I thought I had life all figured out. A quiet, uneventful existence as the daughter of a humble woodcutter—nothing more, nothing less. Living in a world consumed by war, where chaos reigned 365 days a year, the simplicity of an extra’s life was the greatest blessing I could ask for.

Our tiny mountain village was my haven. My father, James Brown, was the epitome of ordinariness—a 27-year-old single dad with plain brown hair, matching brown eyes, and an unassuming demeanor. He was the perfect symbol of the background character trope.

Or so I thought.

“Ladies and gentlemen!” I declared with pride. “May I present my father! The quintessential extra! Brown hair, brown eyes, chopping wood like the unremarkable man he is!”

The knight commander in front of me said nothing, his expression unreadable.

“…Right? He is just an ordinary guy, right?” I asked, my voice faltering.

The silence hung in the air like an executioner’s blade. Then, out of nowhere, the staff in my father’s hands began to glow—a strange, mesmerizing blue light emanating from its worn surface.

“…Dad?” I whispered, my heart pounding.

To my utter disbelief, my father’s plain brown hair began to shimmer, transforming before my eyes. His dull brown eyes brightened into piercing blue orbs that seemed to hold the very essence of power. His once unremarkable appearance morphed into something straight out of a legend—his silver hair gleaming like the moonlight.

“What the hell is going on?!” I screamed as the life I knew crumbled into dust.

And then, gripping his now-radiant staff with the confidence of a man who had nothing to fear, my father—no, this mysterious warrior—snarled with a voice that chilled me to my core:

“Give me back my daughter, you bastard.”

My unassuming, extra life was shattered in an instant.