The Extra's Reincarnation

"For our newcomers, this tradition dates back to the founding of our academy. It serves as both introduction and initiation—a chance for our newest students to prove themselves and for our second-years to demonstrate how far they've come."

He gestured to both teams with a sweeping motion.

"The rules are simple but the execution is not. Upon commencement, all sixteen participants will be teleported to random locations within a specially generated terrain. Your objective is twofold: protect your flag-bearer while seeking out and capturing the enemy's flag."

Bourne produced two gleaming objects from within his robes—silver batons approximately thirty centimeters long, each etched with glowing runes.

"These are your flags," he explained, handing one to Francine and the other to Marcel.

"They can only be carried by your designated frontcaster—the primary damage dealer of your team. Should your frontcaster fall in battle, the flag will remain where it stays until the opponent or a member of the team holds onto it replacing the position of the frontcaster."

Francine nodded and immediately handed the silver baton to Elenore.

"Given you're our only Frontcaster this flag belongs with you."

Elenore accepted the baton with a solemn nod, her slender fingers wrapping around the gleaming silver.

The runes etched along its length flared briefly in response to her touch, as if recognizing her innate magical potential.

On the second-year side, Marcel handed his flag to a tall, lithe woman with striking violet eyes and silver-streaked black hair.

Julian recognized her immediately from the original novel—Miyuki Kagerou, a rare ice mage whose calculated precision had earned her the nickname "Perma Frost" among her peers.

"Victory is expected, not hoped for," Marcel told her loud enough for the first-years to hear.

"Don't disappoint me."

Miyuki accepted the flag with a slight bow, her expression remaining completely neutral despite Marcel's condescending tone.

As the two captains completed their duties of handing the flags Francine left the stage and Marcel returned back to his position.

Professor Bourne then cleared his throat, drawing everyone's attention back to him.

"In addition to your opponents, you'll face various magical creatures throughout the terrain. Some are mere nuisances, while others..." His weathered face broke into a grin that didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Well, let's just say they'll test your combat readiness more thoroughly than any classroom exercise."

Combat against magical beasts was typically reserved for third-year students and above, making this a rare opportunity to witness first and second-years facing such challenges.

"The terrain will include forests, rivers, mountains, and ruins," Bourne continued. "Use the environment to your advantage. Remember that strategy often trumps raw power."

Julian studied the second-year team more carefully.

Besides Miyuki, he recognized Damien Wolfhart, a burly earth mage whose defensive capabilities were legendary; Cassandra Vale, whose mind-affecting illusions could disorient even the most disciplined opponents; and Lysander Reed, whose magic was rumored to have once knocked a professor unconscious during a demonstration.

The remaining second-years were less familiar to Julian, but their confident stances and the casual way they themselves suggested they were equally formidable.

"Upon arrival onto the land everyone will be separated at random." Bourne explained.

"Whether you find yourself beside a teammate or face-to-face with an opponent, you must remain vigilant at all times. The terrain is designed to force confrontation—there will be no hiding until the battle ends."

"And speaking of confrontation, we've made an exciting change to this year's rules."

"Unlike previous traditions where each participant had three lives, this year you'll have just one.

A murmur swept through the arena as students in the stands reacted to this announcement. Even some of the second-years exchanged concerned glances.

"One life, One chance. This will make each decision you make in the field that much more consequential—exactly as it should be in real combat situations."

Julian's stomach tightened. The single-life rule would dramatically increase the pressure on every participant, making mistakes far more costly. In the original novel, this rule hadn't been implemented until their second year's match.

"And a few more things to mention is that you don't have to worry about special equipment," Bourne continued, gesturing to a swarm of small, glowing orbs that had appeared above the arena.

"Each of you will be accompanied by a personal monitoring drone throughout the match. These will track your health, mana reserves, and stamina in real-time."

The drones descended, each stopping to hover near a participant. Julian watched as one positioned itself just above his right shoulder, emitting a soft blue glow.

"When your health drops below the critical threshold or you're rendered unconscious, your drone will immediately transport you back to the arena,"

"Remember the victory conditions: combine your flag with the enemy's, or eliminate all eight opponents. Either approach is valid, though historically, flag capture has proven more efficient."

Bourne raised his hands, and the air around the platform began to shimmer with magical energy.

"The terrain is generated and waiting. Are both teams ready?"

Marcel stepped forward, with a confident smile on his face.

"The second-years are always ready, Professor."

Not to be outdone, Elenore moved to stand beside him.

"As are the first-years also professor."

Marcel's lips parted, words forming on his tongue as he stared at Elenore's divine smile, but Professor Bourne clapped his hands together with a thunderous boom that echoed throughout the arena.

"Then let the Capture the Flag match begin!"

A blinding flash of light enveloped all sixteen participants. Julian felt a peculiar sensation—as if his body was being unmade and remade simultaneously, stretched across space yet compressed into a single point.

The arena disappeared, and for one disorienting moment, there was nothing but pure, white light.

Then, reality reasserted itself.

Julian found himself standing in a dense forest, towering trees blocking most of the sunlight.

Somewhere in the distance, water gurgled over stones, and unfamiliar birds called to one another in melodic trills.

"Well," he muttered to himself, "at least I'm not face-to-face with a second-year."

He took a moment to orient himself, examining his surroundings carefully. The forest seemed to slope gently downward to his right, suggesting a valley or water source in that direction. To his left, the ground rose steadily, perhaps leading to higher elevation that would provide a better vantage point.

…

…

…

Back in the arena, the crowd erupted in excitement as the four massive viewing screens flickered to life, each displaying a different section of the generated world.

In the crowd stands close to the very front row sits Franz Evera and Uzan Modan.

The distance between him and Uzan was minimal, yet the tension separating them felt like a chasm. Neither had chosen to sit beside the other—it was simply the unfortunate consequence of arriving separately at the same prime viewing location.

"Why do I have to sit next to you of all people?" Uzan grumbled, his massive frame making the standard academy seating look comically small beneath him.

His usual easygoing demeanor had soured the moment Franz had taken the adjacent seat.

Franz didn't bother to look at him as he replied, "If the seating arrangement displeases you, you're free to relocate. I was here first."

The dismissive tone made Uzan's jaw clench.

"I would've done so a long time ago if this wasn't the best spot to watch the match. I can't miss seeing who's truly the strongest in our year."

A hint of amusement flickered across Franz's face—so subtle it might have been a trick of the light.

"You can't identify the strongest? Interesting admission from someone who constantly proclaims himself to be 'physically the strongest' among us."

The taunt landed precisely as intended. Uzan's usually relaxed expression hardened into a frown.

"If you're so certain," Uzan said through gritted teeth, "I'll bet you one of the rarest magical texts from my kingdom's royal collection that you're wrong about who's strongest."

Franz turned slightly toward him, his unnaturally bright yellow eyes studying Uzan with something resembling interest—though the expression seemed practiced rather than genuine.

"Very well," Franz agreed, his voice as measured and controlled as always. "I accept your wager."

Without hesitation, he pointed to one of the massive viewing screens where Julian had just appeared in a dense forest setting.

The monitoring drone hovered above him, displaying his vital statistics for all to see.

"Him," Franz stated simply.

"He's closer to my level than you will ever be to his."

Uzan's eyes widened in disbelief before narrowing with indignation.

"He's a complete nobody! A pale-faced wimp who can barely stand on his own two feet, and you're telling me he's on your level?"

Uzan's voice rose with each word, drawing irritated glances from nearby students. His massive hands gripped the armrests of his seat so tightly that the reinforced metal began to warp.

"That person named Julian is nothing but a fluke. I bet he paid his way in or has some noble connection. No way he earned that special admission."

Franz's expression remained unchanged, but something in his eyes shifted that would have unnerved anyone who understood what it meant.

"Your assessment demonstrates precisely why you will never reach the heights you aspire to,"

"You see only what is visible to the untrained eye. Like the physical stature, superficial appearance, the obvious displays of power that impress simpletons."

"That's ridiculous," Uzan scoffed, though his voice had lost some of its certainty.

"You can't even sense his mana signature. I've been around him for a few seconds and there's practically nothing there. Even the weakest first-years have more presence."

A subtle smile curved Franz's lips.

"And that doesn't strike you as peculiar? A special admission student with seemingly no magical presence whatsoever?"

He turned to face Uzan directly.

"Tell me, in all your combat experience, what is the most effective method of concealing one's true capabilities?"

Uzan blinked, caught off guard by the question.

"I... suppression, I guess. But that's highly advanced magic that even most professors and top tier mages struggle with. There's no way a first-year could—"

"Precisely."

Franz nodded, a teacher acknowledging a slow student's belated understanding.

"Yet here we have this person, who appeared from nowhere, solved an unsolvable theorem without apparent effort, and maintains such perfect suppression that even someone of your... modest abilities can't detect his true nature."

The insult slid between Uzan's ribs like a knife, but for once, his outrage was tempered by growing curiosity.

Franz Evera never discussed other students this way—with something approaching respect, or at least genuine interest.

Franz acknowledged only himself as a person beyond the level of others.

He treated everyone else as beneath his notice except as tools or obstacles.

"Are you implying that he's like you?"