The Extra is a Genius!?
Chapter 145: Mornings, Misunderstandings, and Magic

Chapter 145: Chapter 145: Mornings, Misunderstandings, and Magic

The light of early morning filtered through the narrow windows of the orphanage dormitory, casting soft golden rays across the wooden floor. The clock on the wall ticked past 8:00 AM.

Marcus stirred first.

Still wrapped in his blanket, he blinked blearily at the bunk above him—Noel’s.

He smirked.

"Hey, Laziel," he whispered.

Laziel, curled on the opposite bed, cracked one eye open. "What is it?"

Marcus motioned for him to come closer. "I’ve got an idea."

Garron, already sitting upright, raised an eyebrow. "What are you two scheming now?"

"Shh," Marcus whispered with a grin. "Just watch."

Laziel crawled down and leaned close as Marcus cupped his hand to his ear.

Laziel’s face broke into a grin.

"Oh, I like it."

He stood up, extended his hand toward Noel’s bunk, and murmured: "Water Bubble."

Mana swirled in the air, coalescing into a floating sphere of crystal-clear water that shimmered under the morning light. It hovered for a heartbeat—perfectly still—right above Noel’s head.

Then Laziel dropped it.

Splash.

Noel shot upright, drenched head to toe. His golden hair clung to his forehead, dripping. His expression was blank at first—pure sleep—and then slowly turned into something between confusion and cold-blooded murder.

The room went silent.

Then came the laughter. Marcus fell over, clutching his stomach. Laziel doubled over. Even Garron let out a short chuckle, though he tried to hide it.

Noel stared at them. No words. No gestures. Just... stared.

Then, without a single sound, he climbed down from the top bunk—shirtless, soaked, and furious—and walked toward the bathroom without looking at any of them.

"Hey, don’t take it personally!" Marcus called after him. "It was just a joke! Right, guys?"

Garron nodded solemnly. "A friendly prank."

The only response was the slam of the room door.

"...He’s really not a morning person," Laziel muttered.

Noel stepped out of the helpers’ dorm room, still drenched from head to toe. His blond hair was soaked and messy, clinging to his forehead. Water dripped down his bare torso as he casually walked down the hallway with a towel slung over one shoulder. His face still held that familiar scowl from being rudely awakened.

Just as he turned the corner toward the bathrooms, two figures approached from the opposite end—Charlotte and Clara, engaged in a quiet conversation.

Charlotte’s gaze landed on him, and her face turned crimson in an instant.

"You... perve—!"

Before she could finish the word, Noel stepped up and calmly placed his hand over her mouth.

"Shh," he whispered. "You’ll wake the kids."

Charlotte froze mid-step, eyes wide, her muffled voice stuck between indignation and embarrassment. Her face flared even redder now that his palm covered her lips.

Clara blinked, caught off guard. "Charlotte, are you alright? Did he do anything to you?"

Charlotte pulled away with a flustered huff, glaring at Noel. "I’m fine, thanks for asking. He’s just a traitorous pervert, that’s all."

Clara raised an eyebrow. "I think you might be misjudging him. He’s... odd, yes, and not exactly talkative. But I think he just needs time."

Charlotte put a hand to her chin, nodding dramatically. "Ah, I get it now... he’s slow. Poor thing."

Clara pinched the bridge of her nose. "That’s not—never mind. Come on, let’s go help with breakfast."

The girls walked off, and Noel, expression unreadable, resumed his march to the bathroom.

He muttered under his breath, "Just kill me already."

Inside the bathroom, the early morning light filtered through the small, stained-glass window, casting colored streaks across the tiled floor. Noel was toweling off his hair, his upper body still bare, when he suddenly heard soft footsteps behind him.

He turned on instinct, muscles tensed—only to find a small boy, maybe five years old, standing there silently. The child had short brown hair, pale skin, and big eyes that stared up at him.

Noel flinched.

’What the—?! I almost blasted him into the wall!’

He exhaled sharply, trying to calm his pulse, and looked down at the boy.

"You lost or something?" he asked, still drying his head.

The child didn’t answer. Just stood there. Staring.

Noel blinked. "Hey, kid, are you okay?"

Still no response. No motion. Just that quiet, eerie stillness—until, suddenly, the boy’s lip quivered and he burst into tears.

"Oh, come on!" Noel panicked. "Why now?!"

The sobbing echoed off the bathroom walls. Noel crouched down, trying everything he could think of—waving his hands, making silly faces, even offering his towel like a cape.

"Hey, uh... stop crying. Please? Look! Funny face!"

He puffed his cheeks out. The crying got louder.

"Okay okay—what about this?"

He pointed a finger upward and whispered, "Flamethrower."

A small flame appeared at the tip of his index finger. The fire flickered gently, warm and harmless, dancing like a candle. The boy sniffled, his cries fading into fascination. His eyes widened, transfixed by the flame.

’Finally,’ Noel sighed in relief. ’Fire. Fire always works.’

But just as the child began to smile—

SLAM!

The bathroom door burst open.

Charlotte stood at the entrance, eyes wide with horror.

"You maniac!!" she screamed. "You were going to roast him alive?!"

Before Noel could even open his mouth, she sprinted forward and tackled him to the floor. He went down with a loud thud, his head smacking painfully against the tiled wall.

"ARGH! What the hell is wrong with you?!"

Blood trickled from a small cut on his scalp.

Charlotte hovered over him, furious. "Don’t play dumb! I saw the flame! You were gonna cook the poor kid!"

"I was trying to calm him down! He wouldn’t stop crying!"

"Oh... my bad," she said with a sheepish giggle. "Hehe... whoops."

"’Whoops’?! You cracked my skull!"

She knelt beside him and muttered an apology that was so quiet it was practically inaudible.

"...What was that?"

"I said I’m sorry," she mumbled louder, eyes averted. "Now sit still."

Charlotte extended her hand over his head and cast a soft healing spell. A faint golden light surrounded the wound, closing it quickly—though the dried blood still remained on his hair and neck.

"Heal."

Noel grumbled, "Guess I’ll need that shower after all."

Then he looked at the boy, who was still watching with wide eyes. "Take him to get breakfast, will you?"

Charlotte nodded. "Come on, little one. Let’s get you some food before the ’pervert’ burns someone else."

Noel narrowed his eyes at her.

Charlotte just smiled sweetly and waved, taking the boy by the hand and leaving the bathroom.

Noel sat there in silence, still on the floor, then muttered:

"...This mission is going to kill me."

Charlotte returned to the common area of the orphanage with the small boy holding her hand. The other students were already finishing up preparations for breakfast—plates were being set, steam rising from pots of porridge, and the sound of wooden spoons clinking filled the air.

Marcus noticed her immediately.

"Charlotte, where were you? And—wait, is that blood on your sleeve?"

Clara turned too. "What happened?"

Charlotte blinked. "Oh, um... I cracked Noel’s head open."

Clara dropped the spoon she was holding. "You did what?"

Garron raised an eyebrow while still stirring the pot. "That explains the yelling."

Charlotte held up her hands quickly. "It’s not what it sounds like! I thought he was going to burn Erick—this little one—so I tackled him."

Laziel, sitting by the window, narrowed his eyes. "You thought Noel was going to burn a child?"

"I panicked, okay?" Charlotte pouted. "I heard crying, walked in, saw fire, and—boom. Instinct."

Laziel stood and walked over to her. "Come here a second."

He leaned in and whispered, "Noel saved my life. During the academy incident."

Charlotte blinked, confused. "What do you mean?"

"That’s all I can say. The case was silenced to avoid public panic, but he saved me and others. If you think he’d ever hurt a kid, you don’t know him at all."

Charlotte’s expression softened. "...Oh."

Garron added from the back, "Noel’s rough around the edges, but his head’s always on straight."

Marcus nodded. "Exactly. Besides, he probably just wanted to keep the kid calm. Using a spark of fire magic’s nothing if it kept the kid from screaming."

Clara crossed her arms. "Did you at least apologize?"

"I did," Charlotte replied with a quiet huff. "He was in the middle of bleeding, but I healed it."

Laziel raised an eyebrow. "Was he still bleeding after?"

Charlotte looked away. "...Well, yeah, the spell closed the wound but not the mess."

Garron smirked. "So now he’s walking around shirtless, wet, and with blood in his hair?"

Marcus leaned back and laughed. "You’re lucky he didn’t throw you out the window."

Charlotte grumbled. "I said I was sorry."

Marcus grinned. "He’s not the type to hold grudges. I think."

Charlotte blinked. "You think?"

The group fell into a round of light laughter as Charlotte sighed, glancing back toward the hall where Noel had gone.

’I really hope he doesn’t hate me now...’ she thought, fidgeting with the edge of her sleeve.

’But... he did look kind of cool holding that fire...’

She blushed faintly, then quickly shook her head.

"Stupid. He’s a pervert. A traitor. And now bleeding because of me."

She looked down at Erick, who smiled up at her innocently.

"I’ll make it up to him," she whispered under her breath.

"...Eventually."