The Extra is a Genius!?

The sky was still bleeding gold and orange when Marcus opened the window.

Cool morning air rolled in, brushing against his face like a wake-up slap from nature. He took a long breath, stretching both arms over his head until his back cracked in exactly the way he needed.

"Right. Let's get it."

He dressed fast—training uniform, boots laced tight, sword strapped across his back—and headed out, skipping breakfast for now. He preferred to earn it.

The training field was empty except for the wind.

Perfect.

He dropped his gear on the bench and started with stretches, followed by laps along the outer circle of the field. His pace was steady. Not fast. Just... consistent.

The kind of pace that didn't burn out.

The kind that lasted.

By the time the academy bells chimed first hour, he was already mid-swing with a wooden blade, sweat rolling down his neck.

A few students passed by and waved.