Extra is the Heir of Life and Death

Chapter 197: Black training pants and a fitted black sports bra

We headed out together just after the sun had fully committed to the sky.

Not rushed. Not sneaking. Just... walking.

The Aetherium’s lift hummed softly as it carried us downward, a long, smooth descent from the upper floors to the main level. The walls of the lift were polished metal, reflecting us faintly—two figures standing close enough that our shoulders brushed every now and then.

Our hands were already linked.

Not in a dramatic way. Not some grand declaration. Just fingers interlaced naturally, like that was where they’d always belonged and only now remembered it.

I was painfully aware of it.

Every small movement sent a spark up my arm. Every time her thumb shifted against mine, my thoughts scattered like startled birds.

Belle stood beside me, blindfold in place—black silk tied neatly at the back of her head. It felt strange, knowing she didn’t need it anymore. Stranger still that she chose to wear it anyway.

Our decision.

For now.

Information was power at Astralis Academy, and Belle had lived long enough navigating darkness to understand the value of secrecy better than anyone. The blindfold stayed. The world didn’t need to know yet.

The lift doors slid open with a soft chime.

The main floor stretched out before us—vast, open corridors of pale stone and sigil-lit arches. Even after all this time, the scale of the place still amazed me.

Belle squeezed my hand lightly.

"So," she said, casual, "ten-minute walk. You ready for that, or should I ’accidentally’ bend space and pretend we didn’t?"

I snorted. "You promised. No cheating."

"I said I wouldn’t kill space," she replied smoothly. "That leaves a lot of creative interpretation."

We stepped out together, our footsteps echoing faintly as we began the walk toward the colosseum.

Ten minutes wasn’t long.

Not really.

But when you’re walking beside someone like this—hands linked, shoulders brushing, conversation flowing—it stretched out in the best way.

We talked about nothing important.

And everything.

"How does it feel?" I asked after a minute. "Walking like this, I mean."

She tilted her head slightly toward me. "Normal. Which is the strange part."

"Normal good, or normal suspicious?"

"Normal like I forgot what normal was supposed to feel like," she said. "And now I keep expecting something terrible to interrupt it."

I nodded slowly. "Yeah. Same."

We walked a bit more.

"The floor patterns are... symmetrical," she said suddenly.

I blinked. "You can tell?"

"I can feel it," she replied. "The echo, the air movement, the way sound returns. I don’t see it, Sebastian."

I smiled. "I know."

She smiled back, faint and knowing.

"But," she continued, "I remember how it looked. And now, I can compare memory to reality again. That’s enough."

Her grip tightened just slightly, grounding.

I didn’t let go.

The path curved gently, opening into a massive thoroughfare that led directly toward the colosseum gates. Even from here, the structure dominated the horizon—an impossible ring of stone and sigils stretching miles in every direction.

"A dozen miles," I muttered.

"What?"

"Still can’t believe how big it is," I said. "Every time."

Belle chuckled. "You get used to it. Eventually it just becomes ’that absurdly large place people get thrown into.’"

Comforting.

We passed no one.

Not a single student. Not an instructor. No guards.

Belle’s authority as vice-principal wasn’t something she wielded often—but when she did, it was absolute. The colosseum had been cleared, sealed, and scheduled as unavailable for the duration of our training.

Just us.

That thought settled in my chest, heavy and electric.

The gates loomed closer, ancient stone engraved with countless marks from battles past. They parted silently as we approached, recognizing Belle without ceremony.

Inside, the space was overwhelming.

The colosseum wasn’t just large—it was vast. The arena floor alone could swallow cities. Tier upon tier of empty seating rose into the distance, disappearing into haze and light. No crowd. No noise. Just quiet.

A quiet that listened.

We stopped near the entrance tunnel.

Belle let go of my hand reluctantly.

"Changing rooms," she said. "Same place as always."

"Yeah," I replied. "I’ll—uh—see you in a bit."

She smiled, small and almost shy. "Try not to get lost."

"I’ve managed before."

"Barely."

I laughed as we parted, heading toward our respective entrances.

The men’s changing room was empty, lockers lining the walls like silent sentinels. I changed quickly, trading my usual clothes for a black tracksuit—simple, flexible, practical.

No armor. No weapons.

This wasn’t a battle.

Not yet.

I stretched, rolling my shoulders, letting my breathing settle. The quiet here was different—contained, expectant.

After a few minutes, I stepped back out into the arena.

Belle emerged shortly after from the opposite side.

For a moment, I forgot how to breathe.

She wore black training pants and a fitted black sports bra, practical and unadorned. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail, dark strands catching the arena’s overhead light. And threaded through it all—like embers caught in shadow—were faint red streaks that shimmered when she moved.

She still wore the blindfold.

But somehow, that made her presence sharper, not diminished.

She paused when she sensed me, head tilting.

"...You’re staring," she said.

I coughed. "Am I that obvious?"

"Painfully."

"Sorry," I muttered. "Just—uh. You look ready."

She smirked. "High praise."

I walked closer, stopping a respectful distance away. The arena floor beneath us was smooth stone etched with old combat circles and runes, worn down by centuries of use.

"So," I said. "Training."

"Yes," she agreed. "Actual training. No world-ending stakes. No curses. No gods interfering."

I raised an eyebrow. "You say that like it’s guaranteed."

She laughed softly. "Let me have my optimism."

We stood there awkwardly for a moment.

Then Belle shifted her weight, suddenly self-conscious. "This is... different," she said. "Usually there’s an audience. Or at least someone yelling."

"I can yell if you want," I offered.

"Please don’t."

"Fair."

She took a breath, then reached up and adjusted the blindfold slightly, making sure it was secure.

"Ready?" she asked.

I nodded. "Whenever you are."

We moved apart, boots scuffing lightly against stone as we took our positions.

The distance between us stretched, measured and deliberate.

Belle rolled her shoulders, feet settling into a balanced stance—grounded, precise. Even without sight, her posture was flawless, awareness radiating from her like a quiet field.

I mirrored her, knees bent, hands raised, weight centered.

For a heartbeat, we just stood there.

Two figures in black.

An empty colosseum.

No spectators. No pressure.

Just intent.

Belle smiled beneath the blindfold.

"Don’t hold back," she said.

I smiled back, feeling something warm and steady bloom in my chest.

"I won’t."

We settled fully into stance.

. . . . . .

The moment we moved, the world broke.

To us, it felt light.

Casual, even.

A testing of waters. A warm-up. Hands raised, feet shifting, weight flowing naturally from one stance to the next. No killing intent. No killing blows. Just motion, instinct, and familiarity.

But the air disagreed.

My fist met Belle’s palm, and the sound barrier shattered like glass.

The boom didn’t echo, it detonated. A circular shockwave ripped outward from the point of contact, pulverizing the stone beneath our feet into dust and flinging it away in a violent ring.

The sound arrived a fraction of a second later, a concussive thunderclap that rolled across the empty colosseum and climbed the stands like a living thing.

I barely had time to register it before Belle was already gone.

Not gone as in vanished.

Gone as in everywhere else.

She slipped past my guard with a half-step that bent space just enough to matter, her elbow brushing my ribs with what felt like a playful tap.

The explosion that followed tore a trench into the arena floor behind me.

I twisted, momentum carrying me through the motion, and brought my forearm up just in time to catch her follow-up strike. Metal-hard knuckles met reinforced bone—

—and the air screamed.

Another shockwave erupted, this one vertical, blasting a column of compressed air straight into the sky. Far above us, clouds shuddered and parted as if something massive had punched through them from below.

I grinned.

She laughed.

To anyone else, it would have looked like the end of the world.

To us, it was barely a greeting.

We moved faster.

Sound ceased to exist as a concept. Every motion we made outran it, leaving silence in our wake and detonations behind us. The arena floor cracked and healed and cracked again under the strain, ancient sigils flaring faintly as they struggled to keep up.

Belle flowed like water given intent.

Her blindfold fluttered slightly with each movement, but it never slipped. She didn’t need sight. She felt me—my weight shifts, my breath, the subtle distortions my presence caused in the air.

I came in low, sweeping for her legs.

She jumped—not up, but aside, twisting midair and planting a hand on my shoulder to vault over me. The casual contact sent a pressure wave through my body, rattling my bones like struck bells.

I spun, already throwing a backhand.

She caught it with two fingers.

The resulting explosion flattened everything within fifty meters.

Stone vaporized. Dust turned to plasma. The stands trembled, ancient stone groaning under stresses they hadn’t felt in centuries.

We skidded apart, boots carving furrows through the arena floor.

"Still holding back," Belle said lightly.

"So are you," I shot back.