Extra's Rise: I Stole All The Women In The Hero's Party-Chapter 121: Conflicted Half Elf

The adventurer’s guild, even at this early hour, was a hum of half-lazy, half-bloodthirsty energy.

A couple of tired adventurers were slumped at the tables with mugs of something that was probably coffee but could’ve easily been boiled dungeon slime.

A few others were already geared up and squinting at the bulletin board like it might bite them.

But behind the counter, at the very heart of the place, stood two mirror images of half-elf sisterhood.

Clara, the red-eyed, sharp-tongued menace of the registration desk, leaned forward with her chin in her palm and all the energy of someone who’d rather be literally anywhere else.

She tapped her nails in an irregular rhythm — half bored, half making sure everyone knew she was bored.

Althea, the one with kind purple eyes and a posture that screamed I just want peace, was wiping down the counter for the third time in as many minutes.

"You’re scrubbing like you’re trying to erase your sins," Clara deadpanned, not even looking up. "Did you finally punch a baby?"

"I just want things to look clean," Althea replied calmly, though her lips were pressed tight. "The guild’s image matters."

"Oh sure, wouldn’t want the hero party to see a fingerprint on the wood and lose all faith in the Kingdom’s infrastructure," Clara replied, lifting her head and watching her sister with the same look she gave misbehaving cats.

Althea didn’t rise to the bait.

She just bit her lower lip a little too hard and kept scrubbing.

Clara narrowed her eyes. "Wait. Wait, wait, wait. I know that look. What are you planning?"

Althea froze.

"Don’t freeze like you got caught cheating on a test," Clara said, pushing herself upright now, clearly interested. "You’ve been nervous since we got here. You almost snapped the ink quill when I said ’Z—’"

"I didn’t almost snap anything," Althea said quickly, setting the cloth down a little too softly. "And if you’re tired, I can take over for the rest of your shift. You’ve worked six days straight."

"Uh-huh," Clara replied, voice flat. "Six days straight, and suddenly you want to be the poster girl for sibling generosity. What’s next? Breakfast in bed and a heartfelt apology for borrowing my dress in sixth grade?"

Althea let out a tiny breath through her nose and smiled. It wasn’t a confident smile. It was a tight-lipped, please don’t dig further kind of smile.

Clara squinted. "This is about him."

Althea didn’t respond.

Clara blinked. "You’re planning something."

"Nothing bad," Althea said too quickly. "Just... I haven’t had the chance to talk to him properly since that night and — "

Clara immediately groaned and rolled her eyes. "Oh Spirits, not this again."

"I just want to apologize. That’s all."

"You left the poor guy after a heartfelt night and now you want to... what, greet him with an apology and perfectly polished counters?" Clara threw up her hands. "You think a clean countertop’s gonna scrub the awkward out of that situation?"

Althea looked down at her hands.

Clara sighed. "Look, you’re not wrong. You should talk to him. Eventually. Probably. But do you think maybe — just maybe — springing it on him when he walks in to file dungeon paperwork isn’t the smoothest plan?"

Althea looked genuinely conflicted for a moment, chewing her lip in thought.

"I mean, what are you even going to say?" Clara asked, tilting her head. "’Sorry I emotionally yeeted myself out of your life that one night. Here’s your soul crystal receipt, and also maybe my feelings?’ It’s not your fault Althea, he was drunk but the way you handle it though."

Althea gave a weak little laugh. "It sounds bad when you say it."

"Oh, sweetheart. It is bad. You don’t ghost a guy and then ambush him at work."

"I didn’t ghost him," Althea mumbled. "I just... needed time."

Clara gave her a long, unimpressed stare. "You disappeared. He’s been in here twice and you nearly dove under the counter."

"That’s not true."

"It is extremely true."

Althea sighed, then placed her hands on the countertop, steadying herself like she was about to argue a case in court.

"I just... I panicked. I didn’t know how to explain myself back then. He ignored me after that day and it’s become awkward you know. So I thought maybe if I worked today instead of you, I could... you know. Catch him when he comes in and maybe we could talk it out."

Clara blinked. "You realize how creepy that sounds, right?"

"It’s not creepy," Althea said, trying to sound confident but ending up in the general neighborhood of mildly desperate. "I just want to clear the air."

Clara crossed her arms. "So what’s the plan? He walks in. You give him the look. He gives you the look. Suddenly the background music swells, your eyes meet across the room, and the counter gets even cleaner?"

Althea gave her sister a look. "Are you going to let me take your shift or not?"

Clara sighed like she was being forced to watch a slow-moving train derail. "Fine. But I’m leaving before the party gets here. I am not staying to watch your emotionally unstable rom-com unfold in real time."

Althea nodded quickly. "Thank you."

"And I’m making dinner tonight," Clara said as she stepped out from behind the counter, slinging her cloak over one shoulder. "Don’t follow me. Don’t bring him. And for the love of the moon goddess, don’t cry on the vegetables if this goes badly."

"I won’t," Althea mumbled.

"Promise?"

"I... can’t promise that," she admitted sheepishly.

Clara just shook her head and walked away, muttering something about "emotional half-elves" and "the true danger of adventuring being secondhand embarrassment."

As the guild’s main door swung shut behind her, Althea stood in place behind the counter, now alone, breathing a little faster than she’d like to admit.

She looked at the freshly cleaned counter, then at the door.

Zayn would be coming soon.

And for the first time in a while, she wasn’t sure if she was ready.

But she’d already told herself she was going to do it.

That was the thing about awkward choices — you either faced them head-on... or spent the rest of your life dodging behind furniture when a man with blond hair walked through the door.

She smoothed her skirt, adjusted her hair, and whispered, "Okay, Althea. Just don’t make it worse."

The universe, of course, would have something to say about that.