The Extra is a Genius!?
Chapter 57: The Arrival of Valor

Chapter 57: Chapter 57: The Arrival of Valor

The entire academy had been summoned.

Students from all four core divisions—Classes A through D—filled the main auditorium. Hundreds of uniforms, crests, and polished boots lined the stepped seating under the glow of levitating crystal lights. The air buzzed with mana, rumors, and the weight of something important.

Noel sat near the back, arms crossed, expression unreadable.

He’d already read this Chapter.

’Still, always amazes all of this. I mean this is my daily life now, but still there’s something to it.’

But now he was living it.

The murmurs died when the doors at the back of the stage opened and Director Nicolas Von Aldros stepped into view.

As always, he moved with quiet authority. His robes, deep violet and gold-trimmed, flowed without sound as he approached the speaking platform. His silver hair was tied back neatly, his eyes sharp beneath a composed face.

When he spoke, the room fell still.

"Today, a new path opens for those willing to rise."

He paused, letting the silence frame the weight of the moment.

"The Class S program has been officially activated. Its purpose: to identify and elevate students whose skill, control, and strategic acumen mark them as potential pillars of this new generation."

The air stirred with a mix of confusion and anticipation.

"Unlike traditional stratification," he continued, "Class S will not be restricted to Class A students. Candidates from all divisions—A through D—will be considered, evaluated, and invited based on merit alone."

Now the stir turned electric. Whispers broke out across all sections.

"But understand this," he added. "For now, students selected for Class S will retain their current course schedules. This is not segregation—it is integration. We build forward, not apart."

"Work hard"

Noel tapped his fingers once against his sleeve.

’Smart, but I know the original purpose of the class.’

Then the director’s gaze swept the hall again.

"And now, it is my honor to introduce two new additions to our student body—arriving with the full confidence of the Imperial Throne."

’And here it is, the purpose.’

The auditorium fell into total silence.

He raised a hand toward the tall double doors behind the stage.

"Please welcome them now."

The great double doors opened without a sound.

First came the guards—two imperial knights in black and crimson uniforms, faces hidden behind polished masks, their steps precise, silent. They flanked the entrance but didn’t step forward.

Then came the heirs.

Seraphina of Valor stepped into the auditorium like it belonged to her.

Her long, pale pink hair flowed freely over a dark navy uniform tailored with silver accents and a high collar. A short cape fell from one shoulder, embroidered with the imperial crest in soft gold. Her boots clicked lightly on the stone as she walked—posture straight, head high, expression unreadable.

Her eyes—pale, somewhere between glacial blue and silver—swept the hall with a calm, distant focus.

And yet, every student in the room seemed to lean forward involuntarily, drawn by gravity they didn’t understand.

Behind her came Dior of Valor.

He moved more casually. Slower. His white-silver hair was tousled, barely tamed, his dark green eyes sharp and disinterested. Unlike his sister, he wore no crest, no medals, no visible rank. His coat was expensive, but unadorned. His hands were in his pockets.

He didn’t walk like royalty.

He walked like someone who didn’t care if you forgot who he was—as long as he had the chance to remind you when it hurt most.

The moment they stepped in, the auditorium reacted.

Gasps.

Whispers.

’Honestly I understand the reactions, why the hell all the characters of this novel are this pretty? This makes no sense.’

A few students stood without realizing it. Others tried to approach, to greet them, to say something clever or show off.

Neither of the heirs acknowledged anyone.

They moved forward, side by side.

Seraphina’s pace was calculated. Dior’s was almost lazy. But they arrived at the center of the stage in perfect synchrony.

Noel watched it all unfold from the upper tier.

He didn’t stand. Didn’t react.

His eyes stayed locked on the two of them.

’It was created to watch them.’

He leaned back in his seat, arms crossed.

’And now they’re here.’

Noel didn’t blink.

He already knew exactly who they were.

Seraphina of Valor—the imperial heir. Composed, calculating, wrapped in diplomacy and distant elegance. She didn’t demand attention; she drew it in, effortlessly, like gravity. She didn’t make mistakes. Didn’t speak unless it served a purpose.

And when she did speak, people listened.

’She’s not a threat to the academy. She’s a threat to everyone who thinks they can control her.’

Then there was Dior.

Noel’s gaze narrowed.

Dior of Valor. The younger sibling. The one the empire forgot—publicly, at least. Behind that charming smirk and careless posture was a rotting core of envy, resentment, and buried brilliance.

In the novel, he smiled while sabotaging other students. Not with poison, but with doubt. With setups. With public praise followed by private ruin.

’He’s the real problem.’

’He doesn’t want the crown. He wants to see it burn in Seraphina’s hands.’

Most people would overlook him—just as intended.

They’d chase Seraphina’s approval, forget the quiet boy walking two steps behind her.

But not Noel.

He’d read the signs. He’d seen what Dior became when left unchecked.

’I need to watch him. Closely.’

The auditorium thundered with applause.

But Noel didn’t clap.

He watched.

Waited.

Calculated.

he applause still echoed when the director raised a hand, motioning for quiet.

Seraphina and Dior stood side by side before the gathered academy. They didn’t bow. They didn’t wave. Their presence alone did more than words ever could.

Noel could feel it in the air—the shift.

Conversations in the crowd turned sharp.

Nobles from Class A whispered names. Others compared ranks, speculated on who would be admitted to Class S next. A few were already making mental lists of who to befriend and who to avoid.

Even Marcus, standing near the lower rows, had straightened slightly. Clara said something beside him, but her eyes didn’t leave the stage.

Roberto, a few seats from Noel, leaned over and muttered, "Well... there goes the neighborhood."

Noel didn’t respond.

Then—something strange.

Just as the director stepped forward again, Seraphina’s gaze moved across the upper tiers.

For a second.

Just one.

And stopped on him.

It was the faintest pause.

But enough.

Their eyes met—gray ice and tired calculation.

Then it was gone.

She looked forward again.

Noel sat still.

Completely still.

’Did she just... look at me?’

’Naaa. That had to be nothing.’

’Coincidence, I hope.’

He forced his eyes back to the front of the room.

But the thought didn’t leave.

The crowd began to settle again.

Director Von Aldros spoke a few final words—about unity, ambition, and the responsibility of legacy. His voice, as always, was calm and steady, but even his presence was a shadow beside the two standing beside him.

Noel’s eyes drifted to Dior.

The younger heir hadn’t moved.

He hadn’t smiled.

He hadn’t said a single word.

But his gaze was scanning the room with the casual focus of someone collecting data—faces, gestures, reactions. Calculating the room, not performing for it.

Then, for just a moment, Dior’s eyes met Noel’s.

There was no surprise.

No curiosity.

No challenge.

Just a blank, dismissive glance.

And then he looked away.

No smirk.

No acknowledgment.

As if Noel wasn’t even worth the effort of pretending.

Noel felt the sting of it—not as insult, but as confirmation.

’He saw me too?.’

’But that look looked like he just decided I don’t matter, yet. And that’s good.’

He leaned back in his seat again, tension buried under stillness.

’Underestimating me will be your first mistake.’

The ceremony ended with polite applause and murmurs already thick in the air.

Students trickled out of the auditorium in clusters—some wide-eyed, some whispering speculation, others already scheming.

Noel didn’t wait.

He was the first to stand from his section, slipping out of the side exit before anyone could notice him leaving. The stone hallway was quiet, cool, a welcome contrast to the hum of ambition behind him.

His boots echoed lightly on the floor as he walked with his hands in his pockets, eyes down but mind sharp.

He wasn’t thinking about class schedules.

He wasn’t thinking about who would be chosen for Class S.

His thoughts were entirely elsewhere.

’They’re here.’

’Which means the real story’s about to start.’

He turned a corner, passing by a window that overlooked the central training field. The academy grounds looked the same.

But everything had shifted.

He could feel it in his bones.

The way Seraphina looked at him—even if by accident. The way Dior looked through him. The way the room itself had tilted, just slightly, toward something darker.

He stopped walking.

Stared at his own reflection in the glass.

’Pretty as always you bastard, this face is really something else’

Some students walked by and stared at Noel like he was crazy.

But most importantly.

’Act II is about to begin.’

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