The Extra is a Genius!?
Chapter 79: Cup of Tea

Chapter 79: Chapter 79: Cup of Tea

Two days had passed.

And more students had gone missing.

Noel leaned against the window frame of his room, eyes fixed on the frost-covered courtyard outside, but his mind wasn’t really there.

’This is driving me insane... I know it’s someone from inside. But who?’

His eyes narrowed.

’Nicolas? No. Impossible. No one could impersonate the Headmaster. Dior? Doubt it—he’s already left. Seraphina? Obviously not, she’s probably drowning in problems just from this whole mess.’

He tapped his fingers against the glass.

’That leaves... the professors.’

A pause.

’Instructor Dauk? Nah, all he cares about is training. Daemar? No way. He’s my favorite teacher—he wouldn’t... he couldn’t.’

The thought settled like a stone in his gut.

’Lereus...’

He straightened slightly.

’You’re the only one who feels off. You weren’t in the original novel. And ever since Dior lost, everything’s been spiraling. It’s too convenient.’

Noel’s eyes narrowed further.

’I’ll be keeping a close eye on you, Professor.’

The morning air bit deep.

Noel exhaled hard, steam rising from his skin as he swung his wooden blade again—and again—through the frost-filled air.

His form was sharp. Focused.

But he didn’t feel strong.

He didn’t feel tired either.

Just... drained.

He lowered the blade and pressed a hand to his chest. The mana inside him felt stable—but sluggish. Stubborn.

With a short breath, he whispered, "Status."

A pale blue screen flickered into view before him, glowing softly in the cold morning light.

[Current Progress: 76.33% – Novice Rank Mana Core]

His jaw tightened.

’Three percent in an entire month...’

He stared at the number like it had personally insulted him.

’Weeks chasing shadows, losing sleep, skipping meals. And this is all I’ve got to show for it?’

A bitter exhale escaped him.

’I barely trained at all. Shouldn’t be surprised...’

With a flick of his fingers, the window vanished.

He grabbed a towel, wiped the sweat from his face, and returned to his room in silence.

His winter uniform hung neatly on the rack—dark, fitted, with silver trim along the cuffs and shoulders. The crimson student council emblem was stitched over the chest like a silent reminder of expectations.

He pulled it on piece by piece. Gloves. Boots. The final clasp at his collar.

Enough to survive the cold and keep walking.

"It still feels like I should’ve made more progress this month," he muttered. "Three percent’s pathetic... compared to how fast I moved back then."

He glanced toward the frosted window.

The academy looked the same.

But it didn’t feel the same anymore.

’It feels more dead...’

The path to the main building was almost empty.

Noel walked alone, his coat tugged gently by the morning wind, boots crunching softly over frost-lined stone. A few students crossed the courtyard in pairs, whispering with hushed urgency, glancing around more than usual.

It felt like something had broken.

Like the academy was holding its breath.

’Feels like someone just announced the death of... I don’t know. The Internet back on Earth. Or chocolate. Something that mattered to everyone.’

He passed a pair of students near the courtyard arch, their voices low but clear.

"Have you seen Aileen? I haven’t spotted her in days."

"Yeah. Oswald’s gone quiet too. He used to hang around near the southern library, remember? I haven’t seen him since last week. Wonder if they’re okay. We used to see each other every day..."

Noel kept walking, head down, eyes sharp.

’Great. They’ve noticed. It’s only a matter of time now... before it all comes out.’

The thought sat like ice in his gut as he reached the classroom hall.

Noel stepped into the main administrative wing, the air warmer but heavier. The polished stone floors reflected soft light from the mana lanterns above, and the atmosphere felt as still as a cathedral.

He approached the reception desk with calm steps.

"Hello," he said, tone polite but firm. "I’d like to speak with Headmaster Nicolas. There’s something important I need to discuss with him."

The receptionist, a woman in her mid-forties with a tidy bun and round glasses, looked up from a stack of scrolls.

"Of course. Your name, please?"

"Noel Thorne."

She nodded and gestured to a nearby bench. "Take a seat. I’ll let him know."

Noel had just turned to sit down when she rose from her desk, walked over to the grand double doors, and knocked twice before slipping inside.

Through the crack in the door, muted voices exchanged words.

A moment later, she returned and called out across the room.

"Mr. Thorne? You may go in."

A few students sitting nearby turned to look.

He’d barely arrived, and already he was being called in.

Noel smirked as he walked past them without missing a step.

’Sucks to be you. Hehehe.’

Inside, the director’s office was just as regal and austere as ever—dark wood furniture, shelves of tomes, a map of the continent unfurled behind the desk. Nicolas Von Aldros sat behind it, posture straight, gaze already locked on Noel.

Without a word, Noel approached and set the cloth-wrapped rope gently atop the desk.

"I found it in one of the lower tunnels," he said. "Near where the banquet attack happened. I didn’t touch it directly."

The director didn’t respond at first. He unfolded the cloth with careful precision and examined the rope, his fingers stopping near a dried, dark stain.

Then he inhaled.

Just once.

"...It reeks of demonic blood."

Noel froze.

His skin bristled.

"What? But... I thought there was a peace pact with the demons?"

Nicolas’s eyes didn’t waver.

"There is. But you can’t expect a filthy race like theirs to honor a pact."

Nicolas folded the cloth back over the rope, his expression unreadable as ever.

"I’ll handle the investigation from here," he said calmly, placing the bundle inside a sealed case lined with runes. "I’ll personally look into it—but it will take time."

Noel gave a short nod. "Understood."

The director leaned back slightly in his chair, steepling his fingers.

"In the meantime, you should head to class. You’ll be late otherwise."

Noel didn’t argue. He turned without another word, slipping out of the office and into the chilled corridor beyond.

As he made his way through the academy, the usual rhythm of student life had resumed around him—though quieter, more strained. By the time he reached the classroom, the first lecture had already begun.

He stepped in quietly and made his way to his seat near the back.

Elena glanced at him briefly as he sat down.

"You went to see the Headmaster?"

Noel nodded, voice low. "I gave him the rope. Told him where I found it. He said it reeked of demonic blood."

That made her pause mid-note.

"Are you serious?"

"Dead serious."

A tense silence stretched between them for a beat.

Then Elena muttered, eyes still on her notebook, "Well, that explains a lot. And complicates everything."

Noel leaned back in his chair, eyes fixed ahead but thoughts elsewhere.

The quiet hum of the classroom wrapped around them—pages turning, quills scratching, the occasional cough in the cold air. But at the back of the room, Noel and Elena kept their voices low, their words buried under the noise.

"You think the Headmaster suspects something bigger?" Elena asked, not looking up from her notes.

Noel shrugged, just slightly.

"He didn’t say much. But if he thinks it’s demonic, then we’re way past regular criminals. That changes everything."

Elena’s lips tightened.

"No one’s going to believe it. Not unless someone ends up dead again."

"They already have," Noel said. "Just not publicly."

A pause.

She turned a page.

"Do you think it’s related to Dior’s fall?"

Noel didn’t answer immediately. He tapped a finger on his desk.

"I think someone’s moving behind the scenes. And Dior’s defeat left a gap. One someone’s already filling."

Elena met his eyes. "Who do you mean?"

Before Noel could reply—

Thwack.

A piece of chalk smacked him cleanly in the forehead.

Noel blinked once, stunned more by the precision than the pain.

At the front of the room, Professor Lereus stood beside the lectern, one hand resting casually against it, the other still raised from the throw.

His voice was calm.

"Mr. Thorne. Miss von Lestaria."

The entire room had gone silent in an instant.

"The chit-chat is over."

Noel slowly leaned back in his chair, lifting a hand to rub the spot where the chalk had hit.

Elena, unbothered, closed her notebook with a soft snap.

"Yes, Professor," she said evenly.

Lereus said nothing more. He turned back to the board, writing a new diagram with graceful, exact strokes.

But Noel caught it—just before he turned.

That look again.

The lecture dragged on under the weight of too much silence.

Even the usual scribbles and page turns felt subdued, like the class had collectively decided not to breathe too loudly after the professor’s last remark.

Noel didn’t take many notes. His mind was elsewhere—replaying the timing, the words, the way Lereus had hit him dead center with that chalk without even looking like he aimed.

When the class finally ended, the usual sounds returned. Chairs scraping back. Books being packed. Muted voices rising as students filtered out in small groups.

Noel stood slowly, slinging his satchel over his shoulder, ready to move.

"Mr. Thorne."

He stopped.

Lereus had stepped around the lectern with perfect composure, his coat flowing behind him like it was part of his posture. His voice was smooth. Unhurried.

"If you wouldn’t mind stopping by my office later today, after your last class... There’s something I’d like to discuss."

Noel tilted his head slightly, measuring the request.

"Anything I should know ahead of time?"

Lereus smiled. Just enough.

"Just an academic matter. A short conversation. Nothing formal."

Their eyes locked for a moment.

Noel gave the faintest nod.

"Alright. I’ll stop by."

"Excellent."

The professor turned with a faint rustle of fabric, already collecting his notes as if nothing had happened.

At the doorway, Elena appeared beside Noel, brows drawn low.

"What did he want?"

Noel adjusted the strap on his shoulder, his tone flat.

"Said he wants to talk."

"About what?"

"He didn’t say."

They walked together down the hall in silence, past stone walls lit by pale mana-lanterns.

Neither of them liked that answer.

The hallway outside the faculty wing was quiet, lit only by faint blue mana-lanterns that flickered softly against the stone walls. Noel stood before a heavy oak door marked with a subtle silver plaque:

Professor Lereus

He knocked once.

"Come in."

The voice, as always, was smooth. Controlled.

Noel stepped inside.

The office was just as polished as before—mahogany shelves perfectly aligned, scrolls ordered by color and length, a low table already set with two porcelain teacups and a gently steaming pot between them.

Lereus stood near his desk, sorting through papers with deliberate care.

"Thank you for coming, Mr. Thorne," he said without looking up. "Please, have a seat."

Noel did.

Lereus moved with effortless precision, pouring tea into both cups. The scent was faint—mint, maybe—and something floral Noel couldn’t quite place.

"I’ve been observing your progress," the professor said, his voice light and steady. "You’ve grown. Quietly, but with intent. I respect that."

Noel said nothing. Just watched him.

"That kind of growth," Lereus continued, handing him a cup, "often signals a certain... potential. One this academy values."

Noel took the cup. Fingers around the porcelain. Still warm.

"So you invited me here because I’m doing well?"

Lereus offered the thinnest smile. "In part."

Noel lifted the cup slightly, the steam curling past his face.

"I’ve been thinking of selecting an assistant for advanced tasks," Lereus went on. "Someone disciplined. Discreet. Sharp."

Noel raised the cup to his lips.

"And I believe you’d be an excellent fit."

The cup touched his lips.

And the world shattered.

There was no sound. No sensation. No time.

Only blue.

A flicker of light.

The scent vanished. The heat disappeared.

Then—

He was back in the same chair.

Same posture.

Same cup.

Rising... but still untouched.

Still in his hand.

Noel didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink. Didn’t breathe.

But his mind was on fire.

’What just happened?’

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