"Team 3, Team 6, get up here," Vivian said.
Her heart was beating slightly. She couldn't wait to see Bell get pummeled.
But in the back of her mind, she was also excited, as her warrior heart was curious to see if Bell could impress her.
It was clear to her now that as a commander, he was a prodigy. What if he were the same as a fighter?
She's heard the evaluation of him. He was indeed one of the geniuses that the academy had. A lot of it did come from the fact that he followed one of the strongest gods.
She didn't expect it to be much different from the general consensus, but what if? Just — what if.
If he were a prodigy, even if she despised him, just from the perspective of a fighter, she'd be excited.
Stepping forward first was Francis, spear in hand. He was supposed to leave it behind, but his grip on the shaft was so tight that he was unable to open his hand and drop the weapon physically.
He tried to look composed, subconsciously mimicking Bell, but the slight tremor in his wrist betrayed him.
Glancing back at his team that was following behind him, or more specifically, Bell, his nervousness eased a little bit when he saw Bell give him a slight nod.
"You're the leader now, Francis," Jess said. "Don't worry. When we lose, I won't blame you. You're not Bell."
"...Thanks?"
Francis couldn't help but feel that he had been smacked in the face, even though she was trying to reassure him.
"Okay. Gather around, team," Francis said with a gulp. Unsure but motivated to prove himself, he stated, "Alright. We'll run the same formation as we did in our second battle."
Bell and the other leaders weren't allowed to advise the new leaders, so everything that came from Francis had to be entirely his decision.
"Bell is using a sword so he can take my role. Jess, stay far behind, but ensure that Cormier's shield can protect you. Bell, support from the right flank. We'll, uh… we'll push slowly and adapt to how the opponents engage with us."
"Got it."
"Mmm."
Bell just nodded, stepping into position with a comment.
On the other side, Team 6 looked confident. They weren't arrogant, but since Bell wasn't the opposing leader, they were relaxed because, unless there was a second tactical prodigy on the field in Francis, the battle would be much easier.
Their leader, a tall girl with short silver hair, gave her team quick and crisp instructions that contrasted Francis's hesitant tone.
"Begin," said Vivian.
The instant the word left her lips, Team 6 surged forward.
Steel met steel in an explosion of noise and motion.
Ting! Chink!
Cormier caught the first strike on his shield, but the impact of the clash forced him back half a step.
Bell moved immediately, intercepting the follow-up strike before it could reach his tank's unguarded flank. His swing was simple, yet it followed a perfect trajectory, and when it made contact with his opponent's weapon, it flung their arm back.
Seeing the situation, Francis barked from the rear, "Cormier, advance! Bell… uh, stay to the right. Keep doing what you're doing! Jess, fire! Shoot at will if you see any opening!"
His voice was loud, but the orders were coming out in a tangled mess.
Watching the clash between her teammates and the three opponents, Jess was impressed that Bell was not only keeping two opponents at bay, but he was also providing aid to Cormier, who was pressing forward.
Hesitating for half a breath, she wasn't sure if she wanted to mess up the rhythm, but she had permission from the commander, so when she saw what she deemed to be an opening, she released an arrow.
That half-second hesitation was all that was needed for the opening that Bell created to be closed as the arrow flew but scraped harmlessly off the enemy's shield.
Bell didn't complain. He simply moved.
Sliding low, he swept his opponent's leg just as their blade came down.
The dull edge whistled through empty air, and Bell's counter slammed into the enemy's ribs.
"Gughhhh!"
A sharp grunt, and the student stumbled back.
"Cormier, uh… uh, brace left!" Francis fumbled for another command. He didn't realize that as a leader, if there wasn't a need for a command, he should just let things play out until he deems a change or a decision has to be made. "I mean, left! Brace left! Ah crap. Jess, cover him!"
Team 6 wasn't that proficient with working together as a group yet, but compared to Team 3, which was being hindered by their commander, Team 6 was moving like a single organism.
Their frontliners were alternating strikes cleanly, one attacking while the other shielded, while their archer was keeping Jess pinned down with constant pressure, and when they found the time, they even sent arrows towards Bell.
"Push forward! No! Hold! Bell, circle — wait, don't… uh, regroup!"
Francis's commands were either too slow, too soon, too reactive, or not reactive enough.
Bell had already seen the path to victory a thousand years ago, but he remained true to the exercise, and he followed the leader's orders regardless of whether they were the correct ones or not.
He just tried his best to make them work.
Using Cormier's shield as a moving wall, he slipped through the narrow left gap and twisted his wrist as his blade flicked out once, twice, then a third time.
Each strike had hit a pressure point the opponents hadn't guarded, and the two frontliners staggered, the momentum broken.
Jess was keeping the other archer occupied so they couldn't intervene.
Seeing the balance shifting, Francis's voice cracked with sudden excitement, "Nice! Yeah! Everyone, push! Push!"
'Too soon,' Bell thought, but whatever. He was going to make it work.
They pushed.
"Fall back two steps!" Francis ordered.
'We should've continued applying pressure.'
"Uh… advance! Don't stop until they break!"
'...Sure.'
Regardless of Francis's commands and their lack of cohesion, the team held together only through Bell's quiet efforts and precision. He was the foundation that was keeping everything from falling apart, the invisible thread stitching their chaos into something functional.
If he had let up for even one second, all of it could've crumbled in an instant.
"Team 3, victory," Vivian announced, her voice faint with surprise.
"W-w-we did it!" Francis exhaled a shaky laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. He knew full well he hadn't led them to victory; his team had carried him — Bell had carried him.
Bell dabbed his forehead with a handkerchief, his expression unreadable. "Yeah. Good work, everyone."
"Thank you," Jess said, her body leaning towards him and her eyes sparkling.
Behind that calm exterior of Bell, his mind was replaying every moment of the battle — every delay, wasted movement, every order that came half a beat too soon or too late.
The four steps were being run again.
'15 seconds?' he pondered. That was the estimation he came to of how quickly it would've been over if he had been in command. But that was only if there was another Bell who was fighting on the frontline. If it were Francis in his place, 25 to 30 seconds would be more likely.
Francis watched Bell with a growing unease, seeing not just a peer but something beyond him — something untouchable. If it wasn't a sin and blasphemous to his own god, whom he was a follower of, he might've even called Bell a god.
He silently prayed that he hadn't disappointed him, although he had very little hope that he hadn't.
Bell said nothing, just turned his gaze toward the next match, and Francis let out a quiet sigh of relief.
He could only assume that Bell didn't care. That was better than nothing.
By the end of the exercise, Francis had also gone 3-0 as a leader.
Admittedly, he'd been carried, but there was progress. Faint, almost imperceptible. But there was progress. Maybe one percent.
Jess proved the better leader: calm, sharp, unflinching, though too conservative, dragging out fights longer than necessary.
3-0.
To no surprise of anyone on Team 3, Cormier, on the other hand, led in silence. A few words here and there, but otherwise letting his team move freely.
3-0.
"That marks the end of the exercise," Vivian said, glancing at her wristwatch. "Class ends in five minutes. You're free to go. See you next week." These sentences were coming out rapidly with no pause in between them.
Most of the students were confused about her behavior.
Their teacher was already striding out the door, mind racing.
This wasn't something Vivian could keep to herself — not after what she'd just witnessed. She remembered the headmistress's orders and was heading to her office.
The rage, the disgust, the exhaustion she'd carried into class were gone, replaced by something else: awe. Absolute, utterly… awe.
A prodigy. The kind they hadn't seen since Gerald Hartley, brother to Grace Hartley, one of Trinity Academy's current top students.
'How did we miss this?! Or… or was he hiding it?' Vivian's pace quickened. 'It couldn't have been developed over one summer. We just didn't see it.'
Leadership, she knew, was a two-way street, one that required both a leader and followers who obeyed without hesitation. Bell was flawless in both roles. The perfect commander who could guide his team to victory, and the perfect subordinate who could execute orders with machine-like precision, even when they were wrong.
It sounded simple, but few ever understood it.
For example, some of the students today had strayed away from their leader's order because they saw the path to victory, but that wasn't the purpose of the exercise.
She had countless notes, critiques, and praises ready to deliver, but those would have to wait. For now, she wasn't a teacher. She was merely a witness to the emergence of something monumental.
When the competitive air faded, it was replaced by a new kind of energy. The class converged on Bell, voices overlapping in a storm of questions, admiration, and noise.
Team 3 was being squished, and Francis was nearly trampled on. Jess, who was in the midst of praising Bell, was pushed aside by another girl who immediately copied her tone and words.
"Hey! I was here first!" Jess screamed.
Cormier just closed his eyes, giving himself up to fate as his giant body was being hit from all different angles.
Bell, the focus of attention, was surrounded but managed to slip through the crowd and reentered the academy building. A few persistent followers trailed him until he disappeared into a private bathroom, finally forcing them to stop.
It would've been too weird to linger outside the door.
By that point, it would turn into harassment.
Under the pale light, Bell met his reflection. His uniform was slightly disheveled, but his face showed none of the exhaustion from nine consecutive battles. He splashed water over his face, washing away the faint traces of sweat and blood.
He stared at himself in the mirror, expression unreadable.
"How many of them," he murmured, "will still be alive by the end of the year?"