SSS Ranked Summoning: I'm An Extra With The Strongest Harem System
Chapter 67: Snow(1)[Bonus]

Chapter 67: Snow(1)[Bonus]

The silence was suffocating.

It draped over the yard like a heavy shroud, thick and unmoving, pressing down on every chest, muting every breath. Even the wind, once playful and ever-present, had vanished—as if afraid to disturb the moment. All eyes were fixed on the Iron Vipers. Hardened as they were, even they stood rigid, their faces contorted in disbelief. No one had expected what had just unfolded. No one.

Except Son.

Then—Aurora shattered the stillness.

She screamed. Raw, primal, and wild. Her voice ripped through the hush like a blade through silk.

"LET GO OF ME!" she howled, her body thrashing against the arms that held her firm.

Unlike Mikey, who was left partly unconscious, left to accept his downfall in grim, brooding silence, Aurora was a storm.

Raging. Ferocious. Unwilling to be caged.

Desperation burned in her eyes.

But despite the raging anger, there was fear.

"What are you doing?!" she cried out, her eyes red-rimmed with tears, panic bubbling to the surface.

Lil Jim, one of the more composed Vipers, gritted his teeth and tightened his grip. His voice came rough, trying to bring control to chaos.

"Hold her."

"I SAID BRING ME MY FUCKING BAT!" Son’s voice erupted again, venom-laced, teeth bared.

Lil Jim flinched but obeyed. He turned toward a second Iron Viper.

"You heard him. Get the damn bat."

The Viper hesitated for a beat, but in due time, he dashed away.

Moments later, he returned, holding something wrapped in a dark cloth. As he unraveled it, gasps went up from the crowd.

It was a bat.

But not just any bat. Pure metal. Smooth, deadly, beautifully crafted, heavy with purpose.

He handed it to Lil Jim, who in turn carried it to Son. And as he approached, he bowed his head slightly, extending the bat like it was a sword being offered to a king.

Son snatched it without a word.

No gratitude. No glance. Nothing.

He turned.

And then he moved.

Each step echoed like the beat of war drums—slow, steady, merciless.

He walked with purpose, unhurried and unshaken, as if the world itself dared not stand in his way.

Mikey lay sprawled on the ground, a broken figure painted in bruises and blood. His breaths came ragged, each inhale a struggle, each exhale a whisper of pain. But he was still conscious. Barely.

Mikey’s eyes tracked the figure approaching. His jaw clenched. And once more, fear flickered across his face—subtle, but there. A storm of duty and dread churned behind his gaze.

And still, the footsteps came.

Aurora’s cries tore through the air—no longer sharp, but cracked, worn down to raw desperation. Her voice frayed like torn fabric, each scream trembling on the edge of collapse.

"STOP! PLEASE!" she begged, her sobs hitching in her throat.

"SOMEONE—please—STOP HIM! HE’S GOING TO KILL HIM!"

She fought with everything she had, body shaking, eyes wide with terror, as tears carved frantic trails down her cheeks.

But the boy didn’t stop.

Didn’t flinch.

Didn’t even look her way.

The only thing ahead of him was Mikey.

And he walked on.

No one moved.

Not a whisper. Not a breath. Not even the rustle of leaves dared interrupt the stillness that gripped the air like a noose tightening around every throat.

The field was frozen in time.

From the crowd, voices rose—soft at first, like distant thunderclouds murmuring over a still sea.

"He landed the hit... that means he won, right?"

"Son’s supposed to keep his word. Isn’t he?"

"What’s he doing... with that bat?"

Still, Son didn’t flinch.

Didn’t pause.

Maybe he heard them. Maybe he didn’t.

Or maybe—maybe he simply didn’t care anymore.

Mikey’s vision blurred. Blood pooled inside his mouth, warm and metallic, sliding down the back of his throat like regret. His head drooped, bobbing gently with every beat of his exhausted heart. One eye swollen shut, the other flickering like a dying candle.

’What’s happening? Why does it feel like the world is spinning sideways?

Why does everything feel... so far away?’

With effort that felt like lifting boulders with broken bones, he raised his head. Just enough to see.

And there he was.

Son.

Standing like a shadow carved out of vengeance itself, the bat gripped in both hands. His eyes weren’t eyes anymore. They were blades—thin, sharp, glinting with a fury that devoured reason.

’It wasn’t a dream...Son’s really here to kill me!’

Fear slithered into Mikey’s chest like ice water.

"But... but I won..." Mikey croaked, his voice fragile, a trembling thing lost in the wind.

Son didn’t blink.

Didn’t speak.

He only watched. Like a man watching an insect he planned to crush—slowly.

Then, without warning, he raised the bat.

High.

Higher.

Until it kissed the sky. The sun caught the polished metal and reflected a blinding gleam—like a blade catching dawn before the kill.

And for a moment—just one—no one breathed.

"Wait...I beat you fair and square...you have no right to kill me here!" He managed to stutter off his weary lips.

Then, after a short pause, came Son’s voice.

A whisper, but not soft. Not kind.

Calm. Cold. Lethal.

"Do I look like I give a fuck?"

The words dropped like a hammer.

Time fractured.

Mikey’s brain finally screamed.

’No. No no no—’

"Wait...!"

But it was already too late.

The bat came crashing down.

It sliced through the air with a scream, gravity bending around its descent. Mikey could almost feel it before it hit—could already imagine the taste of shattered bone and oblivion.

But—

"That’s enough....Son."

The voice cut through the world like lightning splitting the sky.

The moment froze.

Truly froze.

Even the wind stopped moving.

Mikey blinked. His body flinched—but nothing touched him.

The bat... hovered.

Just inches from his skull.

Son’s hands were shaking. Not from strain.

From something else.

His face... was no longer twisted in fury.

It was breaking.

Shifting.

Something had cracked inside him.

He looked up.

Turned.

And stepped aside.

The air grew heavy. The silence more dangerous than before.

Step.

The sound echoed like a gavel.

Step.

Another. Weighty. Unhurried.Absolute.

From the space Son had opened, three figures emerged.

At the center was a boy—young, lean, and... wrong in the most beautiful way. Snow-white hair tumbled past his shoulders, each strand catching light like glass spun from moonlight. His features were so flawless they felt unreal—like art that had somehow stood up and started walking.

But he didn’t even look up.

His eyes were fixed on the glowing screen of his phone, fingers tapping idly, like he was bored. Like he was waiting for a bus and not stepping into the aftermath of a near-execution.

To his right walked a giant. Seven feet tall. Maybe more. Not just big—but immense. Like a wall of flesh and violence draped in a school uniform that clung to his frame like it knew better than to misbehave.

To his left, another boy—slim, composed, dressed with quiet elegance. His dark hair was pulled into a low ponytail that swayed behind him like a silk thread. Thin glasses perched on his nose. He walked like a prince. Like the world owed him reverence for simply being born.

All three wore the same uniform as the Metropolitan High Schoolers, which indictated they were all high schoolers.

Mikey’s chest tightened.

’H-How....that can’t be... Why is Son—afraid?’

The white-haired boy stopped, finally.

He sighed. Tapped one last thing on his phone. Then spoke, his voice low and amused, as he raised his glance up to Son.

"What the hell do you think you’re doing, Son?"

Son stammered. His tongue felt too big for his mouth.

"B-boss, I was just... I mean, I wasn’t really going to—"

"You were about to kill that boy, weren’t you?"

"N-No! No, I was just—just going to scare him a little! I swear!"

The boy with the glasses stepped forward. His tone was velvet, but there was something venomous behind the silk.

"By caving in his skull with a steel bat? Is that the new student handbook now? Am I behind on the curriculum?"

Son opened his mouth. Nothing came out. Or rather, what happened next came faster than his words—

CRACK.

A single movement.

Brutal. Efficient.

A swift, punishing kick to the groin.

Son lifted an inch off the ground—just enough for the pain to register as something cosmic.

The sound that escaped him wasn’t a scream.

It was a whimper. A pitiful groan from a man whose pride had just been split in half.

He collapsed to the ground, writhing in the dirt like a snake struck by lightning.

No one laughed.

The moment wasn’t funny.

The boy with the glasses walked past him like stepping over spilled milk.

He knelt beside Mikey, lowering himself with practiced grace until their eyes met.

Up close, his face was strangely warm. Amused. But distant.

"Sorry about the scene," he said, voice smooth like rain over marble.

"Wasn’t planning to introduce myself this way."

He extended a hand, offering a handshake to Mikey.

"They calm me Miles...what’s your name?"

Mikey’s blood turned to ice.

His breath stopped.

Because he remembered.

The words from his future self, whispered in desperation.

"Miles."

The leader of the Iron Vipers.

The one who would one day carve Mikey’s name into the bones of history.

The reason he would become a death row inmate!

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