Extra To Protagonist

The light blinked red.

A ripple ran through the table, quiet, disbelieving.

Kael's gaze darkened, but his voice stayed smooth. "Then the vote stands. Six to one. Motion passes."

The holographic projection dissolved. The meeting was over.

But as the others gathered their things, whispering low, Merlin didn't move. He stayed seated, golden eyes dimly lit by the dying light of the Core's hologram.

Regina paused by the door, glancing back at him. "…You shouldn't have done that," she murmured.

"Maybe," Merlin said softly. "Or maybe I was the only one who did."

And as the doors hissed shut behind her, the silence that followed was heavy, not with defeat, but with something colder.

Forewarning. Nᴇw ɴovel chaptᴇrs are published on 𝗻𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗹·𝖿𝗂𝗋𝖾·𝗇𝖾𝗍

The elevator doors slid shut behind Merlin with a whisper.

For a moment, there was only his reflection staring back in the polished steel, gold eyes faint under the fluorescent lights, hair slightly disheveled from hours of boardroom tension. The faint hum of the descending car filled the silence, steady, mechanical, almost soothing.

Almost.

He exhaled slowly, rolling his shoulders back. 'Six to one,' he thought, the words dry in his mind. 'And none of them even blinked.'

The hum deepened as the elevator passed the upper floors. Beyond the glass wall to his left, the sprawl of the city glittered under the sinking sun, towers like jagged blades, neon veins threading between them. Invoke's logo blazed high above them all, white and immaculate.

It felt wrong.

Too clean for what had just happened upstairs.

Merlin's jaw tightened. He wasn't angry, not exactly. It was something colder. The same cold that had followed him through the labyrinth, through the gods' games, through illusions that bled like truth.

He had learned one thing from all of it: when everyone in a room agrees too easily, something is already rotting underneath.

The elevator chimed softly. The doors opened.

The marble-floored lobby stretched before him, quiet except for the murmur of distant voices near the reception desk. Most employees had already left for the day. Those who remained moved briskly, heads down, like shadows afraid of light.

Merlin stepped out, the sound of his shoes echoing faintly across the expanse.

He didn't notice the figure until the glass doors slid open ahead of him.

"Mr. Everhart."

The voice was soft. Polite. Too polite.

Merlin slowed.

Damien Cross stood there, framed by the last light of evening. The city burned gold and red behind him, but his expression remained unreadable, that faint smile still stitched to his face like it had been carved there.

"Leaving already?" Damien asked, stepping forward, his tone conversational. "Most first-time investors tend to linger after a vote. Shake hands. Exchange pleasantries. Drink something expensive to pretend they've won."

Merlin met his gaze evenly. "Didn't see much worth celebrating."

Damien chuckled quietly. "No, I suppose not. Though you did make quite an impression. Mr. Kael isn't often defied so openly. He'll remember that."

"Good," Merlin said simply, moving to walk past him.

But Damien stepped sideways, just slightly, not enough to block his way, but enough to make him stop.

"I'm curious," Damien said. "What made you so certain? You barely glanced at the reports, yet you called out internal sabotage. That's a bold accusation for someone still… learning the ropes."

Merlin's expression didn't shift. "…I trust my instincts."

"Instincts," Damien echoed, as if tasting the word. "Those can be dangerous. Especially in our field. They tend to get people killed."

Merlin's eyes narrowed. "You threatening me?"

Damien's smile didn't move. "No. Advising you."

He took a step closer, his voice lowering. "Invoke isn't the academy, Mr. Everhart. It's not a place for heroics or youthful certainty. It's a place where people build empires out of silence and sharpen knives behind closed doors. You'd do well to remember that."

Merlin studied him for a long, quiet second. Then his lips curved faintly.

"…Thanks for the advice."

He moved past him this time. Damien didn't stop him.

But just as Merlin reached the doors, the older man spoke again, voice light, almost amused.

"One last thing."

Merlin paused.

Damien's reflection glimmered faintly in the glass, faint against the city lights. "You're right," he said softly. "Something is wrong with the Core."

Merlin's fingers twitched at his side. He turned halfway. "You know something."

Damien smiled wider now, though his eyes stayed cold. "I know many things. But knowledge, Mr. Everhart, is currency. You don't get it for free."

"…Then what do you want?"

"Nothing… yet."

Damien straightened his jacket, his reflection sliding back into the glass as he stepped toward the elevator. "When the time comes, you'll know. Until then—" he paused, glancing back just as the doors opened— "try not to trust anyone too easily. Especially the ones who seem harmless."

The elevator swallowed him whole.

Merlin stood there, the echo of those words hanging in the air like the hum of dying machinery.

'Especially the ones who seem harmless.'

He turned toward the glass doors. Outside, the wind had begun to pick up, swirling bits of litter across the plaza. The city's neon haze shimmered across the skyline, painting everything in restless color.

Merlin walked forward. The doors parted soundlessly, and the night swallowed him.

The streets below Invoke Tower were quieter than he expected. His footsteps clicked against the cobblestones, the faint hum of distant engines filling the background. Streetlamps flickered with enchanted crystal cores, a steady, pale glow that didn't quite touch the corners of the alleys.

Merlin's phone buzzed in his pocket. A message.

From: [Unknown Number]

"You made the right call. Don't go home yet."

He stopped walking. His eyes narrowed at the screen.

"…What the hell."

The message vanished before he could reread it, the text dissolving into static, the contact name disappearing. He scrolled through his history. Nothing. No trace.

[The system remains silent.]

'Not now,' Merlin thought. 'You're not part of this.'

He pocketed the device, looking up toward the distant shimmer of the Tower's peak.

Somewhere up there, in that maze of glass and steel, people were already moving, cleaning, deleting, rewriting. He could feel it. The same way he felt when a fight was about to start, when lightning thickened in the air before a storm.

He started walking again, faster this time, his coat catching the wind.