Extra To Protagonist-Chapter 344: Supervision

Shade followed Merlin like a silent second shadow all the way back toward the academy's southern courtyard, drifting just behind his shoulder as if tethered by invisible thread. Every time Merlin slowed, it slowed. Every time he paused, it paused. Every time he clenched his jaw even slightly—it dimmed, reacting to the smallest shift in his mood.

He hated how natural it already felt.

They reached the courtyard steps at the same time a first-year sprinted by, caught sight of Shade, screamed, tripped, rolled, and kept screaming even while rolling.

Nathan stared after him. "Perfect. This is going beautifully."

"Shade didn't do anything," Merlin muttered.

"Shade exists," Nathan shot back. "That's enough."

Dorian flicked his fingers, snuffing out the shadows around them before they had the chance to distort. "You need to tell the faculty something," he said calmly. "Or the rumors will spread faster than the truth."

Merlin grimaced. "And what exactly am I supposed to say? 'Hi, I'm collecting manifestations of temporal instability—don't worry, it's harmless'?"

"Yes," Dorian said. "Because that sounds exactly like something you would say, and everyone will assume you're joking."

Nathan nodded. "And they'll also assume you're cursed, which statistically checks out."

Elara shot them both a glare sharp enough to cut stone. "No one is telling anyone anything until Merlin decides what to say."

Liliana raised her hand timidly. "Um… what does Shade actually do? Besides float. And glow. And look adorable."

Shade brightened at the word adorable.

Merlin folded his arms. "It reacts to mana. It mirrors me. It doesn't attack, it doesn't cast, it doesn't drain. It's just… there."

"So a familiar?" Ethan asked.

"No. Familiars bond because the mage anchors them. This thing anchored me."

Sera quietly frowned for the first time since they left the forest. "Merlin… that's not normal."

He snorted. "Nothing about me is normal."

Shade wiggled in a way that looked almost proud.

Elara stepped closer, lowering her voice so only Merlin—and by extension Shade—could hear. "Does it hurt?"

He shook his head.

"But it feels… connected," she pressed.

That made him pause.

Because she was right. Shade wasn't just floating. It existed like an extension of him—like a finger he hadn't realized he could move until he tried. A presence he didn't need to see to sense. A pulse he could feel against his own heartbeat.

"It's not hurting anything," he said finally.

"That wasn't the question."

Merlin held her gaze for a long moment, then admitted under his breath:

"It feels like I've been walking with one boot unlaced my whole life and only just noticed."

Elara frowned. "So it's familiar."

"It's intrusive," Merlin corrected. "And comforting. And unnerving. And—"

Shade nudged his shoulder, deciding the conversation was taking too long.

Nathan pointed. "Look at that. It's impatient. Great. It's basically you."

"Kill me," Merlin muttered.

"Can't," Nathan said. "Elara would beat me to death with her bare hands."

Elara didn't deny it.

They started walking again, moving toward the dorms because pretending life was normal was easier with motion. Shade drifted behind Merlin like a soft silver veil. Students they passed either stared, swerved dramatically out of the way, or muttered prayers depending on their upbringing.

Halfway across the courtyard, a voice boomed from the upper balcony.

"MERLIN EVERHART!"

The group collectively tensed.

Professor Rowan towered over the railing, white beard bristling, eyes blazing—actually blazing—with mana.

"I HAVE BEEN INFORMED," he said, voice echoing across half the academy, "THAT YOU HAVE ACQUIRED A—" He squinted. "—GLOWING CLOUD."

Shade pulsed defensively.

Rowan's eyebrow twitched like it regretted being part of this situation.

"COME TO MY OFFICE. NOW."

Merlin stared up at him. "…Why?"

"BECAUSE YOU'RE BREAKING THEORETICAL MAGIC AGAIN."

Dorian sighed. "You should go before he hyperventilates and dies."

Nathan clapped Merlin's shoulder. "Better you than me."

Elara stepped in front of him. "If Rowan tries to dissect you—"

"I won't let him," Merlin said.

She stared until she believed him.

Then Nathan whispered loudly, "He probably meant dissect Shade."

Shade twitched behind Merlin like a threatened jellyfish.

Liliana gasped. "Over my dead body!"

Ethan blinked. "Were we planning violence today? I didn't stretch."

Elara lifted her spear from where it hung across her back. "He'll be fine," she said with zero uncertainty. "But we're staying outside his office. All of us."

Rowan shouted again. "MERLIN. NOW."

Merlin exhaled.

Shade bobbed beside him like a nervous child.

He murmured quietly, "Don't absorb anything. Don't touch anything. Don't accidentally explode."

Shade glowed.

"That's not a promise," Elara muttered.

Merlin gave her a look—half reassurance, half apology—then turned toward the stairway.

Shade drifted after him with eerie loyalty.

And as the others trailed behind, ready to storm Rowan's office at the faintest hint of trouble, one thought edged its way into Merlin's mind with creeping certainty:

Morgana wasn't wrong.

Something was growing with him.

Something was watching him.

And Shade wasn't the end of it.

Shade was the beginning.

Shade trailed at Merlin's shoulder like a small, glowing moon as they climbed the circular staircase toward Rowan's office. The higher they got, the quieter the academy became—no chatter from students, no footsteps in nearby halls, nothing but the hum of the wards embedded in the stone.

Merlin could feel the others behind him. Not close enough to provoke Rowan, but close enough to intervene if something went wrong. Elara's focus was so sharp he swore he could feel it pressing between his shoulder blades. Dorian's presence flickered like a shadow among shadows. Nathan kept muttering curses at the stairway for being too long. Liliana prayed under her breath that Rowan had eaten lunch and was therefore in a merciful mood. Adrian was cracking his knuckles for no reason except "just in case."

Normal friends would've left him alone.

His didn't.

Somehow that made his chest tighten.

They reached Rowan's door—heavy wood reinforced with iron and etched with an entire essay's worth of runes that probably translated to something like Don't touch this unless you want to explode. The door shook as Rowan's voice thundered from inside.

"ENTER."

Merlin looked at Shade. Shade brightened in something that resembled encouragement.

Well. If he died, at least he wouldn't die alone.

He opened the door.

Rowan's office looked like a magical disaster zone disguised as academia. Books piled in unstable stacks, papers nailed to the wall in patterns that probably made sense to him but resembled conspiracy diagrams to normal people, and three separate mana detectors humming loudly in different corners.

Rowan himself stood behind his desk, sleeves rolled up, hair frizzing slightly as if he'd been yelling at inanimate objects before Merlin arrived.

He pointed at Shade.

"What," Rowan demanded, "is that?"

Shade chirped—actually chirped—like a glowing, silver apology.

Merlin cleared his throat. "It manifested last night. I woke up and—"

"DON'T TELL ME IT JUST APPEARED," Rowan snapped, slamming his palm on the desk. "Things do not simply manifest unless someone is dead, cursed, divine, or profoundly stupid."

Shade flickered, offended.

Merlin rubbed his forehead. "It's reacting to my mana."

Rowan stalked closer. "Yes. I can see that. It's also reacting to everything else. Look—look at this." He lifted a mana gauge crystal the size of his fist. It vibrated violently the moment Shade drifted near it. "This isn't normal resonance. This is—" He stopped mid-rant, head tilting. "—adaptive tethering?"

Merlin stiffened. "Explain."

"YOU don't tell ME to explain," Rowan barked, but then explained anyway because he couldn't help himself. "Adaptive tethering is a theoretical state where magic binds itself to a mage without being summoned. It attaches because it recognizes the mage as a stable anchor. Only three recorded cases in history." He paused. "All three ended poorly."

Shade dimmed.

Merlin exhaled. "Define poorly."

"One vanished into a dimensional rift. One exploded. The third became a localized mana storm. She still storms occasionally, very annoying for navigation."

"That's not helpful," Merlin muttered.

"Of course it's helpful!" Rowan threw his hands into the air. "It means your walking cloud is dangerous and interesting and completely illegal to keep unsupervised!"

Shade leaned behind Merlin like it was hiding from the world's loudest librarian.

Rowan squinted. "Is it… timid?"

"No," Merlin said.

"Yes," Shade insisted by dimming even further.

Rowan clutched his chest. "Amazing. Utterly absurd. I must study it."

Shade bolted behind Merlin.

"No," Merlin said sharply.

Rowan blinked. "What do you mean no?"

"I'm not letting you run experiments on it."

"I don't run experiments," Rowan scoffed.

"You once tested spell resistance by throwing Nathan into a wall."

Rowan frowned. "Nathan survived."

"That's not the point."

"It is absolutely the point!" Rowan said indignantly. Then he lifted a finger. "Everhart. Merlin. Listen to me very carefully. That thing is bound to you. It is yours whether you like it or not. And if it grows out of control, it won't be a classroom problem. It will be an ecological disaster."

Shade let out a small, trembling pulse.

Merlin rested a hand near it—not touching, but close enough that Shade steadied.

Rowan noticed instantly.

"Fascinating," he muttered. "It calms with proximity. Almost symbiotic."

He circled Merlin like he was preparing to draft a new research article titled Why My Students Are Magical Nightmares: Vol. 73.

"Tell me," Rowan said, "do you feel pain when it reacts?"

"No."

"Tension?"

"No."

"Connection?"

Merlin hesitated.

Shade nudged his arm softly.

Rowan caught it. "Connection," he confirmed. "Deep-rooted. Unchosen. Dangerous."

He walked back to his desk and scribbled something furiously on a parchment.

"Merlin Everhart," he said without looking up, "you are now banned from unsupervised magical activity."

"…What?!"

"You will not train alone. You will not duel alone. You will not meditate, resonate, circulate, channel, or even think loudly without an instructor nearby."

Shade drooped like a guilty dog.

Merlin felt something inside him lurch. "That's—Professor, that's impossible. I can't—"

"You can and you will," Rowan said firmly. "Until I figure out what this is and why it chose you."

Merlin clenched his jaw. "And if I refuse?"

Rowan slowly lifted his head.

There was no humor in his eyes now, no frantic academic mania.

Just concern.

Raw, real concern.

"Then you will die," Rowan said quietly. "And I'd rather not bury another prodigy."

Something tightened in Merlin's chest.

Shade floated closer, brushing against him.

And Rowan sighed heavily, rubbing his face. "…Tell your friends to stop lurking outside my office. Adrian is leaking killing intent, and Dorian is in my ceiling vent."

Merlin blinked. "How do you—"

"I'm old," Rowan snapped. "Not blind."

He waved Merlin toward the door. "Go. Rest. And for the love of the stars, try not to trigger another anomaly before morning."

Merlin left, Shade drifting after him.

Outside, Elara and the others snapped to attention the second he stepped out. Nathan immediately asked, "Are you dissected?"

"No."

"Threatened?"

"Sort of."

"Cursed?"

"Always."

Shade peeked out from behind Merlin.

Liliana gasped. "It survived!"

Merlin sighed. "It wasn't in danger."

"That's not what Adrian said," Ethan noted.

Adrian shrugged. "I assumed Rowan would kill it."

Elara stepped close, studying Merlin's expression, his posture, then Shade. Her voice softened. "What happened?"

He met her eyes.

Rowan's warning echoed in his skull.

You will not train alone.

Merlin exhaled slowly.

"…He wants me supervised," he said. "Every time I use magic."

Nathan swore.

Dorian froze.

Liliana's shoulders slumped.

Elara's eyes darkened—not with fear, but promise.

"Then we'll supervise you," she said simply.

Shade brightened instantly.

Merlin almost laughed.

Almost.

Because the truth settled in his bones like gravity:

This was no longer just an anomaly.

It was the start of something bigger.

And Shade, small as it was, was the first sign the world wasn't adjusting around him—

it was spiraling toward him.