SSS Ranked Summoning: I'm An Extra With The Strongest Harem System
Chapter 63: The Pond(2)

Chapter 63: The Pond(2)

Ring.

Ring.

Ring.

The harsh sound of Mikey’s alarm sliced through the heavy silence of the early morning, dragging him unwillingly from the depths of sleep.

His eyelids fluttered open, disoriented for a moment as the sunlight blazed into his room through the thin curtains. He groaned, a mix of frustration and exhaustion echoing in the sound, as he reached blindly for his phone on the nightstand, his fingers brushing over its cold surface.

The moment he tapped the glowing red button to silence the beeping, the rush of morning reality slammed into him, and his heart thudded in his chest like the drumbeat of an impending war. He shut his eyes again for a fleeting moment, wishing he could retreat into the warmth of his blankets.

But the truth was inescapable.

The day was here.

Mikey stretched lazily, the movement a small relief to the tightness that gripped his body. He yawned, his mouth stretching wide, his muscles groaning in protest. The ache from the previous fight still lingered, dull and insistent like an old wound that refused to heal.

His thoughts briefly danced back to the battle—the bruises on his face, the blood that had seeped into his clothes, the way his heart had raced when his body had been pushed past its limits. The memory hung in the air like smoke, too real, too present to ignore. But this was a new day.

Today, there would be a new fight.

Mikey slowly sat up, the motion deliberate, the weight of the day settling on his shoulders like a heavy cloak. He glanced toward the mirror across from his bed.

His reflection met him with a stare he couldn’t quite place. His eyes were bloodshot, the remnants of the past night evident on his face. A faint bruise colored his jaw, a small cut still visible above his brow. His hands instinctively went to touch it, the motion unconscious, as his mind began to churn.

"You didn’t have to fight." he muttered to himself, frustration lacing his words. He wasn’t proud of his choices—not entirely. Sure, he could’ve walked away. He could’ve kept his head down, stayed out of the mess. He wasn’t one of the strong, wasn’t a player in the real game. But then... what would he be? A ghost? A spectator? A failure?

"Better get ready," Mikey whispered, as much to himself as to the reflection staring back at him. His fingers rubbed the back of his neck, scratching the tension that had taken residence there. He didn’t feel ready—not truly. The nerves were crawling under his skin, a feeling of unease he couldn’t shake.

Today he would face Son Parker.

The name itself carried weight, a heavy, poisonous feeling that settled deep in Mikey’s chest. Son Parker was a legend in his own right—a kid who ruled the school with an iron fist. And now, he was the reason Mikey had been dragged into this mess. The confrontation had been inevitable, but that didn’t mean Mikey felt prepared.

He shook his head, clearing his thoughts. He wasn’t going to let doubts cloud his mind. The fight was coming, and there was no turning back.

***

The day unfolded as if it were just like any other. The first bell rang, signaling the start of another round of monotonous classes. But Mikey’s mind was elsewhere, a thousand miles away from the cramped, sterile classrooms and indifferent teachers. His eyes, though physically there, were consumed with the thoughts of the impending showdown.

The buzz in the hallways, the hushed whispers behind every closed door—it all made the air feel heavy with anticipation.

The rumor mill had been churning nonstop ever since the announcement of the fight. People whispered, eyes darting in Mikey’s direction when they thought he wouldn’t notice.

"Did you hear? Mikey’s going to get destroyed today." A voice floated to him as he passed by a group of students.

"All over a girl, too. Can you believe that? A fight for a girl."

The words stung more than they should’ve, and Mikey’s jaw clenched. The school didn’t understand—couldn’t possibly understand. To them, he was just some quiet kid who stayed out of the way. The nerd. The weakling. The one who didn’t belong. They didn’t know what was at stake. They didn’t know how much he had fought to get here, how much he had pushed himself just to be seen, just to be heard.

It wasn’t about a girl.

It was about pride. About proving to himself, to everyone else, that he could stand tall. That he wasn’t just another nobody.

Today, he would make them see.

The school bell rang for lunch, the usual chatter and laughter filling the cafeteria, but Mikey was deaf to it. The noise seemed distant, as if he were underwater. He sat alone at his usual spot, his eyes lost in the world beyond the walls, his thoughts swirling around the fight, the people, the stakes.

His roommates, his friends, had tried to talk sense into him. They begged him to back down, to reconsider. "This is insane, Mikey. You’re not ready. He’ll crush you." They had called him reckless, stupid, crazy.

He didn’t need their concerns. He knew what he had to do.

The bell rang to signal the end of the school day, but Mikey’s day wasn’t over yet. He gathered his things in a fog, the weight of his backpack like a small reminder of what was coming. The world outside was bustling, the usual after-school chaos surrounding him. But Mikey didn’t hear it. He barely noticed the noise, the chatter, the mocking whispers that seemed to cling to him like a shadow.

He was too focused. His feet carried him forward, his eyes forward, his mind locked on one singular thought: Son Parker.

The crowd at the pond was already gathering when Mikey arrived. The usual mix of high schoolers, each one more excited than the last, murmuring in low voices, trying to bet on who would win.

The air was electric with tension, each second thick with the promise of something coming to a head. Mikey walked through the crowd, his steps steady, his gaze unwavering. The laughter, the shouting, the clinking of bottles—it all felt distant now.

He could see them.

The Iron Vipers. Their leader, Son Parker, stood at the edge of the pond, a cigarette dangling lazily between his lips.

His gang surrounded him, like sharks circling a fresh kill, laughing and joking as if nothing in the world could touch them.

And then there was Mabel.

She was right beside Son, her arm wrapped around his waist as she leaned into him, whispering something that made him laugh—a sound that made Mikey’s stomach twist with a strange, unfamiliar feeling. It wasn’t lost on him that Mabel was part of the reason this fight was happening. But it didn’t matter. Not anymore.

He was here for one reason.

The fight.

Mikey’s feet carried him closer, his eyes never leaving Son. The closer he got, the quieter everything around him became. He heard nothing but the rhythm of his own breath, the sound of his heart beating in his ears. He could feel the eyes of the crowd on him, the weight of their collective gaze pressing down, but he didn’t flinch.

Son finally turned to face Mikey, his smirk spreading like a shadow across his face. The lazy drag of his cigarette seemed to stretch the moment, smoke curling into the still air. His eyes flicked over Mikey, a gleam of amusement dancing in them, but there was something colder beneath the surface—a predator sizing up its prey.

"You actually showed up," Son said, his voice oozing with mockery.

"I was starting to think you were too chicken to do this."

Mikey’s response came slowly, like the calm before a storm. He didn’t speak right away.

Instead, he let the silence hang between them, heavy and charged with an energy that crackled in the air. He stood tall, unshaken by Son’s taunting words. His fists tightened at his sides, the raw, boiling anger simmering beneath his skin, ready to explode at the slightest provocation.

Son flicked the cigarette from his hand, grinding it into the earth beneath his boot with a deliberate motion, as though extinguishing any final traces of the calm façade he’d been hiding behind. Then he turned toward Mabel, his arm sliding around her shoulders in a smooth, possessive gesture. He leaned in, pressing a quick kiss to her lips, just enough to draw the eyes of the crowd, just enough to remind everyone of who held the power here.

The crowd seemed to shift uneasily, the atmosphere thick with a palpable tension. Their whispers died down, replaced by the heavy hum of anticipation, as if they could all feel the storm brewing. The whole world seemed to lean in, waiting for the next move.

Son’s smile returned, but it was darker now, colder, more dangerous. His voice dropped to a near whisper, but it was sharp, every syllable dripping with malice.

"Let me show you what real pain feels like."

Mikey didn’t flinch.

The threat hung in the air, but Mikey didn’t need to react. He wasn’t here to play games, to rise to Son’s petty provocations. No, Mikey’s mind was clear, his focus locked onto the man standing before him. This wasn’t about proving anything to anyone else. It was about something far bigger, something deeper than any insult Son could throw at him.

His jaw clenched, his expression hardening like stone. The crowd’s murmurs faded into nothing as Mikey stepped forward, his movements deliberate, every inch of him exuding calm resolve.

He didn’t need to shout. He didn’t need to posture. His voice, when it came, was low but unwavering, slicing through the tension like a blade.

"No, Son..." Mikey said, his gaze unwavering, burning with quiet intensity.

"The person who’s going to feel pain... is the one who loses this fight."

And with those words, the air thickened even more, as if time itself held its breath. The crowd fell silent, the weight of Mikey’s words settling over them like a storm cloud before the downpour.

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