The Extra's Rise-Chapter 323: Witch’s Heart (3)

"Yours," Cecilia whispered. Her voice was soft, but there was steel behind it—steady and stubborn, the kind of voice that expected the world to hush politely when it spoke. "God help me, Arthur, but I'm yours."

I stared at her then—properly stared. Not the casual, dismissive look of someone who'd seen her face a thousand times, but the careful gaze of someone truly trying to understand.

Cecilia Slatemark.

Golden princess. Daughter of emperors. One day, the Arch Witch herself, a name that would have entire continents treading lightly and double-checking their words before speaking.

And if fate had had its way, she would belong to Lucifer Windward.

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That last bit, though? Irrelevant. Fate and I hadn't exactly been on speaking terms lately.

I'd already made up my mind to rewrite it completely.

Because I wanted Cecilia. And Rachel. And Seraphina. And Rose.

Selfish? You bet.

Hypocritical? Unquestionably.

The universe could look somewhere else for its Hero. It wasn't going to find him here, holding an imperial princess close in a quiet dorm room.

I reached up slowly and cupped her cheek, feeling warmth against my palm, feeling the small tremble she was desperately trying to hide. Her crimson eyes held mine, daring me to break first.

'Cecilia Slatemark,' I thought with a smile. 'A princess who had everything. And now she's shaking in my arms.'

'Arthur,' Luna spoke softly in my mind, her voice unusually gentle, 'in my eyes, you're the Hero.'

'What?' I blinked, taken aback.

But Luna didn't say anything else, fading from my thoughts like someone trying not to ruin a perfectly good moment.

Fine, I'd ask later. If I remembered.

Because at this moment, Cecilia was all I could see.

"I've fallen for you too, you know," I murmured, softly enough that only she could hear.

Funny how honesty worked. Sneaking up on you at exactly the wrong moment—or maybe, exactly the right one.

I'd disliked her once, really disliked her. Hard to like a girl who'd used you as her personal plaything, laughing while she twisted your strings.

But she changed.

She cracked first. Masks dropped, walls crumbled, and beneath all that porcelain confidence was someone vulnerable, someone who actually saw me as more than a simple piece on a chessboard.

And despite my mind's stern lectures, my heart had already decided long ago.

"Honestly, Cecilia," I whispered, drawing her even closer, my arm wrapping around her waist gently, "how many times do I have to tell you I love you before you finally believe me?"

"Forever," she murmured, pressing closer. Her voice vibrated softly against my skin. "Love me forever. Be mine forever."

"I will be," I replied firmly, without hesitation.

My fingers slid gently through her golden hair, finding comfort in its silk-like texture. It wasn't a grand romantic gesture, more a quiet, steady reassurance. Somehow, it felt perfectly right.

"But it's not just you," I added softly, carefully. "It's the three others, too."

She stiffened slightly at that, pulling back just enough to look into my eyes. Her expression wasn't angry, though; more thoughtful, as if puzzling over something very complicated, like an advanced spellcasting formula.

"I know," she said finally. Her voice had a fragile edge, not used to making compromises. "I know... but knowing doesn't make it easier."

"Nothing worthwhile ever is," I reminded her gently. "I've chosen you, Cecilia. Not just alongside them, but because of who you are. Because I want you in my life."

Her fingers tightened briefly around mine, then relaxed as if she'd finally decided something important.

"You promise you won't leave me behind?" she asked quietly, crimson eyes locked onto mine. "That you'll always have a place for me, just as much as them?"

"Always," I promised firmly. "You're Cecilia Slatemark. Do you really think you'd let yourself be forgotten?"

She smiled then, bright and sudden, like sunlight breaking through heavy clouds. A princess's smile, brilliant and dangerous.

"You're impossible, Arthur," she said, but it sounded like praise. "And yet, I believe you. I always believe you."

She drew closer again, leaning up to give me a kiss—a gentle one, careful, yet somehow holding more meaning than all our previous encounters. It was a promise sealed in trust.

Finally, she stepped back, smoothing the creases from her skirt as if gathering her scattered composure. "I have an event tomorrow morning," she sighed dramatically, already moving towards the door. "If I don't get enough rest, I'll blame you."

"Fair enough," I agreed, smiling. "I accept responsibility."

She paused at the threshold, glancing back over her shoulder, eyes shimmering faintly.

"One more kiss, for luck?" she asked softly, pretending it wasn't important.

"Of course," I said, crossing to her swiftly.

Our lips met once more—a tender goodbye, a quiet promise.

Then she was gone, leaving behind nothing but the lingering warmth of her touch and the faint scent of something sweet and golden.

I exhaled, shook loose the clutter of thoughts jangling around my mind, and lifted my hand, palm up.

"Alright, Luna," I said. "Let's see you."

The air shimmered with a faint ripple of mana—like a heat haze deciding to give up its day job—and obediently gathered into shape. The shape, it turned out, was about ten centimeters tall, with a head so disproportionately large that it seemed on the verge of tumbling over from its own ambition. Long violet hair spilled down its tiny shoulders, while two enormous golden eyes blinked up at me in a confusion that could generously be called adorable.

"At last," Luna declared, placing her minuscule hands proudly on her equally miniature hips. "I have successfully manifested—albeit not quite in my full glory."

I raised an eyebrow at the pint-sized doll-girl balanced neatly in my palm. She radiated the kind of earnestness usually reserved for puppies, cartoon mascots, and people trying to sell you dietary supplements.

"Chibi doll," I observed, tapping her lightly on the forehead with my finger. It felt like poking a marshmallow.

Luna staggered dramatically, then steadied herself, glaring up at me with an expression meant to inspire awe and terror. It succeeded mostly at inspiring an urge to pat her gently and offer reassuring snacks.

"You are addressing a mighty qilin, Arthur Nightingale," she said imperiously, which, given her voice's squeaky timbre, sounded roughly as intimidating as a very determined hamster.

"Sorry, sorry," I replied, trying—and failing—to keep a straight face. "You're just...incredibly adorable right now."

Her golden eyes narrowed into dangerous (yet impossibly cute) slits. "Adorable? Adorable? Arthur, I am an entity of cosmic wisdom and power, a being whose very existence transcends—stop laughing this instant!"

"Not laughing," I said, lips twitching heroically. "Just...deeply respectful."

She crossed her arms indignantly, clearly unconvinced, and let out a tiny, frustrated huff that had all the threatening quality of a disgruntled kitten.

According to Luna, this miniature manifestation was all my current strength could manage, now that I'd reached Integration-rank. She assured me, with rather pointed emphasis, that her true form—vast, majestic, possibly involving some kind of celestial fireworks—would be available once I reached Radiant-rank.

I looked down at her again, unable to resist.

"So," I asked, "do you eat tiny sandwiches or something?"

Her glare intensified, which just made me grin even wider.

"Anyway," Luna said, breaking the brief silence, "why did you manifest me, Arthur?"

"You said something strange earlier," I replied carefully. "About me being a Hero. Explain."

She tilted her head, enormous golden eyes narrowing slightly as though searching for words that could explain things clearly enough for an especially bright toddler.

"You remind me of Julius," she began at last. Her tone had turned gentler, a nostalgic timbre creeping in as she said the name of Julius Slatemark, the first emperor. "You carry yourself much as he did. You make choices in much the same way."

My eyebrows drew together.

"How, exactly?" I asked, skepticism tinting my voice. "I doubt Julius would have approved of someone like me."

Luna shrugged her tiny shoulders dismissively. "Heroes are tricky things, Arthur. Everyone expects a Hero to always do what's 'right.' To rescue kittens from trees and help old ladies cross streets safely."

"Not exactly my area of expertise," I pointed out dryly.

"I've noticed," she said with exaggerated solemnity. "But perhaps that is why you qualify."

I leaned forward slightly, intrigued despite myself. "You're saying a Hero doesn't have to be good?"

She sighed, shaking her head. "Maybe in a perfect world. But this isn't one of those. Trust me, I checked." Her expression softened. "A true Hero might always choose the righteous path—whatever righteousness actually means—but the world doesn't always reward righteousness with survival."

"So what, a Hero is just someone who survives?" I asked skeptically. "Seems a low bar to clear."

She gave me a long, piercing stare. For a moment, despite her size, the ancient weight behind those golden eyes made me feel like a schoolboy called out by an impossibly wise professor.

"A Hero, Arthur, is someone who ensures the survival of others," Luna explained patiently. "Even if the methods used aren't always noble or nice. Even if he himself is selfish and flawed. You are no saint, no shining paladin destined to be celebrated in sermons. But the world doesn't need a saint right now. It needs someone who can keep it spinning just a little longer."

I turned her words over slowly, examining them from every angle like a gem whose facets shifted every time you moved it. She wasn't wrong—I wasn't exactly a textbook Hero. My hands weren't spotless, and I doubted they ever would be. But maybe that didn't matter as much as everyone thought it should.

"Why me?" I finally asked, voice quieter than I'd intended.

"Because fate is silent, Arthur," Luna said softly, placing her tiny hand reassuringly on my thumb. "Because the threads of destiny no longer lead clearly. You're the one thread left strong enough to hold it all together. The world doesn't need someone perfect. It just needs someone strong enough."

She paused, her eyes glowing softly. "Isn't that enough to call yourself a Hero?"