An Extra's Rise in an Eroge-Chapter 240: Recruitment offer**

Later that evening, Arthur walked into one of the private lounges reserved for visiting instructors.

Inside, Saria was already waiting, one leg crossed over the other, coat off and thrown over a nearby chair. Underneath, she wore a tight black mage uniform that clung to every curve—clearly intentional.

She looked up at him the moment he walked in, eyes sharp.

"Close the door."

Arthur did.

Saria leaned back, her red hair spilling over her shoulder. "So," she said, tone casual, "you gonna keep pretending that wasn’t a phoenix?"

Arthur walked over and sat across from her, elbows on the table.

"Not pretending. I said she was a Flamebird. You’re the one who assumed otherwise."

Saria gave him a look.

He smirked.

Then shrugged. "Alright. Fine. Yes. It’s a phoenix. Hatchling, but she’s growing fast."

"Thought so." She paused, then asked, "Where’d you get her?"

Arthur leaned back in the chair. "Not sharing that."

Saria’s lips curled into a thin smirk. "Figures. Still—damn impressive. Phoenixes don’t bond easily. That kind of familiar... not even the tower elders can claim one."

Arthur said nothing. Just met her gaze calmly.

That quiet confidence made her pause.

She leaned forward, voice lowering slightly. "You’ve got real talent. I’m not just saying that as flattery. Your control, your fusion, the pressure of your mana—hell, the flames themselves bowed. That’s not just talent, it’s dominance."

Arthur raised a brow. "Thanks. I guess?"

"I’m serious. The Fire Tower would kill to have someone like you. With our support—access to elder training, spell archives, legacy tomes, even resources for your phoenix—you could rise fast. Real fast. Faster than the Academy alone can offer."

Arthur tilted his head slightly. "Tempting offer. But I’m the heir of a duchy. Son of a Grand Marshal. Resources aren’t something I’m short on."

Saria’s expression changed.

Realization sank in. This wasn’t some promising commoner she could scoop up. This was a duke’s son. Someone born with everything she just offered—and more.

He wasn’t biting because he didn’t need to.

She sat back slowly, lips parting slightly.

"...I see."

Arthur gave her a calm smile. "You thought I was just some prodigy with good luck?"

Saria didn’t reply.

Instead, her eyes narrowed slightly.

If the direct approach wasn’t working...

She stood up, slowly walking around the table, hips swaying with each step. Her voice dropped—sultry now.

She leaned in further, her breath brushing his ear. Her hands slowly slid down from his shoulders to his chest—light, teasing.

"You’re not like the other students," she whispered. "Your mana... your control. The fire listens to you. It bows to you."

Arthur’s eyes met hers again—steady. Calm.

No fluster.

No eagerness.

Just... patience. Like a predator waiting for the right moment.

Saria’s confidence wavered. Slightly.

Still, she pressed on. "And you’re not just powerful. You’re handsome, too. That fiancée of yours—Alicia, right? Lucky girl."

No reaction.

Her brow twitched.

Most men couldn’t go two minutes without glancing at her chest. Yet this boy—this seventeen-year-old noble—hadn’t so much as blinked. Even with her pressed against him.

"Nothing to say?" she asked, trying to keep her voice steady, playful.

Arthur smirked. "You’re trying really hard."

That caught her off guard.

"Excuse me?"

He stood up slowly, forcing her to take a step back. He was taller—just enough to force her to tilt her chin slightly to meet his gaze.

"You walk in here, unzip your uniform halfway, and start purring in my ear. What, were you expecting me to lose control? To start panting and begging to touch you?"

Her lips parted.

"I’ve seen your type before," Arthur said, tone cool. "All fire and pride on the outside. But inside? You’re trembling."

"I’m not—!"

"You were so confident a moment ago," he said, stepping closer. "Now you’re flustered. Your breathing’s off. You keep licking your lips."

Saria’s face flushed. She stepped back again, bumping into the table behind her.

Arthur didn’t stop.

"You’re used to men ogling you. Used to being the one in control. You thought flashing some cleavage and letting a student grope you would win you what the Fire Tower couldn’t buy."

He leaned forward, whispering:

"Where did that bold personality from earlier go, Professor?"

Her eyes darted away for just a second.

And that second told him everything.

She had tried to seduce him. She thought he’d be just another brat with a hard-on and no backbone.

Arthur took one another step, crowding her against the table, hands braced on either side of her hips.

"You’ve never been touched by a man, have you?" he asked softly.

Saria froze.

He didn’t need her answer.

She’d burned anyone who got close. Scorched the ones who stared too long. Intimidated everyone with her fiery presence.

But now?

Now she was in front of someone who didn’t fear the flame.

Arthur smiled slowly. "And yet here you are—trying to tempt a student. Desperate enough to stoop this low for recruitment."

Saria’s breath caught in her throat. "I... I just wanted to—"

"To control me?" he cut in. "To tie me down with your body?"

He leaned in—close enough that his breath fanned across her lips.

"I don’t get tied down, Flameheart. I tie others."

Arthur took one last step closing the distance between them.

Saria’s back hit the table with a thud. Her breath caught as Arthur stepped in close, one hand pinning both of hers above her head against the wall. His body pressed against hers—solid, warm, overpowering.

Her eyes widened. "W–what are you doing?"

Arthur didn’t answer.

He leaned in slowly, letting the tension stretch until their faces were inches apart. His gaze burned into her—cold, confident, in complete control.

"You were so bold a moment ago," he said quietly. "Where did that attitude go, Flameheart?"

Saria tensed. "I-I wasn’t—"

Her words were cut off as Arthur captured her lips.

Not gently.

His mouth claimed hers—firm, unrelenting. She let out a muffled gasp, struggling slightly in his grip, but his fingers held her wrists tight above her head. His tongue parted her lips, slipping in with a practiced ease.

She squirmed, trying to turn her face away, but he didn’t let her.

Her inexperience showed immediately—clumsy tongue movements, shallow breathing, her lips unsure. Arthur took the lead, patient but firm. His tongue curled around hers, slowly coaxing her to move with him. It wasn’t just a kiss—it was a slow, deep invasion.

And something inside her cracked.

The heat she’d buried beneath pride, power, and position started rising fast. Her legs trembled. Her nipples stiffened beneath her robe. The more he kissed her, the more her resistance melted into want.

He felt it.

Her body relaxing. Her lips moving against his with more need. Her tongue timidly flicking back.

Arthur smiled into the kiss.

Good girl.

He pulled back slightly—just enough to let her breathe—and a thin strand of saliva stretched between their mouths.

Her lips were swollen. Her eyes were unfocused.

Arthur let go of her wrists.

She didn’t move.

Didn’t run.

Didn’t speak.

Instead, she stood there, flushed and frozen, chest heaving, waiting.

Arthur reached up and grabbed the collar of her outer robe.

He slid it down—slowly. Deliberately.

And paused when it dropped to the floor.

"...Well, well," he muttered, eyes gleaming.

Underneath, Saria wasn’t wearing her usual tight uniform or formal attire. She stood there in nothing but a revealing set of semi-transparent red lingerie. Delicate netted lace clung to her body, showing just enough skin to ignite every inch of imagination.

Her bra barely held back the massive swell of her breasts. The hook was strained, ready to snap. Her panties were thin, high-cut, and already sticking slightly to her skin.

Arthur whistled. "So that’s what you’ve been hiding under that robe."

Saria clenched her fists at her sides, her entire face burning.

He stepped around her, eyes dragging slowly down her body.

"Look at this," he said. "The dignified, no-nonsense fire mage—wearing slutty red lingerie with nothing underneath."

Her jaw tightened. "I-it’s comfortable."

"Oh, I’m sure it is," he said, smirking. "But wearing this under your robe all day? Around the campus? In front of students?"

He leaned in, voice low. "Tell me, how many of them got hard just standing near you?"

Saria turned her face away.

Arthur reached behind her and gently flicked the strained hook of her bra.

"It’s criminal, really," he whispered. "Beating guys half to death for ogling... when you were the one walking around like a cocktease."

Her breath caught.

Arthur brought his hand down, grabbing a handful of her ass over the thin lace. She gasped, hips jerking forward against him.

"You know," he murmured, "if the ones you punished saw you now, they’d riot."

She looked back at him, face redder than her hair. "Stop..."

He tilted his head. "Why? Embarrassed? Or excited?"

Her mouth opened, but no sound came.

Arthur chuckled. "You came here thinking you’d play me like a boy."

He leaned in again, lips brushing her ear. "But now you’re the one standing here in nothing but lingerie, soaked and trembling."

Saria’s thighs pressed together instinctively.

Arthur stepped closer—grinding against her front now. She felt the hardness through his pants. Big. Heavy. Ready.

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