SSS Ranked Summoning: I'm An Extra With The Strongest Harem System
Chapter 68: Snow(2)[Bonus]

Chapter 68: Snow(2)[Bonus]

’What the fuck?’

Those were the only words that could enter Mikey’s spinning mind as he stared at the man before him.

His heart thundered like a war drum, his chest rising and falling as if to match the chaos that filled his head. And yet, in the eye of that mental storm, he could only focus on one thing—Miles.

The man who had just effortlessly dismantled Son, the man who now knelt calmly before him with a smile that seemed... too kind.

’Miles?’ he thought, swallowing hard.

’ Miles, the leader of the Iron Vipers?’

His hands trembled slightly as he lowered them.

’ My future self... he never mentioned this. He never told me anything about meeting Miles during my encounter with Son. Nothing.’

His mind raced like a runaway train, tearing through one thought after another.

’ Does this mean... I created a new timeline? He blinked, eyes twitching. So... I don’t end up being a death row inmate?’

The idea was tempting, almost comforting. His knees felt weak beneath him. But he wasn’t ready to fall just yet.

’That might be the case... but still, he reminded himself, I still remember what my future self told me.’

He clenched his fists slightly.

’ He gave me one very specific warning—don’t make Miles my enemy.’

Yet here he was.

Facing the enigmatic, snow-haired man, whose eyes shimmered with something strange—humor, kindness, maybe curiosity. They weren’t the eyes of someone who would one day be responsible for Mikey’s doom. Or were they?

’How could someone like this ever become my downfall? Mikey thought. He saved me. He literally saved my life.’

And the guy looked so damn happy.

’Why didn’t my future self just give me the full damn details? he silently cursed. Why leave me with a puzzle half-solved?’

But he knew the answer didn’t matter anymore. Not now. He couldn’t afford to make the same mistake again. No matter what, he had to play this carefully. He couldn’t let this man take him for a fool—not at any cost.

That’s when he realized he had been thinking too long.

Everyone was staring.

Including the very man crouched in front of him, smiling as if nothing was wrong.

"Um... I... I’m Mikey," he stammered. His voice felt foreign to him.

"Mikey Dickson."

The silver-haired man tilted his head, the smile on his lips only widening.

"Mikey, huh? That sounds a bit like Miles, don’t you think?" he chuckled softly, his voice smooth and clear.

"Or maybe that’s just my sleep-deprived brain talking."

He gave Mikey a grin that could warm a winter breeze.

"Anyway, excuse my intrusion," he continued.

"I really didn’t want to get violent in front of you. But the thing is... we Iron Vipers aren’t exactly the monsters people make us out to be."

Mikey blinked.

"We’re actually true to our word," Miles said with a quiet sincerity.

"And from what I heard, you and Son had a deal, right? Land a hit on him and all your debt’s gone?"

Mikey stuttered.

"Y-yeah. We did."

Miles chuckled.

"And somehow, against all odds, you landed a hit."

Mikey could only nod.

"Which means." Miles stood up, brushing imaginary dust off his pants,

"you won. So, as per the deal, all your debts are cleared."

The words washed over Mikey like cool water. He felt his lungs expand as he exhaled, as if he’d been holding his breath this entire time.

Relief. Sweet, staggering relief.

But beneath that relief lingered disbelief. This guy—this leader of the Iron Vipers—had actually paid attention to a match this minor?

’Why?’

Still, despite the blood in his mouth and the trembling in his limbs, Mikey forced himself to stay composed—polite, even. There was no point in offending the man who, with a glance, could command life, death, or something far more terrifying in between.

"T-thank you," Mikey muttered, his voice barely louder than a breath.

Miles waved it off with a casual flick of his hand, the corners of his eyes narrowing with a mischievous smile.

"No need to thank me."

Then, with an idle gesture, he raised his fingers and snapped them toward the Iron Vipers restraining Aurora.

"Let her go, you damn perverts." he said, tone light, even playful—as if it were all a harmless misunderstanding rather than a near-execution.

"Yes, sir!" the Vipers barked in unison, snapping to attention like trained dogs before hastily releasing her.

Aurora stumbled forward as if gravity had suddenly remembered her presence. For a breathless second, she seemed suspended between falling and running. And then her eyes locked on Mikey.

She ran.

Straight into him.

Tears spilling down her cheeks, she crashed into his arms with the full force of her desperation. Her sobs trembled against his chest as she clung to him, burying her face in his shirt. Her fingers twisted into the fabric like she feared he might disappear if she let go.

"Mikey!" she cried.

"Are you okay? I mean—of course you’re not okay! You’re bruised and battered all over!"

Her hands hovered near his swollen face, fingers ghosting over the darkened bruises, too afraid to touch, too heartbroken not to try.

"I’m so sorry," she whispered, voice cracking.

"This is all my fault..."

Her tears soaked through his shirt, each drop warm against his skin, each sob a little dagger of guilt and relief.

"...Mmm...yeah it is..." He stuttered.

But Mikey didn’t feel anger.

Despite the raw ache in every joint, despite the swelling in his lip and the pounding in his skull, something stirred in his chest.

A soft warmth.

For once in his life, he hadn’t just endured. He hadn’t just survived.

He had protected someone.

Really, truly protected her.

He had stood his ground—not out of pride, or anger, or fear—but because it had to be done. Because someone needed to, and he hadn’t backed down.

And for the first time, he saw himself not as a victim of the world, but as something more.

’I protected her.’ he thought, heart beating slowly, reverently in his chest.

’ And maybe... I saved myself too.’

His gaze drifted past her shoulder—drawn, almost magnetically, to the white-haired man watching him.

Miles.

Their eyes met.

For a moment, nothing was said.

But something passed between them. A shift. A recognition.

And then Miles smiled—slow, relaxed—and rose to his full height, slipping his hands into his coat pockets with the ease of someone who had never feared consequence.

"Well," he said, voice smooth as velvet,

"I guess that brings an end to our little meeting."

He stepped forward just slightly, the faintest lean into the space between them.

"Tell you what, Mikey. Just to make up for the dumbass behind me who ruined our reputation today, I’ll offer you a chance. A favor. One request—anything you want. Money. A clean academic record. A scholarship. Power. Whatever’s within my reach."

Mikey blinked. His throat tightened.

"All you have to do is say the word," Miles continued, his tone almost whimsical.

"You don’t have to decide now. I’ll give you a week."

He reached into his coat, flicking a card with two fingers. It fluttered through the air like a feather, impossibly graceful—until it landed cleanly in Mikey’s open palm.

"If you want to reach me... call that number. If not..." He shrugged. "No hard feelings. We’re really nice people, you know."

And then, a sound shattered the calm.

A harsh, gurgling cough.

Son.

The man groaned from the ground, broken and bloodied, trying to lift his head. Pathetic.

Miles’ expression didn’t shift. Not until the smile faded into something colder. Something final.

Without a word, he pivoted on one heel—and his leg snapped out in a perfect arc. A brutal heel kick connected with Son’s temple.

The sound was sickening. Bone against bone. Then silence.

Son crumpled like a puppet cut from its strings. Limbs slack. Eyes rolled back.

Mikey’s stomach twisted. The contradiction was too sharp.

’Nice people, huh?’

Miles glanced back over his shoulder, his smile returning like a mask slipping back into place.

"Give it some thought." he said.

"I look forward to your call, Mikey Dickson."

And then he turned—just like that—and began to walk away.

His men followed, falling into step behind him like shadows. There was no urgency. No shame. Only poise.

As if they hadn’t just walked through hell and rewritten the rules.

And then they were gone.

The quiet that followed felt almost unreal. The world held its breath.

Mikey stood there, Aurora still in his arms, surrounded by spectators who stared in stunned silence.

Whispers rippled through the crowd, but he couldn’t hear them. Couldn’t even focus on the sound of the wind.

His mind was drifting—caught in the haze between disbelief and triumph.

’I actually did it.’

The thought came gently. Disbelieving. Sacred.

’I saved myself from damnation.’

And then... something shifted.

His knees wobbled. The weight of everything—his injuries, his fear, the fading adrenaline—pressed down all at once.

’What’s happening...?’

The world blurred at the edges. A ringing began in his ears. His body felt far away, like he was trying to move underwater.

Still, something buzzed against his thigh.

Faint. Insistent.

With the last of his strength, Mikey reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. His vision swam as he forced his eyes to focus.

An alert.

[14,000 USD has been credited to your account.]

His breath caught. Eyes widening. His thumb hovered over the screen.

’What the...’

But that was all he had left.

The exhaustion struck like a crashing wave, dragging him under.

The phone slipped from his grasp.

His arms went slack. His eyes closed.

And everything faded into darkness.

The world, once more, went still.

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