I'm an Extra, so What?

Cafeteria – Private Room

In the secluded comfort of a private dining room—

One reserved exclusively for the Saintess herself—

Elysia, Nike, and Luka sat around a circular table.

Plates of warm food lay before them, untouched by tension yet softened by the rhythm of casual conversation.

The atmosphere was light, though slightly dimmed by the lingering sadness in Nike's eyes, her appetite clearly dulled by recent events.

For a while, they ate in relative silence, the occasional pleasantry exchanged between bites.

That was, until Luka, ever the strategist, gently set down his fork with a deliberate pause and turned his gaze toward Nike.

His tone was soft but carried the weight of intent.

"I believe," he began, his voice laced with feigned hesitation, "that it might be for the best if Arthur left the Academy."

The statement cut through the air like a blade.

Nike lifted her head slowly, her expression briefly confused, caught off guard by the suggestion.

She swallowed the bite she had been chewing and sat up straighter in her seat.

"…What do you mean?" she asked, her voice uncertain, though tinged with curiosity.

Luka leaned back in his chair and released a quiet sigh, the kind that invited trust, that suggested burdened honesty.

"Ever since he was accepted into the Academy, he's changed… hasn't he?"

His words were carefully chosen, gentle enough to seem sincere, yet guiding her toward the path he had laid out in his mind.

Luka was planting the seed.

Nike stared at him, unmoving, her eyes flickering with the faint glimmer of reflection.

She placed her fork down slowly, almost hesitantly, as if setting aside a memory.

"I suppose… he wasn't always like this." Her voice grew distant, nostalgic.

"He used to be so righteous… so kind. Handsome, too. He had a light in him—strong, steady, good."

Her gaze drifted upward to the ceiling, a soft, wistful smile blooming on her lips.

"Not this lustful, prideful… stranger."

Sensing Nike's emotional shift—

Luka rose from his seat with practiced grace and stepped behind her, gently placing a hand on her shoulder.

The touch was light, yet grounding—

Calculated.

Physical connection often blurred emotional lines, and Luka was not one to let such opportunities go to waste.

Nike blinked at the touch, briefly surprised, but instead of pulling away, she found herself soothed by the gesture.

Her shoulders relaxed.

She looked up at him, uncertain but listening.

"Arthur is a good man deep down," Luka said, his voice filled with quiet conviction.

"But the Academy… this place has twisted him. If he returns to his village—his roots—maybe he can find himself again. Maybe the boy you once cared for is still there, just buried under all this… pressure and pride."

This was Luka's ideal outcome: get the main character to leave of his own accord.

Failing that, he had far crueler methods in mind.

"…" Nike fell silent for several seconds, clearly weighing his words.

She tilted her head slightly, a frown knitting her brow as something old and complicated stirred inside her.

"…Do you really think he'll go back to who he used to be?" she asked at last—

The question was laced with a hint of desperation—of hope she was afraid to fully grasp.

She hated that she still felt this way, hated that the part of her that wanted to support her childhood friend remained intact, even now.

Luka smiled—benevolent, understanding—masking the triumphant grin threatening to surface beneath it.

"Of course," he said with gentle certainty.

"Back home, far from all this… he'll remember who he truly is."

"…" Elysia, having been quietly eating and listening, finally placed her utensils down as well.

Her gaze flickered between the two.

"I've seen corrupted hearts before. They do not simply return to purity because of a change in environment."

Nike flinched slightly at her words, uncertain.

But Luka didn't miss a beat.

"You're not wrong, Saintess," he replied smoothly—

"But Arthur's corruption isn't of the deepest kind. It's more like… he's been twisted, not broken. And sometimes, removing someone from the source of their downfall is all they need to recover."

He turned to Nike, locking eyes.

"He needs distance. He needs time. He needs someone who still cares about him to show him the right path."

Nike stared back at him, conflicted.

"But… if I ask him to leave, won't that just hurt him more?"

"That's what love sometimes requires, Nike," Luka said, squeezing her shoulder gently.

"The strength to do what's right, even if it hurts. If you still care about him, help him take the first step to healing."

"…" Nike closed her eyes, her thoughts swirling.

Emotions warred within her—guilt, nostalgia, sorrow, and the faint but stubborn desire to believe there was still hope for her childhood friend.

A part of her wanted to see the boy she once knew again.

A part of her hoped Luka was right.

"…I'll think about it," Nike finally said.

"That's all I ask," Luka replied, removing his hand and returning to his seat.

'It's working. Piece by piece…' He thought to himself.

Luka knew full well that the main character would not magically return to his former self even if he left the Academy.

If he had to guess—

Once the main character was back in his village, the disillusionment would only grow, festering until Nike's lingering affection curdled entirely into resentment.

And with that resentment, more threads of Fate would fall, dragging Arthur down even further.

The thought nearly made Luka laugh aloud.

It was such a simple, delicious plan—too perfect to spoil with careless excitement.

'Ah~ I'm a fucking genius!'

Restraining his glee, he instead reached for his glass of alcohol, lifting it with a casual air.

He took a long, leisurely drink, savoring the bitter burn that ran down his throat.

Setting the empty glass back onto the table with a soft clink, he exhaled a satisfied "Ah," the sound slipping out before he could fully suppress it.

But even as he basked in the moment, his sharp gaze slid across the table to the Saintess.

Luka's mind stirred with new possibilities.

'I'll need to find a way to speak to her alone,' he mused, his fingers tapping lightly against the table in thought.

There was still so much more to scheme, more pieces to move on the board—and the Saintess, whether she knew it or not, would soon become another pawn to further bring ruin to the main character.

Nearly half an hour passed before they finished their meal.

The plates were picked clean, the glasses emptied, and the remnants of conversation faded into a comfortable silence.

One by one, they pushed back their chairs and rose from their seats, wiping their hands and mouths with cloth napkins.

Nike was the first to break the stillness.

Folding her napkin neatly, she spoke, her voice carrying a hint of determination.

"I'll head out first. I need to mentally prepare myself for talking to Arthur."

Without waiting for a response, she turned on her heel and made her way toward the door.

Luka offered her a lazy wave, while Elysia gave a polite nod.

The moment the door clicked shut—

"…" Luka turned, his demeanor sharpening, his voice dropping low as he spoke to the Saintess.

"I hope this doesn't seem too forward or random," he began, stepping closer to her.

"But… I believe Arthur might be under the influence of a demon."

The napkin Elysia had been holding slipped from her fingers, fluttering soundlessly to the floor.

She turned to face him fully now, her usual warm and gentle expression hardening into something cold and unyielding.

Her eyes narrowed dangerously.

"Do you understand the gravity of what you're saying?" she asked, her voice edged with steel, a far cry from her usual serene tone.

Luka met her gaze head-on, adopting a solemn expression as he lied through his teeth without hesitation.

"I swear by the Goddess Lucia," he replied, tracing a cross over his chest with two fingers.

From Elysia's point of view, he appeared entirely sincere—an earnest young man putting his faith and honor on the line.

After a moment of heavy silence, she finally spoke, though her voice was cautious.

"I understand you're willing to stake your faith on it. But... I was near Arthur myself. I sensed no demonic presence from him."

Luka didn't hesitate.

"Not to sound disrespectful, Saintess. But you're still inexperienced. You're young in your position... You might have missed something subtle."

"…" Elysia's brows knit together slightly, her expression tightening.

"And what about you?" she countered.

"You're the same age as me. Yet you claim he's under demonic influence—or tempted by one?"

Luka exhaled heavily.

"I'm not claiming anything as fact. I'm saying I suspect it. It's only a possibility. The way Arthur acts... it's human behavior, yes—lust, pride—but don't tell me you didn't notice it, Saintess. That look in his eyes earlier, in the Medical Hall..."

Elysia said nothing at first, her silence more telling than any words.

The image flashed unbidden in her mind—that crazed, feral gaze.

After a long pause, she finally murmured, "I'll look into it."

Without waiting for a response, she turned and exited the room—

Leaving Luka behind with a sly smile creeping onto his face.