Extra is the Heir of Life and Death Chapter 22: That’s What Makes It Magical

The table was set like sothing out of a noble’s banquet.

Two steaming plates sat between us, perfectly portioned, perfectly presented, golden-brown at glazed with sothing shiny, a side of vegetables that actually looked roasted instead of burnt, and a small bowl of soup that slled faintly of herbs and spice.

If I didn’t know better, I would’ve thought a royal chef had wandered in overnight.

Belle sat opposite , posture straight, hands folded neatly in her lap. Her blindfold caught the light just enough to give her an oddly serene look. If not for that blank expression, she might’ve even passed for civilized.

"This looks... good," I said cautiously.

"It should," she replied evenly. "I made it."

I frowned. "...Right."

I picked up my fork, stabbed into the at, and took a small bite.

The mont it hit my tongue, my entire body rejected it. My throat closed up, my brain scread poison, and before I could stop myself, I spat it out onto the plate.

"What the hell was that?!" I gasped, grabbing the nearest cup of water and downing it like my life depended on it.

Across from , Belle’s brows furrowed slightly. She didn’t move otherwise, no twitch, no frown, no visible sign of irritation, but sohow, I could feel the atmosphere shift.

"...You don’t like it?" she asked, tone perfectly flat.

I blinked at her, then down at the plate again. "Belle, you have to try to ss food up this badly. I don’t even understand how you did this. It looks perfect. It slls perfect. And then it tastes like soone boiled despair in a pot and seasoned it with regret."

{Colorful,} Bastard said dryly. {You might’ve just insulted an ancient war hero over breakfast.}

"I’m not joking," I muttered, ignoring him. "This is a culinary disaster. You’d think sothing that looks this good would at least be edible."

Belle tilted her head again, a single lock of hair falling loose from her bun. "That’s strange," she said calmly. "I followed the recipe."

"What recipe?!"

"Sothing from a book I borrowed from my brother." She paused, as if searching her mory. "Page forty-two. ’Roasted at with Courage and Confidence.’"

"Did the recipe have salt in it?"

"Yes."

"Did you use salt?"

"I couldn’t find it, so I substituted with peper."

I stared at her. "You—what?"

"They were there," she said simply. "And they looked edible."

I slamd my forehead into my palm so hard I saw stars. "Belle, you cook like a Kijin woman serving her beloved sli lord a last al."

Her head tilted slightly to the side again. "That sounds insulting."

"It is," I said flatly. "Very."

{You’re a brave man, Sebastian,} Bastard said. {But maybe not a smart one.}

Belle picked up her fork, calmly speared a piece of the sa at that had just tried to assassinate , and took a bite. She chewed once, twice, and nodded. "Tastes fine."

I blinked at her, incredulous. "You can’t taste fine! You’re immune! Your tongue’s been through divine fire or sothing!"

"...It tastes fine," she repeated, completely unbothered.

I slumped back in my chair, staring at the ceiling. "I’m going to die. Not in training, not from mana overload. I’m going to die from breakfast."

I stared at the plate like it was a coiled beast waiting to strike. My body still hadn’t recovered from the first bite, but the clock on the wall told what my stomach didn’t want to hear.

"We’re late," I muttered, grabbing my fork again. "I’m eating this. But from now on, I’m cooking."

Belle didn’t respond, just gave a small nod, serene as ever, as if she hadn’t just weaponized breakfast.

I forced down three mouthfuls that tasted like salted regret, washed it all down with half a pitcher of water, and stood up. "Right. Let’s go before my body decides to mutiny."

We left Belle’s quarters in silence, our footsteps echoing down the narrow corridor. The Aetherium felt different in the morning, still vast and silent, but heavier sohow.

At the base of the tower, massive silver doors groaned open, revealing the world beyond. The light hit hard and cold, spilling across the marble courtyard that stretched endlessly outward. I could see the faint shimr of the Colosseum far in the distance, an enormous ring of white stone cutting through the skyline.

I adjusted my collar, squinting at it. "That’s... a long walk."

Belle said nothing at first. She just turned slightly toward , her blindfold catching the sun, and without warning, grabbed my arm.

"Die," she said.

The world snapped.

It wasn’t pain, exactly, more like a sudden tearing of space itself. My body felt weightless, my lungs forgot how to breathe, and for an instant, everything went still.

Then reality slamd back into place.

Wind. Stone. The low, resonant hum of mana.

We stood in front of the Colosseum gates.

I stumbled back a step, blinking hard. "What—what did you just do?!"

"I killed the distance," Belle said simply, letting go of my arm as if she hadn’t just defied every law of physics known to man. "Temporarily."

"You what?"

"The Aetherium and the Colosseum are far apart. It was inconvenient." She tilted her head faintly. "So I removed the inconvenience."

{You heard her,} Bastard said dryly. {She killed the distance. Totally normal. Perfectly sane behavior. I’m sure nothing about that should terrify you.}

I exhaled slowly, trying to collect the pieces of my soul that were still lagging behind sowhere halfway across the city. "You could’ve warned first."

"I did," she said. "I told you to die."

"You didn’t say anything!"

"Then I will try next ti."

{Assuming there is a next ti,} Bastard added.

I shot him a glare even though he was in my head and followed Belle through the colossal entrance.

The interior of the Colosseum was a cathedral of battle. Rows of seats climbed toward the sky, and beneath them stretched an arena so vast it could’ve swallowed a battlefield whole. The air thrumd with mana, thick enough to taste.

Belle led to a smaller gate near the far side, a door that opened into her personal training chamber.

The hall, an endless expanse of black and white. No banners, no decorations, nothing to soften the void. Just polished white stone walls veined with onyx streaks, and a floor so reflective it felt like I was walking on the surface of still water.

Belle stepped into the center and turned toward . "We’ll begin with a hand-to-hand spar. Warm-up only. No mana."

Before I could argue, she moved.

Her first strike ca without sound, just a blur of motion and pressure. I barely caught it, twisting aside as her palm sliced through the air where my face had been a second ago.

Her next attack ca imdiately after, low and fast. I blocked with my forearm and felt the shock rattle through my bones.

"Okay," I hissed. "So that’s how it’s gonna be."

I went for a counter, aiming a jab toward her midsection. She deflected effortlessly, shifting her weight just enough to throw off balance. Her hand brushed my shoulder, and in one fluid motion, she used the contact to pivot and send a kick grazing past my chin.

I staggered back, breath short. "That almost hit my divine face!"

Belle’s tone didn’t change. "Then guard your face."

We clashed again, punches, kicks, feints. Her movents were economical, sharp, and precise, not a single wasted motion. Every strike carried intent, every dodge looked effortless.

And then, mid-swing, she said it.

"Magical Punch."

I blinked. "What—"

She didn’t punch. She kicked.

Her boot slamd into my stomach with a sound like thunder. Air exploded from my lungs as I doubled over and hit the ground hard.

I gasped, eyes watering. "That—was—a kick!"

"Yes," she said calmly, straightening. "That’s what makes it magical."

I groaned, clutching my ribs. "You need serious help, woman."