Bell's teammates looked as if they'd just stepped into a pile of shit.
Not only was the entire class now gunning for them, but they'd also inherited all the unwanted attention, with none of the rewards.
After all, only Bell was the rat. How unfair!
He understood their frustration, but there wasn't much he could do about it. And even if he could protest to make it fair for his teammates as well, why would he exert that extra effort?
At the front, Instructor Vivian wore a smirk that made her thoughts painfully clear. She could already picture Bell getting beaten black and blue; even if he happened to win a few matches, as long as he lost one, that was all she needed.
If she were lucky, maybe she'd get to see a broken arm. A black eye.
If the gods smiled on her, maybe even a cripple.
Ideally? A freak accident that led to his death would be the outcome most desirable, but due to the blunt weapons they were using and the fact that star abilities weren't allowed in the meantime, it would take a lot of freakiness for that to happen.
"Alright," she said, her voice crisp. "Let's start. Team 7 and Team 13, step forward."
Bell was on Team 3.
"What should we do?" the girl on his team asked. Her hands were a little shaky. Jess was her name, and her primary weapon was the bow, but she was also capable of using a shortsword when she ran out of arrows or if her opponents were too close.
"For now," Bell said simply, "we watch."
Truth be told, he already knew the names of everyone here, along with their stats, tendencies, and recorded fighting styles.
He could've dug deeper if he wanted to, uncovered their secrets, their fears, their tells. But that would've been a waste of time and resources from the Facold family that he had tasked this mission with. For most, the surface-level data was more than enough.
So although he'd never seen these people before, he had a rough idea of how they would fight.
"Who do you think will win?" Francis, the spearman of the team and the first one who suggested that Bell become the leader, asked.
"Team 7," Bell answered frankly.
Francis blinked. "Really? But Team 13's stronger."
As it was the second year these students have been together, although they weren't friendly with everyone because that was impossible unless you spent every day all day just befriending people, for the most part, everyone knew each other to the extent of at least being able to recognize their face or knowing their first name.
"They are," Bell shrugged in agreement. "But this battle comes down more to the leader. The difference in strength isn't vast enough where having a vastly inferior leader can be hidden. Who knows, though? They might come out victorious regardless of their leader. Sometimes luck favors fools."
Francis frowned, glancing between the two teams.
It wasn't that he didn't believe Bell.
It's just — how does he know the two leaders' capabilities? Did he know them personally, perhaps?
Vivian's voice cut through his thoughts. "You may begin," she said, starting the battle.
At first, Team 7 was being pushed hard as they were outpowered, outpaced, and outplayed.
Francis sighed internally, wondering if Bell's prediction had been wrong. Perhaps their leader was just a good face and nothing more. Of course, he wouldn't dare say these thoughts out loud, so he kept a smile on his face.
But as the battle progressed, the smile started to vanish as he observed the fighting closer and closer.
The tide had turned quickly. Team 7's leader began issuing rapid, clean orders, each one perfectly timed. The momentum shifted. Within a minute, Team 13's formation cracked.
Bell's word was starting to come true.
In no less than a minute, they had gone from being the ones being pushed back to the ones doing the pushing.
And once the first member of Team 13 collapsed, it was basically wraps.
Members of Team 3 looked at Bell in awe.
Not only was he hot, but he was smart too? How had no one mentioned that before? He was one of the most talked-about students in the academy, yet not once had his intelligence come up in conversation.
Three more battles passed, and Bell's predictions were correct every single time.
It's like he was seeing the future, and his explanation for why the team would win or lose was strangely accurate for the most part.
Then, it was finally their turn.
"Bell, who do you think will win this time?" Francis asked, his voice a touch unsteady as he gripped his spear tightly.
For a brief moment, he'd forgotten who his leader was, the chosen rat that was everyone's prey, but the killing intent radiating from their opponents quickly reminded him.
"It'll be us," Bell replied, his tone calm and absolute. Unlike before, when Francis asked about the other teams, this time it wasn't a prediction.
It was a statement of fact.
Now that their opponent was finally decided, Bell quickly briefed his team on the game plan that he had formulated for this team in advance. He actually had a game plan for every team, taking into consideration every leader's personality and whatnot — even the members who weren't leaders yet but were going to be leaders in a later round.
As the two teams faced each other, the wind swept through the grass beneath them, the blades dancing in the tension-filled air.
Weapons were drawn. Muscles tensed.
Behind the frontlines stood the two commanders: Bell, silent and composed, and a smug-looking student from Team 14. Some random who will not be named.
Bell's team was balanced, made up of a tank, Cormier, who was the silent tall man, Francis, the spearman who could handle the mid-range and close-range distance, and Jess, who was their long-range support.
Team 14 was their opponents.
"Sorry it had to be you," the random said mockingly, "but thanks in advance for the free extra credit."
Although he was being taunted, at the back line, Bell stood there with his arms crossed, not making a sound.
His expression remained calm, almost bored, yet his crimson eyes were flickering about, analyzing the stances that his teammates and his three opponents were in. Every little detail matters.
"You may begin," said Vivian, stepping back. She gave Bell a faint, almost reluctant smile. "Good luck."
It was clear she was hoping for the opposite.
The sound of clashing steel and footsteps echoed throughout the grassy fields.
As they were just outside the academy, quite a few students indoors were staring out the window, watching them. In another academy, this might've been a crazy spectacle, but for Trinity Academy, these occurrences weren't rare, so it was just a way to pass the time for some.
Bell's eyes followed every flicker of motion with surgical precision.
"Cormier, brace left," he ordered, his voice even but firm.
His tank obeyed instantly, raising his shield just as the opposing swordsman's feint turned into a real strike.
Sparks flared.
The blow didn't break through.
Without flinching or even a split hesitation from his last order, Bell said in the same breath, "Francis, second angle. Forty-five degrees."
Trusting in his leader, who had been perfect in his predictions, Francis moved to the sound of his tune as he slid to the side and thrusted his spear. Their opponents had two tanks, and the second tank raised his shield too late, and the blunt spear grazed his shoulder, knocking him slightly off balance.
Across the field, the opposing commander barked a counterorder.
He wasn't expecting to be pushed back this easily.
After a few more exchanges, the random decided to change strategy.
Adjusting their formation, the two tanks locked their shields in a double wall while the swordsman darted behind for cover.
"They're turtling," muttered Jess, her bowstring still drawn to its fullest. "What now?"
"Bait them," he responded with a casual tone as if he were discussing the weather. "Miss deliberately."
The arrow flew, not at the enemy, but past them.
It embedded itself into the dirt several meters behind their formation.
The other leader let out a laugh. "Your archer's got terrible aim. Is that you, Jess? Hahaha."
Bell didn't respond. His eyes weren't on the arrow. They were on the commander's front tank, the one who'd shifted his stance ever so slightly to block a shot that was never meant for him.
The momentary weight transfer on his right leg hadn't escaped Bell's attention.
"Okay. I want you guys to—"
With a few feints and clever mind games, Bell was able to throw their front line into disarray, and when he gave the order to push, Francis was the first to lunge forward with his spear.
Arrows whistled past, striking the exposed joints of the nearest enemy.
Cormier used his shield to block attacks, but also as a wall to prevent his archer from being attacked.
Each movement was deliberate, and whenever there was a change that needed to be made, Bell immediately gave the command.
"Rotate left. Francis, intercept. Archer, pin him."
Francis pivoted just in time, catching the swordsman's blade on the shaft of his spear.
The archer loosed another arrow, and it struck the swordsman square in the forehead, knocking him off balance.
A few more commands, and the random who had been talking smack fell to his knees in shock and how quickly and easily his team had been disassembled.
Bell muttered to himself as he walked away from the "stage", "I could've ended it ten seconds faster if I had just—"
Although he knew his teammates based on the information he had been given by the investigation he had conducted on every student, seeing them in action and reading the files compiled on them was different; now he had real data, real movement, and more accurate descriptions to analyze.
Next round, he'd be even more efficient.
As Bell walked back toward the crowd, the students parted instinctively, as though his presence carried weight.
They didn't say it out loud, but many were thinking the same thing:
That was impressive.
Although they didn't want to show it, a lot of them were looking at him in awe and were gulping nervously and excitedly as they couldn't wait to test their prowess against his mind.
Vivian's eyebrow twitched as she called up the next teams.
Firstly, she found that it was a shame that Bell hadn't lost.
Secondly, she didn't like the fact that it seemed he was more intelligent than she had assumed.
But the main reason for this reaction was that his style of commanding wasn't really what she was searching for with this activity. Rather than being a commander, a leader who guided his team to battle, it felt more like they were his vessel being controlled as his commands were very precise and he moved them exactly how he wanted to move them.
To be able to do that, the commander would have to be able to put themselves in the shoes of each member and know them from head to toe.
How could a 15-year-old boy, soon to be sixteen, have the capabilities to do that?
From what Vivian could tell, it wasn't as though Bell had known his teammates beforehand.
Most leaders stumbled through their first rounds, making rookie mistakes, poor coordination, and awkward timing. That was normal.
But Bell? He adapted as if he'd rehearsed with them for months.
Once every team had its turn, Vivian began the next phase, pairing winners against winners, losers against losers.
When Team 3 stepped back onto the field, the difference between their first time up and their second was immediate.
They didn't just win. They dominated.
Bell's teammates looked at him with eyes that could've been mistaken for vassals gazing upon their king.
They knew they shouldn't have won that match.
They were weaker, slower, and less skilled than their opponents
They just had a better leader..
A vastly superior one.
'I could shave another ten seconds off… if I'd told Francis to—'
Even as the crowd cheered, Bell wasn't celebrating. His mind was already dissecting the fight, replaying every motion, every breath, every decision.
Each battle fed him new data, more about his team, more about their opponents, more to refine. He was now seeing them for the second time, and even more information was being drawn out.
Analysis.
Implementation.
Correction.
Simulation.
His mind ran dozens of battles at once, adjusting positions, rerouting outcomes, trying alternative commands. Even while watching new matches, he was still improving old ones, optimizing every scenario in parallel.
He was perfecting how he would counter every team and even how he would command them if he were their leader.
He analyzed his classmates as individuals and as a cog in the system.
His brain wasn't just working fast; it was working in overdrive.
Not by choice, but by design. It was naturally tuned to such a gear since his mentor had trained him back on Earth.
"B-Bell…" Francis's voice wavered.
"Hmm?" Bell muttered. His mind was still working at full speed, not affected the slightest by the interruption.
"Your nose… it's bleeding."
Bell blinked, noticing a faint warmth below his nostrils.
He glanced down, just a trace of red.
Pulling a handkerchief from his pocket, he pressed it lightly against his nose. "Thank you."
It wasn't the first time. Whenever his mind entered overdrive, this happened.
Although his teammates were concerned, exchanging worried glances, including the silent and tall Cormier. But he just brushed them off.
This wasn't a concern. He was nowhere near his limit yet.
He'd have to collapse to his knees from mental exhaustion before he would even utter the word "limit" out loud.
After the third round, it was finally time to switch leaders.
After the third round, Vivian finally called for a switch in leadership. Time was limited, and she wanted to cycle through every leader rotation before the class ended.
Naturally, Bell's team stood undefeated with a record of 3-0.
As Bell handed the leadership over to Francis, Bell could feel the shift in his surroundings.
There was a predator gaze in many people in his surroundings.
He was impressive as a leader, but now he was one of the fighters. Were his physical capabilities as good as his mental?
A few of them even licked their lips as if he were a steak on a plate. They were acting like wolves circling their prey.
If only they knew that their prey was an even bigger predator than they.