The Extra is a Genius!?
Chapter 55: A Place to Rest

Chapter 55: Chapter 55: A Place to Rest

By the seventh day, the fatigue stopped hiding.

Noel sat in his usual spot near the back of the lecture hall, elbows resting on the desk, shoulders just a bit too low. The air in the room was stale with early morning heat, mana residue, and the muffled rustle of pages turning.

His eyes stayed open, but only just.

The lecture—spell layering in dual-element constructs—should’ve been familiar by now. Easy, even. But the moment he tried to copy the sigil diagram on his parchment, his fingers faltered. The line veered slightly. His hand paused mid-stroke.

He blinked.

His focus returned a second too late.

On the board, Professor Daemar raised an eyebrow and glanced in his direction—but didn’t say anything. Noel adjusted his posture, rewrote the line cleanly, and pretended nothing had happened.

A few seats away, someone coughed.

From across the hall, a pair of cool gray eyes never left him.

Lady Elyra von Estermont sat upright, posture perfect, her black braid resting neatly over one shoulder, uniform crisp with silver trim and the red crest of the student council.

She didn’t frown.

Didn’t tilt her head.

She just watched.

Elyra closed her notebook with quiet precision.

Class ended without incident—just like every other day. Students filed out in waves, chatting, stretching, discussing upcoming assignments. Noel moved slower than the rest, slipping into the crowd without looking at anyone.

She didn’t follow.

Instead, Elyra made her way toward Professor Daemar, waiting until the last few students had left.

"Professor," she said in a low voice, "has Noel Thorne had any private lessons with you recently?"

Daemar looked up, brow slightly raised. "No. None that I’ve been informed of."

"Thank you." A soft nod.

She turned and exited the room, not in haste, but with purposeful control.

Instead of heading to the dining hall like most, she made a quiet detour to the second floor of the main library. The marble floors echoed under her boots, and the scent of old parchment and mana dust clung to the air.

She approached the record desk.

"Good afternoon," she said to the assistant behind the counter—a junior student with weak posture and a strong sense of hierarchy. "Would you mind checking something for me? I’m compiling data for the council."

Five minutes later, she stepped away knowing that Noel hadn’t checked out a single advanced tome in nearly a week.

’No new theories, no elemental manuals, no diagnostics—nothing useful, nothing relevant.’

She descended the library steps slowly, fingers brushing the polished wood of the railing, her thoughts aligning with every measured pace.

’Is he going mad? Or maybe he’s trying to do something stupid alone again?’

Her lips didn’t move.

But her eyes narrowed ever so slightly.

She had seen students collapse from overwork.

Noel wasn’t collapsing.

He was carving through himself, one night at a time.

The final bell echoed through the west corridor, a long, dull chime that signaled the end of formal classes for the day.

Students poured out of lecture halls in loose clusters, laughing, stretching, some already pulling off their cloaks as they headed toward the commons or the dorms.

Noel exited alone.

His steps were steady, but slower than usual. His eyes held that same empty focus, and his right shoulder sagged just slightly—as if his body was starting to betray his control.

Elyra leaned against a column in the courtyard archway, arms crossed, the red crest of the student council stitched proudly into her uniform.

She waited until he was two steps past her.

"Walking like a undead," she said casually, her voice light and measured. "That’s a new look for you."

Noel stopped.

Then turned his head just enough to see her. "Is that your way of saying I look tired?"

"It’s my way of saying you look like someone who’s been picking the wrong kind of fights."

He gave a half-smile. Not amused—just acknowledging the hit.

"You here to lecture me?" he asked.

"No. I came to offer you a chair and some silence."

That got his attention.

He turned fully to face her. "Silence?"

Elyra pushed off the column. "I know a place. Council keeps it off the records. No students, no ears, no professors. Just air, books, and a door that locks."

’He didn’t ask why. Good. He knows I’m not offering this without a reason.’

Noel studied her for a moment. Then gave a short nod.

"Lead the way."

She didn’t smile. She simply turned and began walking.

He followed.

The room was quiet.

It wasn’t lavish—just functional. A wide window with drawn curtains, a set of old bookshelves filled with political archives and arcane law tomes, two deep chairs, and a worn velvet couch that looked far more expensive than it had any right to be.

Elyra placed her bag neatly on a corner table and sat in one of the chairs without saying a word.

Noel didn’t sit.

He paced once, then leaned against the wall near the window, stretching his shoulder.

Elyra watched.

"You’ve been scheming or doing something," she said. "And it looks like you’re pushing yourself too far."

"Maybe I’m just sleeping badly?" Noel replied, voice dry.

"You don’t just look tired," she said calmly. "You look drained."

"I didn’t realize we were measuring metaphors today."

"Well, someone has to. If you don’t."

She leaned back in her chair, legs crossed with practiced ease.

"I don’t know what you’ve been up to lately. But if you want to stay invisible, you should start listening to your body and take better care of it."

Noel finally moved to the couch and dropped onto it without elegance—just weight.

"Appreciate the concern," he said. "Didn’t know you cared about lost causes."

"I don’t," she replied without pause. "But I do care about valuable assets throwing themselves into the fire before I can use them properly."

Noel chuckled once.

Short and tired.

Then leaned his head back and stared at the ceiling.

The silence settled between them like a blanket—thin, but heavy.

Elyra glanced at the chair she’d just vacated, then at the couch where Noel sat staring at the ceiling, unmoving.

Without comment, she crossed the room and sat beside him.

Not close enough to crowd him.

Just close enough to share the quiet.

Noel didn’t react.

At first.

"You’re unusually still," Elyra said, her voice softer now, more neutral than cold.

"I’m practicing being a statue," he muttered. "It’s going well."

"Hm."

She rested her arms on her lap, crossing one leg over the other. "You know, I’ve read that exhaustion does fascinating things to sarcasm."

"Do tell."

"It makes it slower. Duller. Less sharp." She paused. "You’re at about sixty percent capacity."

"Still sharper than most," Noel said with a faint smirk.

But his eyes didn’t open again after that.

Elyra didn’t move.

The minutes passed.

Noel shifted slightly, head tilting toward her shoulder. He caught himself halfway, straightened again. Then, a moment later, gave up.

His head rested gently against her thigh, his breathing already slower.

Elyra looked down at him.

No smile.

No scowl.

Just a subtle tilt of her head.

She reached out, almost absently, and brushed a few strands of hair away from his forehead.

’Exhausted, reckless, brilliant... and dangerously compelling.’

She let her hand rest lightly on his hair.

’But not indestructible.’

And so she stayed, letting him sleep.

Just for a little while.

The room was still.

Outside, the last of the daylight faded behind the clouds, casting long shadows through the curtains. Inside, the soft rhythm of Noel’s breathing filled the quiet, his head resting gently on her lap.

Elyra sat perfectly still, one hand resting on his shoulder, the other lightly threaded through his hair. Her posture remained composed, but her gaze was distant.

Her mind wasn’t here.

It was there, back in a different room, a different day. A moment she hadn’t forgotten—because it had come from him.

"I appreciate you," he said. "Not because you’re useful. Or dangerous. Or brilliant — even though you are all those things."

"I appreciate you because... you don’t look away. You don’t pretend. Even when it would be easier."

"I’ve seen your type before. People who hold everything together for everyone else, who don’t get to break because they’re the ones expected to lead."

"And I know you’ve been overlooked. Forgotten. Even when you should’ve been the one they chose."

At the time, she hadn’t responded. She hadn’t even let it show on her face.

But now, with him asleep and vulnerable in a way he’d never let anyone see, the words came back like a blade drawn gently across her thoughts.

She looked down at him.

His eyes were closed. His brow relaxed. The usual sharp tension in his jaw was gone.

’What did you mean by that?’

The thought came quietly, without her consent.

Her fingers moved again—almost a reflex—and brushed his hair back once more.

She didn’t need him.

But somehow, he’d started to matter.

And that... was inconvenient.