The Extra's Rise - Chapter 385

Chapter 385: Maven City (2)
Maven City was the biggest city near Mythos Academy, which resided on its own private island just offshore. The bustling metropolis served as the primary hub for academy students seeking entertainment, supplies, or simply a break from the rarefied academic environment. Its economy had evolved to cater almost exclusively to students and their families, with businesses ranging from upscale boutiques to themed restaurants designed to extract maximum money from young students with generous allowances.

I’d visited Maven with Rachel once before, last year when she’d helped me select a suit to match her gown for the Freshman Ball. That shopping trip had been purposeful, efficient—Rachel guiding me through the maze of formal wear with the decisive authority of someone accustomed to social events. Today’s excursion promised to be different—a true date rather than a practical errand.

We’d agreed to change into casual clothes before meeting at the academy’s warp gate plaza. I’d opted for simple elegance: dark trousers, a fitted shirt in deep blue, and a light jacket. Comfortable yet appropriate for wherever Rachel might want to go. I arrived a few minutes early, watching other students pass through the shimmering portal toward various destinations.

When Rachel appeared, I found myself momentarily stunned into silence.

I blinked, struggling to process the transformation. Then, reflexively, I rubbed my eyes as if that might somehow adjust my vision to this unexpected reality.

“You’re surprised?” Rachel asked, leaning in with a knowing smile as she curled a strand of golden hair around her finger. “I don’t wear clothes like this usually, but I thought it would be a nice change… do you agree?”

My gaze met her sparkling sapphire eyes—at least, that’s what I told myself I was focusing on. I was most definitely not looking at how her blue crop-top accentuated certain aspects of her figure, or how the black skirt fell at precisely the right length to showcase legs toned from years of combat training. The thin white jacket she wore seemed almost an afterthought, more accessory than covering.

“You know,” Rachel whispered, placing a hand over her chest in a gesture that somehow managed to be both innocent and anything but, “I can ditch my jacket when we are in private as well.”

‘In the end, you are a guy,’ Luna commented dryly in my mind, her mental voice carrying a note of resigned amusement.

Something shifted in my expression, and I stepped forward, sliding my arm across Rachel’s waist and pulling her closer to me. Her eyes widened slightly, that confident smile faltering as the tables turned.

“You should be careful when teasing,” I whispered in her ear, feeling her body tense and then squirm slightly against mine before I released her. The brief moment of control didn’t last long. Rachel immediately reclaimed my arm, her cheeks flushed with a delicate shade of pink as a smile of genuine happiness spread across her lips.

This was the fascinating duality of Rachel Creighton—the Saintess of the North, heir to one of the continent’s most powerful families, and wielder of pure divine light… who simultaneously delighted in moments of playful intimacy and asserting her claim over me in public.

We stepped through the warp gate together, the familiar disorienting sensation of magical transportation washing over us before Maven City materialized around us in a kaleidoscope of color and sound.

“I have our day all planned,” Rachel announced, her grip on my arm tightening subtly as a group of female students passed by, their curious gazes lingering a moment too long for her liking. “First, there’s a new café I want to try, then I thought we could visit the Celestial Observatory—they’ve added an interactive exhibit on elemental resonance that might help with your project.”

I raised an eyebrow at her foresight. “You’ve put thought into this.”

“Of course,” she replied with a light laugh that didn’t quite mask the seriousness underneath. “I don’t get you to myself often enough to waste the opportunity.”

The subtle emphasis on “to myself” was unmistakable. Despite our unconventional arrangement with Cecilia, Seraphina, and Rose, Rachel had never pretended to enjoy sharing. She accepted it as necessary—politically and personally—but that didn’t mean she didn’t cherish exclusive time.

The café she’d selected was tucked away on a quieter street, its façade adorned with intricate light spells that created the illusion of gentle snowfall regardless of the actual weather. Inside, the atmosphere was cozy yet elegant, with small privacy enchantments surrounding each table—a feature popular with students discussing sensitive matters or, in our case, couples seeking conversation free from eavesdropping.

“I ordered for us,” Rachel said as we settled at a corner table with a view of the city’s central plaza. “The chef here trained in the North. He makes cloudberry pastries that almost rival those at the Creighton estate.”

“Almost?” I teased. “High praise from a Northerner.”

Her eyes sparkled with pride. “We don’t compromise on quality. It’s one of the first lessons I learned from my father.” She leaned forward, lowering her voice despite the privacy enchantment. “The North remembers quality, and it remembers slights. Both equally.”

There it was—the steel beneath the golden exterior. Rachel’s kindness was genuine, but it existed alongside an unwavering sense of what was hers and what was owed to her by virtue of her position and abilities.

Our conversation flowed easily through topics both mundane and profound—classes for the coming semester, theories about the field trip to Vryndall, and eventually to my experience in the Western continent. Rachel listened intently as I described Valen’s test, her expression darkening when I detailed the ninth dagger’s impact.

“He pushed you too far,” she said, her fingers tightening around her teacup. “The contract was important, yes, but not at such risk.”

“It was my choice,” I reminded her.

“Your choice to accept a challenge from someone who could have killed you with minimal effort.” She shook her head, golden hair catching the light. “Sometimes I wonder if you realize how precious you are to… to those who care about you.”

The slight hesitation told me she’d almost said “to me” before generalizing the sentiment. Rachel rarely expressed vulnerability directly, preferring to couch personal feelings in broader terms.

After the café, we wandered through the city’s central district, Rachel pointing out new shops and commenting on changes since our last visit. Her knowledge of Maven was impressive—another manifestation of her thorough approach to everything she deemed important. Throughout our walk, her hand remained firmly intertwined with mine, her posture subtly shifting whenever we passed groups of students, especially if they contained attractive females.

At the Celestial Observatory, Rachel guided me through exhibits with the confidence of someone who had studied the material in advance. The new interactive display on elemental resonance proved particularly valuable, offering insights that might indeed help with both my Divine Miracle project and my pursuit of Sword Resonance.

“You chose this deliberately,” I observed as we exited the building into the late afternoon light.

Rachel smiled, the expression both innocent and calculating. “I want you to succeed, Arthur. In everything.” The unspoken “because your success reflects on me too” hung in the air, not maliciously but as a simple fact of how she viewed our relationship—a partnership of mutual benefit and genuine affection.

As evening approached, Rachel led me to our final destination—a restaurant known simply as “The Box.” The establishment had earned its name from its unique design: patrons dined in private cube-shaped rooms suspended from the ceiling, accessible only via personal lift platforms. Each “box” was transparent from the inside but opaque from the outside, offering diners spectacular views while ensuring complete privacy.

“I made reservations weeks ago,” Rachel mentioned casually as we ascended to our assigned cube. “They’re usually booked months in advance, but I am a princess.”

The interior was intimate—a small table for two positioned before a panoramic view of Maven City at sunset, the ocean and Mythos Island visible in the distance. Ambient light crystals provided subtle illumination that would gradually dim as natural light faded.

“Do you like it?” Rachel asked, a hint of vulnerability breaking through her confident exterior. Despite her careful planning and obvious wealth, she still sought my approval—a reminder that beneath the Saintess and heir was still a young woman who valued genuine connection.

“It’s perfect,” I assured her, taking her hand across the table. “Thank you for arranging all of this.”

Her smile in response was radiant, unguarded in a way she rarely allowed herself to be in public. As our meal progressed—a curated selection of Northern and Central continent delicacies—I noticed Rachel becoming incrementally more relaxed, the weight of her public persona gradually lifting in the security of our private space.

When dessert arrived—cloudberry tarts that even Rachel admitted surpassed her expectations—she leaned back in her chair, regarding me with an expression I couldn’t quite decipher.

“You know,” she said, her voice taking on that particular tone that immediately captured my full attention, “I did promise something earlier.”

With deliberate slowness, Rachel slipped her white jacket from her shoulders, revealing the full effect of her crop-top in the dimmed lighting of our private dining box.