I'm an Extra, so What?
Chapter 93 - 93: Fighter Selection Trial (7)

In that very moment, just as confidence surged through Charlotte's veins and a smirk played on her lips, a strange unease took root in her chest.

Her breath caught.

Her body, moments ago agile and fluid, suddenly felt stiff—uncooperative, foreign.

The air around her felt heavier, as though she were submerged underwater.

A sinking weight settled in her limbs.

'What is happening to me?' Charlotte thought, alarm flashing in her eyes.

Her muscles refused to relax, the ease in her stance slipping away like sand through her fingers.

There was no wound, no visible cause—just a deep, creeping sense that something was terribly wrong.

Before she could investigate further—

Arthur launched himself forward with a roar of unrestrained fury.

His form blurred with speed, and this time, his blade found its mark.

A sharp sting shot through her arm as the rapier carved a shallow line across her flesh.

Blood welled up immediately, dripping down in slow, rhythmic patterns.

Charlotte hissed, eyes widening.

"How!?" she exclaimed, genuinely stunned.

She hadn't seen that coming.

She hadn't even sensed it.

'What kind of skill was that?' her mind raced, reeling from the impossibility of it.

'There's no way he should be this fast—not against me.'

Arthur didn't give her time to think.

With a sneer curling his lips, he swung again—and struck.

This time, the blade bit into her leg, a precise gash that made her flinch and bite down on her lip to hold back a cry.

Pain radiated outward, sharp and immediate.

Desperation flashing across her face, Charlotte clenched her fists.

'I don't know what he's done, but I can't let this continue. I need to push back—now.'

In the next heartbeat, she activated one of her defensive skills:

[Iron Body]

Her skin took on a hardened sheen, her muscles tightening and reinforcing with unnatural density.

Her body became like tempered steel.

Just as Arthur's next blow came, it bounced harmlessly off her side—no blood, no slash, nothing.

Seizing the moment, Charlotte retaliated, throwing a powerful punch toward his midsection.

But to her dismay, her movement was sluggish.

Her strike was telegraphed—

Arthur effortlessly sidestepped, avoiding it without breaking a sweat.

Her eyes widened.

'What is this? Why am I… slower?' Charlotte's disbelief was written across her face.

"…" Arthur stepped back with a scoff, lowering his rapier with mocking ease.

"Well, well," he said, voice dripping with smug satisfaction.

"It seems the mighty Second Princess is suddenly falling apart."

He sheathed his weapon and raised his fists instead, smiling cruelly.

"Now it's time for you to submit."

He rushed her again—quick, calculated steps—and began striking with rapid punches.

Charlotte managed to block a few, but her defense crumbled under the sheer speed and precision of his assault.

His fist smashed into her face, snapping her head to the side.

Her feet staggered beneath her.

'Why am I so weak!?' Charlotte screamed internally. 'Why can't I keep up?'

A moment later, Arthur landed another brutal punch, and this time, her vision swam.

Nike, watching from the sidelines, had been frozen—trapped between horror and helplessness—but that final blow shook her.

'I have to do something…'

Something inside her snapped.

She forced her body to move, ignoring the burning in her leg and the shame in her chest. Gritting her teeth, she lunged forward with everything she had left, raising her hands to strike from behind.

'Just one hit,' she begged herself. 'Please, just one…'

But Arthur spun around, sensing her desperation, and backhanded her hard across the face.

The force knocked her off her feet, sending her crashing to the ground.

"Nice try," he said coldly, looking down at her. "Maybe next time."

With his fists raised triumphantly, he turned back to the Second Princess and bellowed:

"Now do you both finally understand why I'm the Chosen One?"

Silence.

Neither Charlotte nor Nike uttered a word.

Their lips remained sealed, their eyes burning—not with rage, but with humiliation and disbelief.

They refused to validate Arthur's arrogance with even the smallest acknowledgment.

To agree with his delusions, to give him the satisfaction of their submission—

It was unbearable.

Arthur, noticing their defiance, let out a long, tired sigh, his shoulders relaxing as if the fight had become a chore.

"It seems I'll have to force you both to submit even harder," he muttered darkly, taking a single, ominous step forward.

But before he could close the distance—

A sharp whirring sound cut through the air.

Dozens of recorders suddenly soared into view, trailing lights and vapor in elegant arcs as they filled the sky above.

Their lenses glowed red, humming as they stabilized in midair.

The true audience had finally arrived.

Arthur's face twisted with irritation, a click of his tongue echoing in the stillness. "Tch… finally show up now, do you?" he muttered.

Charlotte and Nike, eyes widening at the sight, understood instantly.

There were only three competitors left—them.

All eyes, artificial or not, were now on this final confrontation.

There would be no escape.

No room for pride.

Only consequences.

And so, as if by instinct, they turned to each other—and spoke in unison:

"I surrender!"

The words rang out.

In the very next moment, Arthur's smirk faltered.

The illusion around them shattered.

The picturesque scenery of the town—its cobblestone streets, clock towers, and warm lighting—flickered like a broken hologram.

Then, it dissolved entirely, collapsing into streams of iridescent light.

All at once, they were returned to the cold, metallic platform beneath.

But there were no cheers.

No applause.

Only silence.

Staff members in uniform scrambled forward from the edges of the platform.

Medical personnel quickly reached Charlotte, tending to her bleeding arm and leg while helping her off the field.

Another team rushed to Nike, gently lifting her as she sat dazed and quiet.

Then, amidst the motion, a figure stepped onto the platform.

The Headmaster.

His gaze settled on Arthur.

"You. Boy." His voice was stern, sharp.

"It appears you will be the Fighter representing our Academy and our race in the Annual Elf-Human Showdown. Congratulations." His tone was flat, almost begrudging.

Then, he added with a frown, "Also… you'll be financially responsible for all the recorders you destroyed. They were very expensive."

Arthur exhaled, giving a lazy half-nod. "Just put it on my tab."

He turned and began walking off the platform without so much as a backward glance.

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