crush the Shard in your hand, and you will be transported safely from the Challenge."

The Shard against my chest seemed to pulse once in response, as if acknowledging its purpose.

"One final change to traditional protocol," Valerie's voice took on a more serious tone. "In previous years, only three finalists could reach the Heart of the Crown. This year, the Crown itself has decreed that any who complete all seven trials may enter the final chamber. What happens there will be determined by those who reach it."

Murmurs swept through the arena. This changed everything – our careful planning had assumed a three-person final confrontation, but now...

"Remember who you are and what you represent," Valerie concluded. "Your academies, your families, your continents watch. But most importantly, remember that the Crown sees beyond appearance and reputation, beyond technique and raw power. It sees your truth."

She raised her hand, and the platform beneath us began to glow with intricate patterns. "Competitors, prepare yourselves. The Crown Challenge begins... now."

Reality dissolved around me in a flash of light. When my vision cleared, I stood alone in a vast, circular chamber with pathways radiating outward like spokes from a wheel. Each path was marked with one of the seven virtue symbols, glowing with soft light. The Crown Shard at my neck had awakened, pulsing with a blue glow that seemed to resonate with my heartbeat.

I had seconds to choose my first trial. Starting with what was the strongest was best as it allowed to build momentum for the more difficult challenges ahead. For me, that should have been Courage – I'd never lacked for that, not since Emma. But something pulled me toward the path marked with the symbol for Sacrifice. Perhaps because sacrifice was something I understood too well.

The moment my foot touched the path, the chamber blurred and reshaped itself into a featureless room with mirrored walls. The mirrors began to glow, creating seven distinct challenges that would test my understanding of sacrifice.

As I approached the first challenge, memories surfaced. Not the calculated, measured memories I usually allowed myself, but the raw ones – the ones that made my chest tighten, the ones I kept locked away behind walls of logic and strategy.

I saw myself again – not Arthur Nightingale, but the nameless, emotionless boy I had once been. A grey existence. An orphan with no attachments, no connections, a child who viewed emotions as mere chemical reactions, glitches in an otherwise functional system.

The first challenge materialized as a simulation of two children trapped beneath debris. I felt the ground shift beneath my feet, dust filling my lungs as the scene solidified around me. The air was thick with the smell of wet concrete and fear. A collapsed building loomed before me, its jagged edges threatening further collapse with each passing second.

Through a narrow gap in the rubble, I could see them. Not simulations, but children – a boy with a shock of dark hair matted with dust and blood, and a girl whose tear-streaked face was frozen in silent terror. Both around eight years old. The boy's arm was pinned at an awkward angle; the girl was curled into a protective ball, eyes squeezed shut as if that might make the nightmare disappear.

"Help! Please!" The boy's voice cracked with desperation. "My sister... she's scared."

I assessed the situation with clinical precision, my mind calculating collapse patterns and structural integrity. The simulation presented a brutal choice: the path to the boy was relatively clear but would take precious moments; the girl was behind a secondary collapse that would require careful navigation. The groaning of shifting concrete made the message unmistakable – I had time to reach one or the other, but not both.

Not only that, I couldn't use my actual power here as it was being suppressed.

I refused the premise.

My fingers traced the edge of a support beam, mind racing through calculations. If the main weight could be redistributed... if I could just create enough temporary stability...

"That approach is not viable," a disembodied voice announced. "Choose."

I ignored it, dropping to my knees to examine the foundation of the collapse. Dust coated my throat, making each breath a struggle. The simulation was fighting me – the beam was too far, the angle impossible, the risk unacceptable. But the children's whimpers cut through my concentration, a reminder of what was at stake.

"Please hurry," the girl whispered, voice barely audible through the rubble. "I don't want to die here."

Her words sent a jolt through me. In my first life, I would have made the logical choice, accepted the inevitable loss. But Emma had taught me that solutions existed beyond cold calculation, beyond accepting impossible choices.

I wedged myself into a gap that seemed impossibly small, feeling the rough edges of concrete tear at my skin. My muscles protested as I forced my way deeper into the unstable structure. The children watched me with wide eyes – hope fighting with fear on their dirt-streaked faces.

"You'll make it worse," the simulation warned. "The probability of total collapse has increased to 87%."

But probability wasn't certainty. I reached the support beam, calculating the exact point of maximum leverage. My hands gripped the rough surface, testing its weight. Too heavy to move conventionally. But if I used my body as the fulcrum...

"Cover your faces," I instructed the children, my voice steady despite the pain already building in my muscles. "When I tell you, move exactly where I say. Not before. Not after."

I positioned myself beneath the beam, bracing my back against it and my feet against the rubble floor. With a deep breath, I pushed upward with everything I had. Pain seared through every fiber of my being – simulated but convincing enough to draw a genuine gasp from my lips. The beam shifted millimeters, then centimeters, creating a temporary structural support.

"Now!" I called through gritted teeth. "Boy first, straight ahead. Girl, count to three then follow the same path."

The boy hesitated, looking at his sister. "Go together?"

"No," I managed, muscles trembling from exertion. "Too much weight at once. Trust me."

The boy crawled forward, small body navigating the narrow path I'd created. I could feel the structure settling above me, pressing down with increasing force. Sweat poured into my eyes, my vision blurring as I fought to maintain the position.

"Keep coming," I encouraged as the boy reached the halfway point. The girl's frightened eyes never left mine, her chest rising and falling in rapid, shallow breaths. "You're doing great."

When the boy finally cleared the danger zone, I nodded to the girl. "Your turn. Quick but careful."

She moved with surprising grace for someone so terrified, following her brother's path exactly. I could feel my strength failing, muscles spasming as lactic acid built up beyond tolerable levels. The simulation was pushing me to my limits, testing not just my willingness to sacrifice but my physical capacity to endure.

The girl was three-quarters of the way when a secondary collapse triggered. A fresh wave of rubble cascaded down, threatening to eliminate the narrow path of escape.

"Run!" I shouted, abandoning any pretense of calm. She scrambled forward as I shifted my position, taking even more weight onto my shoulders to stabilize the new collapse point.

The pain was blinding now. My spine felt as if it might snap, shoulders threatening to dislocate. I couldn't feel my legs anymore, just the crushing weight above and the desperate need to hold on for just a few seconds longer.