The Extra is a Genius!?
Chapter 74: Unmasked [300PS - bounus]

Chapter 74: Chapter 74: Unmasked [300PS Chapter bounus]

The Grand Hall of The Imperial Academy of Valon was buzzing beneath a surface of tension.

Hundreds of students filled the marble-tiered seating, robes shifting, voices hushed. Floating crystal spheres hovered above the center stage, glowing with light mana, ready to transmit every word and expression.

The final debate was about to begin.

Noel entered from the side arch and climbed to the third row.

Roberto was already there, arms crossed, scanning the stage.

"You’re late," he said without looking.

Noel slid into the seat beside him.

"Sorry. I was in the bathroom," he said dryly."But today’s debate... it’s going to be interesting."

Roberto finally glanced at him.

"You sound like you already know what’s going to happen."

Noel leaned back, eyes on the main platform as the candidates stepped forward.

’Let’s see how long that patience of yours holds up, Dior. A mask only lasts so long before the pressure cracks it.’

Roberto caught the smirk forming at the corner of Noel’s mouth.

"What’s got you smiling like that?"

Noel’s reply was low.

"What do you think?"

"Elyra?"

"What?!?"

"Alright chill, you overreacting for just hearing her name."

Just then, Professor Lereus raised his hand to begin.

The name "Selene von Iskandar" appeared midair in glowing letters, summoned by the crystal’s magic.

Noel didn’t move from his seat.

But he smiled wider.

Professor Lereus stood at the center of the stage, his posture impeccable.

The ambient mana light above the platform shimmered with calm intensity. Behind him, Dior and Seraphina occupied their respective sides—two figures cut from the same cloth, but colored by different forces.

"We begin with opening positions," Lereus announced, voice steady and formal.

"Each candidate will have two minutes to express their vision for the role of Student Council President."

Dior stepped forward first.

His posture was perfect.

His tone—smooth, confident.

"The academy stands at the threshold of a new era. What we preserve today defines what we become tomorrow. I believe in tradition, in structure, in strengthening what makes this institution great."

His gaze swept the hall.

"Too often we chase novelty, forgetting the foundation built by those who came before us. As President, I will ensure we uphold the legacy of excellence that the Imperial Academy of Valon was founded upon."

Polite applause followed—mostly from the noble section.

Seraphina moved next.

"This academy has always stood tall, not just because of tradition—but because of the students who gave it purpose. From every land, from every bloodline."

She paused, briefly scanning the rows.

"If elected, I will expand support programs, reinforce fair representation in council decisions, and open new academic opportunities—regardless of name or house."

A wave of applause followed—broader this time. Louder.

Lereus nodded once, professionally.

"We now proceed to the first segment of direct questions. Answers must remain within the one-minute limit."

He raised a hand, and a mana-etched crystal floated forward.

The first few questions were routine:

How they would handle disputes between departments.

Their thoughts on current training resource distribution.

A brief statement on academy representation in external affairs.

Dior answered with polished responses.

Seraphina, with composed clarity.

It was civil.

But Noel, seated in the third row, leaned forward just slightly.

Because the real question hadn’t been asked yet.

Professor Lereus raised a hand again.

The floating crystal rotated, humming softly as it scanned through the pre-selected participants.

A beat.

A flash of light.

And then the name appeared in glowing script above the stage:

"Selene von Iskandar."

Murmurs rippled through the audience.

Selene stood from her seat without hesitation.

Her posture was exact. Her gaze was sharp.

She walked down the central aisle, wand at her side—not drawn, but present.

Lereus nodded toward her.

"You may ask your question."

She didn’t look at Seraphina. She didn’t look at Lereus.

Her eyes were on Dior.

And her voice was as cold and clear as the magic she mastered.

"If elected," she began, "how do you plan to treat students who don’t come from noble or wealthy families, you know they are the 75% of the students inside the academy?"

A pause.

Then:

"Are you building a structure that excludes them?"

The hall went quiet.

So quiet, Noel could hear someone shift in their seat three rows behind him.

On stage, Dior blinked once.

Only once.

He adjusted the collar of his uniform slightly, then smiled.

"I believe in rewarding merit," he said smoothly. "And I believe that the academy thrives when its students are given structure. That structure naturally recognizes those who carry responsibility—nobles included."

Selene’s eyes didn’t move.

"So is that a yes?"

A flicker.

Barely visible.

But it was there.

Dior’s smile tightened.

Lereus stepped in before the pause stretched too long.

"Thank you, Miss von Iskandar. You may return to your seat."

She did.

Silently.

Expression unchanged.

But as she passed by Noel’s row, he caught the briefest glance from her—

Cool, precise.

But satisfied.

Because the fuse had been lit.

Selene returned to her seat without another word.

The silence in the hall lingered like a held breath.

But not everyone was watching from the same perspective.

From his place at the center of the stage, Lereus—or rather, Kaelith Drosen, buried beneath carefully woven illusion—stood still, posture impeccable, expression unreadable.

Inside, he was less amused.

’Of course. The little prince cracks the moment someone pokes his pride. I told them. Dior’s nothing but a polished temper with a title.’

His gaze shifted subtly to the boy on his left.

Dior’s smile was still there. But it had lost its edge—tight at the corners, shoulders too stiff.

’Let him spiral. It changes nothing. This election doesn’t matter. Not in the long game.’

Lereus adjusted the crystal display with a flick of his hand, voice calm and perfectly timed.

"Next question."

Let them tear him down.

It might even be entertaining.

The glow from Selene’s question had barely faded when another hand shot up.

Then another.

And another.

Lereus—his expression still composed—gestured to the next student.

"State your name and class."

A boy stood in the second row, voice clear:

"Edric. Class B, second year. Do you think students without family names deserve the same access to combat resources as nobles?"

Dior blinked.

"We have policies that reflect performance."

Lereus didn’t even wait for a follow-up. Another voice cut in from the left wing.

"Why don’t you train with us?"

"You always use private facilities— are you hiding something?"

’Well this question waws kinda vague, I do train alone too, I am strange like him?’

A third voice shouted before he could answer.

"Do you even know the names of the people you’re supposed to represent?"

The auditorium had become a storm.

Voices layered over voices.

Questions without filters.

Accusations without polish.

And Dior?

His expression was beginning to fracture.

The smile was gone.

His jaw locked. His fingers twitched.

He raised a hand to speak—and a fourth question came like a blade:

"Did you have anything to do with the last-minute changes to the S-Class list?"

This last was Elyra’s doing.

That one landed.

Hard.

From the third row, Noel leaned forward slightly, arms folded, eyes cold.

’Now you feel it.’

’The weight of everyone else.’

Dior took a breath.

Tried to speak.

But another voice rose from the far balcony:

"You said we’re all equal—why do your policies only protect nobles?"

The room was no longer listening.

It was demanding.

And Dior?

Dior was no longer answering.

He was bracing.

Visibly.

Dior raised his hand—sharply, rigid.

The auditorium quieted just enough for his voice to carry.

But it wasn’t calm.

It was shaking.

"You want honesty?"

He looked across the sea of faces.

Angry.

Disrespectful.

"Fine. I’m tired of pretending."

His voice cut through the hall like broken glass.

"Half of you shouldn’t even be here. You got in because of quotas. Charity."

Murmurs rippled.

Noel leaned back in his seat, eyes steady.

"You think this academy is strong because we let anyone in? Because we bend over backwards for sob stories?"

Dior turned toward the noble section.

Even them—especially them.

"And you—don’t think you’re any better. Weak. Cowardly. Playing nice with the others so you can sleep at night."

His hands trembled slightly.

But the words didn’t stop.

"I’m surrounded by incompetence. By people who have no idea what it means to carry legacy, to protect strength."

"You want change? Here’s change: I’ll burn this place back to what it should’ve been."

Silence.

Absolute silence embraced the Hall.

Dior’s breathing had grown loud—audible now, rough and uneven.

Professor Lereus didn’t speak.

Didn’t move.

But his gaze was locked on Dior—

And there was no sympathy in it.

The silence after Dior’s outburst stretched for several long seconds.

No one moved.

No one dared.

Then, slowly, Seraphina of Valor stood.

She didn’t raise her voice.

She didn’t need to.

Her posture was perfect. Her expression, unreadable—like carved marble.

She stepped forward and spoke:

"Leadership isn’t about blood."

Her words echoed.

"It’s not about who you are when things are easy. It’s about who you become when things go wrong."

She glanced toward Dior—but only briefly.

"We’ve seen who responds to pressure with rage. We’ve seen who divides when unity is needed."

She turned to the crowd.

"I won’t promise perfection. But I will promise this: I don’t look down on the people I hope to represent."

Noel exhaled softly, arms crossed.

"Damn," Roberto muttered beside him.

"She didn’t even swing, and she knocked him out."

Elyra didn’t say anything.

But Noel glanced at her, saw the faintest flicker of satisfaction in her eyes.

’Good.’

Across the room, Dior remained standing—frozen in place, fists clenched, jaw tight.

But it didn’t matter anymore.

The damage was done.

The crystal above the stage began to dim, signaling the end of the debate.

Professor Lereus cleared his throat and spoke:

"This concludes the final council debate. Voting will take place in three days’ time. All students are expected to participate."

Noel stood as the crowd began to rise.

He didn’t rush.

Didn’t smile.

But in his head, one thought landed clearly:

’One down.’