The world did not greet me with applause.
It never did for extras.
I woke before dawn, long before the estate stirred. The room was quiet, heavy with that peculiar stillness that only exists in places where people have learned not to expect much from life. Pale light filtered through the tall window, brushing against stone walls worn smooth by time.
I sat at the edge of the bed, elbows resting lightly on my knees.
For a moment, I simply existed.
No system notifications.
No dramatic realizations.
No sudden surge of power.
Just silence.
And weight.
The memories of this body lingered like a shadow pressed against my back — the quiet meals eaten after everyone else, the polite nods from servants who never quite met his eyes, the unspoken understanding that Eiden Valehart did not matter.
In the novel, this was the kind of character readers forgot the moment they turned the page.
An extra.
Someone whose absence would never be noticed.
"…That's why it's dangerous," I murmured.
Power was not the problem.
Attention was.
I rose and approached the mirror. The boy staring back at me did not look like someone meant to be overlooked. Tall — exactly six feet. Lean, defined muscles shaped by natural balance rather than excess training. His face was calm, symmetrical, refined in a way that felt… wrong for someone so insignificant.
Too composed.
Too complete.
If I walked openly, people would look.
If they looked, they would question.
If they questioned, the world itself might begin to push back.
Fate disliked inconsistencies.
I buttoned the academy uniform carefully, smoothing the fabric as if the gesture itself could dull my presence. The silver-trimmed black coat bore the Valehart crest — a broken sword. Once proud. Now meaningless.
As I fastened it, something flickered at the edge of my vision.
" SYSTEM STATUS: STABLE "
" EXISTENCE MASK — ACTIVE "
Good.
At least the system understood the importance of staying small.
The carriage ride to the Imperial Academy was quiet.
Stone roads stretched endlessly ahead, lined with banners of powerful houses — crests I recognized instantly. Dravon. Aurelius. Halcyon. Families that shaped wars, economies, and history.
And then there was mine.
Valehart.
A footnote.
As the carriage passed through the academy gates, the atmosphere shifted. Mana thickened in the air, heavy with ambition and expectation. Students arrived in clusters, laughter ringing out, voices sharp with confidence.
They carried themselves like the world belonged to them.
I stepped down from the carriage without ceremony.
No attendants.
No greetings.
No introductions.
And yet—
A few heads turned.
Just briefly.
Not recognition.
Confusion.
Their instincts sensed something that their logic rejected.
I felt it too — the faint pressure of my own presence pressing outward, like a tide threatening to rise. I forced it down, breath slow and controlled, posture relaxed.
Be smaller.
Be forgettable.
I walked forward.
The registration hall was grand, almost excessive. White marble pillars rose high into a vaulted ceiling etched with runes of appraisal and verification. Mana circles hovered above long desks, scanning new students one by one.
When my turn came, the attendant barely glanced up.
"Name?"
"Eiden Valehart."
Her fingers paused.
Just for a moment.
"Valehart…" she repeated quietly, eyes flicking to the ledger. There it was again — that subtle shift in expression. Not disdain. Not respect.
Pity.
She activated the appraisal circle.
Light wrapped around me, warm and probing.
" Evaluating Magical Capacity… "
" Evaluating Physical Potential… "
The Astral Law Eyes stirred instinctively, information blooming across my vision — mana threads, scanning vectors, the exact parameters of the spell.
I suppressed everything.
" True Values Concealed "
The circle flickered.
The attendant frowned. "That's odd…"
"Is there a problem?" I asked mildly.
"No, no. Just… interference. It happens sometimes with minor noble lines." She cleared her throat and tapped the rune again. "I'll record the baseline."
The crystal chimed.
Eiden Valehart — Initial Rank: E-Class
Exactly where an extra belonged.
No one looked twice.
The weight in my chest eased slightly.
Later, during the preliminary sword assessment, I stayed at the back.
I watched.
Heirs demonstrated refined techniques passed down through generations. Mana flared. Aura shimmered. Instructors nodded approvingly, calling out ranks with practiced confidence.
When my name was called, there was no reaction.
Not even laughter.
I stepped forward, accepted the practice sword, and felt its balance. Inferior steel. Poor enchantment. Enough to kill someone if mishandled.
More than enough for what I needed.
I didn't draw attention.
No explosive aura.
No dazzling technique.
Just one clean, precise strike — measured, controlled, ordinary.
The training dummy split neatly, barrier dispersing with a quiet hiss.
The instructor stared.
Not in awe.
In confusion.
"…Acceptable," he said after a pause. "Provisional placement."
No rank announced.
No comment.
Perfect.
As I returned to the back of the group, whispers started — uncertain, directionless, lacking conviction.
They couldn't decide if I was worth talking about.
And that uncertainty was my shield.
That night, alone in my assigned dormitory, I sat by the window overlooking the academy grounds. Lights flickered in distant towers. Somewhere, future heroes trained. Somewhere else, future villains sharpened their ambition.
And here I was.
An extra.
Unnoticed.
Unimportant.
Yet alive.
"The weight of being unnoticed," I whispered, eyes calm, steady.
It wasn't weakness.
It was freedom.
And for now—
It was exactly what I needed.