The Extra is a Genius!?
Chapter 193: Lightning Breakthrough

Chapter 193: Chapter 193: Lightning Breakthrough

The Class S training chamber beneath the academy pulsed with arcane tension. Reinforced stone walls, etched with ancient runes, absorbed the noise and shockwaves from countless spells. It was late afternoon, and the chamber was alive with movement.

In one corner, Marcus and Seraphina clashed in a spell-only sparring match. Streams of blue fire from Marcus twisted through the air, countered by shimmering blades of metallic energy conjured by Seraphina. Neither dared to blink—each strike carried serious weight.

Elsewhere, Selene trained alone, summoning jagged spears of ice from the ground and launching them toward moving targets. Each spell was precise, devastating, and chilling in more ways than one.

Near the back, Elyra stood calmly, weaving threads of support magic, reinforcing barriers, and amplifying nearby mana flows. Where the others clashed, she calculated—strengthening and controlling the battlefield like a tactician.

At the center stood Noel, alone in a designated circle. His shirt clung to his back, soaked in sweat, and his breathing was sharp, shoulders tense. Mana surged beneath his skin—angry, coiled, begging to be released.

Across from him, Professor Daemar watched in silence. The older man’s purple eyes were focused, his posture still, the edge of interest barely visible on his stoic expression.

"Don’t force it," Daemar instructed. "It’s not a sword. It’s more like a storm. Let it come to you."

Noel closed his eyes. His fingers twitched. A flicker of mana sparked between them—familiar, but volatile.

And then—

CRACK.

A flash of white-blue lightning shot from his outstretched hand, instantaneous and merciless. It wasn’t a slow spell or a building surge—it was pure destruction in its most direct form. The bolt struck the reinforced far wall, carving a blackened scar into the stone, and the smell of ozone filled the chamber.

Everything stopped.

Selene turned. Marcus and Seraphina paused mid-cast. Even Elyra’s spell faltered for half a second.

Daemar’s eyes narrowed. He stepped forward.

Noel looked at his hand, still smoking faintly.

"...Stormpiercer," he muttered.

Daemar exhaled slowly, then spoke with rare approval.

"You’re casting spells of that level... already?"

Noel turned to him, uncertain. "Was that... bad?"

Daemar shook his head, placing a firm hand on the boy’s shoulder.

"No. It means you’re ready to stop pretending you’re average."

He let a beat pass before adding, more seriously:

"You just performed a lightning spell that only an Ascendant-tier mage would normally attempt. That’s not normal, Thorne. That’s really rare, even I couldn’t perform something like this at your age."

The scorched wall still smoked faintly as Noel lowered his hand. He could feel the residue of the spell crackling through his veins—like static under the skin, raw and alive. But Daemar had already turned away, reaching for a thick notepad bound in dark leather.

He scribbled a few lines in silence, eyes darting between Noel and the remnants of the spell.

"That was a success," Daemar finally said, his voice back to its usual composed tone. "You won’t need further lightning instruction for now."

Noel blinked. "That’s it?"

"You’ll spend the next few weeks learning how to control what you just did," Daemar replied. "But I’ll be informing Nicolas that you’ve surpassed the current training module. From here on, it’s refinement."

He tore the page from the notebook, folded it neatly, and handed it to an assistant nearby. Without another word, the messenger sprinted out of the chamber.

"Stormpiercer." Daemar repeated the name. "You cut through stone like it was paper."

Noel looked down at his hand. It was steady now, but he could still feel the echo of the mana, like the sky itself had passed through him.

"Thanks for the guidance," he said, glancing up.

Daemar gave a subtle nod, softer than usual.

"You’re the kind of student people remember, Thorne. Don’t waste it."

Then, with his usual composure, Daemar turned and walked away, already calling Marcus and Seraphina forward for their next rotation.

Noel remained still for a moment, absorbing everything.

He murmured to himself:

"Status."

A faint chime, and the familiar blue screen appeared in front of him.

[Current Core Progress: 55.35% – Mana Core: Adept]

He exhaled.

’Still Adept. But that spell... that wasn’t Adept-tier. Not even close.’

And then, beneath the core update, a new line appeared—something he hadn’t seen before.

[New Quest Received]

Join the Saint in Investigating the Forgotten History of Our World

Reward: +2 Pages unlocked in "Diary of the Forgotten Son"

"...Huh?"

He tilted his head.

"A quest that doesn’t involve almost dying? And with Charlotte?"

He laughed under his breath.

"Either the gods are bored, or this is going to get weird."

His fingers hovered over the quest message. For now, he let it be.

’The Diary of the Forgotten Son... why do I feel like that name means something?’

The session continued for nearly another hour. Daemar rotated among the standout students of Class S, correcting forms, adjusting spell sequences, and demanding discipline. Meanwhile, Noel stayed back, observing with quiet focus.

Selene moved like a sharpened blade of winter, summoning pillars of ice that erupted from the ground with surgical precision. Her expression was unreadable, as always—calm, deadly, and in complete control.

Elyra, on the other hand, flowed like silk, weaving support magic with fluid grace. A silvery aura shimmered around her and her sparring partners, enhancing their speed and defense. Her magic was subtle, but its effects were undeniable.

Across the chamber, Marcus and Seraphina were deep in a magic-only duel. The ground cracked under Marcus’s feet as he launched stone projectiles, his hands glowing with an intense blue flame. Seraphina countered with metal blades that hovered in midair, responding to her commands with precise, elegant lethality.

Noel crossed his arms, silently watching each of them.

’Everyone’s pushing themselves harder than ever. Guess the attack changed something in all of us.’

From the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of Elena entering the room. Her long platinum hair bounced slightly as she walked. The moment her amber eyes met his, she froze.

Noel lifted a hand. "Hey."

Elena stared for a heartbeat too long—then quickly turned away, her face flushed, and walked past him without a word.

"Huh?"

Noel blinked, puzzled.

’Did I do something wrong?’

He turned to look at her retreating back, but she didn’t stop or look back. Just kept walking.

’...Definitely something’s up.’

He walked through the quiet stone corridors of the academy, still mulling over Elena’s reaction.

’Why did she avoid me? She didn’t even say anything. Was it because of something I said? Something I did?’

He ran a hand through his slightly damp hair, still feeling the residual static from the lightning spell that had burst from his fingers earlier. The thrill of that moment was quickly fading beneath the unease settling in his chest.

As he turned a corner near the eastern wing of the academy, he spotted her.

Charlotte.

She was stepping out of another training hall, dressed in tighter training gear than usual, her Sancta Veil inactive. Her long pink hair stuck slightly to her forehead from sweat. She carried a pair of short daggers strapped to her sides and looked tired but satisfied.

Rauk, the battle instructor in charge of close-quarters weapon training, waved her off with a grunt before walking the opposite direction.

Noel raised a hand and approached. "Yo."

Charlotte turned, blinking. "Noel?"

"Done for the day?" he asked, eyeing her daggers.

"Yeah. Rauk finally let me go. Apparently I still stab like a nun," she grinned, brushing her hair back.

Noel chuckled. "I’m guessing that’s not a compliment."

"Not when it comes from Rauk," she replied, then tilted her head. "You look... stressed. Something wrong?" _{fre ewebno(v)e\l.(c)om}

He hesitated. "Just... people being weird."

Charlotte’s hazel eyes narrowed slightly. "Elena?"

"Maybe."

Charlotte crossed her arms. "Want me to interrogate her for you?"

"...Please don’t."

Charlotte smirked. "No promises."

He smiled, faintly.

’At least with her, things are still simple.’

Noel leaned casually against the wall, watching Charlotte stretch her shoulders. Her relaxed attitude was refreshing, especially after the tension he’d felt earlier.

"So," he said after a moment, "you still want me to show you around Valon? We could go today if you’re free."

Charlotte blinked, then her eyes lit up. "Really?"

He shrugged. "Why not? I’m done for the day, and I feel like walking a bit."

Charlotte smiled wide, then immediately turned serious—well, as serious as Charlotte could be. "Okay, but you have to give me a few minutes to get ready."

"You look fine to me."

She narrowed her eyes. "Noel. It’s a date with the city. That requires prep time."

He raised a brow. "...Right."

Charlotte giggled and spun on her heel. "Give me twenty minutes! I’ll meet you at the front gate."

Before he could respond, she closed her eyes and activated the Sancta Veil. In an instant, her pink hair faded into a striking crimson red, and her hazel eyes sharpened. Her demeanor shifted slightly, a little more poised—though still unmistakably her.

Then she was gone, jogging down the corridor, calling out over her shoulder, "Don’t be late, pervert!"