The day of the mock duel had arrived.
Unlike the first time, the first-years were practically buzzing.
The arena no longer felt like a place of assessment; it felt like a festival.
The wooden stands were crowded early, filled with students who should have been stretching or reviewing notes for the upcoming final exam, but instead leaned over railings, chatting loudly, laughing, and pointing toward the central platform.
The air itself seemed restless, humming with overlapping voices and restless anticipation.
There was, of course, only one reason for that.
[Hero Alex vs Soren Arden]
The words floated above the arena in glowing letters, impossible to ignore.
It was the headline duel of the day, the match everyone wanted to see.
Some students had even gone so far as to place bets on the outcome, exchanging whispered numbers and sly grins as though this were a sporting event rather than an examination.
Even those who pretended not to care still found their eyes drifting upward, rereading the matchup as if it might change.
On one side was the new Hero, Alex.
Golden-haired, with piercing blue eyes that seemed to reflect the arena lights no matter where he stood.
He carried himself naturally, almost casually, but there was something about him that drew attention regardless.
The prophecies' chosen one.
The academy's future spearhead.
Despite being ranked dead last in Martial Studies, no one dared to look down on him.
Everyone here knew that one day, soon, Alex would become a monster in the truest sense of the word.
Someone whose name would be spoken with reverence or fear, depending on who you asked.
On the other side, however, was a student named Soren Arden.
If someone had mentioned his name a few weeks ago, the most they would have received would have been a confused shrug.
Maybe a vague recollection of "that white-haired magician" or "the guy who uses an axe for some reason."
But now?
Now there were stories.
Even setting aside his striking appearance, features soft enough to linger in memory, red eyes that seemed too intense for a first-year, there were far more notable things attached to his name.
The first friend of Amelia Indras Einhardt, the Wild Wolf.
The so-called "moving mage," who fought like a warrior while casting spells mid-motion, ignoring the academy's conventional fighting style.
The class F student who had miraculously placed second in the midterm practical, outperforming students ranked far above him.
Alex was the star.
Soren was the curiosity, the anomaly that didn't quite fit into the academy's neat hierarchy.
It was the first time in the academy's history that a duel between two class F students had been elevated to the main event of a duelling examination.
So how was the school's unofficial "mascot" handling all that attention?
'Fuck. Fuck, why did I agree to this? Should I just forfeit? There's still time. Maybe if I do it right before the duel I can sneak away…'
Soren stood near the edge of the staging area, his gaze unfocused as noise washed over him.
His chest tightened with each shallow breath, panic threading itself through his thoughts like barbed wire.
Ever since Amelia had calmed him down days ago, he had managed to keep himself together, just enough to function.
Enough to attend classes, to train, to eat without feeling sick.
But as the duel drew closer, the anxiety returned in waves.
Each one hit harder than the last.
He felt like a man walking toward the gallows, steps steady only because stopping would mean collapsing.
And worse, far worse, the status window hadn't given him a quest for this duel.
That absence gnawed at him.
The system had always been intrusive, overbearing, always pushing him toward something, whether he wanted it or not.
But now, when reassurance mattered most, it was silent.
No objective.
No warning.
No reward.
Nothing.
Had he chosen wrong?
The doubt dug deeper, coiling around his thoughts until even standing upright felt like an effort.
Beside him, Amelia watched quietly.
She had been with him long enough to recognise the storm beneath his calm exterior.
His posture was controlled, his expression neutral, but she could see the signs.
The tension in his shoulders.
The stiffness in his hands.
The way his eyes kept flicking toward the arena as if it were a trap waiting to spring.
Although he looked composed, she could feel his nerves like heat bleeding through the air.
What Amelia couldn't understand was why.
To her, battles were exhilarating, a place where instincts sharpened and everything else faded away, but to Soren, battles were cages, narrow spaces where mistakes became fatal and expectations crushed the air from his lungs.
"It'll be okay," she murmured, lightly taking his hand.
It was the only comfort she knew how to give, simple, direct, and it had worked before, hadn't it?
But Soren didn't even register her touch this time.
Her warmth barely reached him, drowned out by the noise in his head.
Thoughts collided and overlapped until the world felt distant, unreal.
It was only when another voice cut through that he flinched back into the present.
"Hey-hey! Are you doing alright, Soren?"
Olivia's cheerful tone hit him like cold water.
"Ah–! I'm fine, Olivia, are you?"
The words spilt out too fast, too stiff, as if he were forcing himself into the shape of a normal conversation.
"…"
Amelia's lips pressed into a thin line.
He hadn't noticed her attempt to ground him at all.
"I'm good! Are you ready for your duel later?"
"…Yeah."
The response came a beat too late, his voice thinner than usual.
Olivia, oblivious, continued smiling, rocking slightly on her heels.
Her presence twisted the knife further into his gut.
Olivia, the girl whose awakening he had interfered with.
The one whose timeline had already veered off course because of him.
Proof that even small actions could ripple outward in ways he couldn't control.
She had no idea how much her involvement terrified him.
"Are you going to be alright?" Soren asked suddenly.
"With what?"
"Your duels. You're… a priestess, aren't you?"
"Oh…"
For the first time, her smile faltered.
"I'll be fine… haha…"
The laugh didn't quite land.
His mind replayed the previous mock duels without permission, Olivia darting across the arena like prey, dodging desperately until a single overwhelming strike ended everything.
"There you are, Liv, I was looking for you."
Flinch
That voice, steady, confident, and far too bright.
Soren stiffened.
"Ah! Sorry Alex! I was talking to Soren."
Alex smiled and turned toward him.
"I forgot last time, so I'll do it now. Nice to meet you. I'm Alex, no family name, class F, ranked 125th… and I guess I'm the Hero."
He held out his hand.
The gesture should have been simple.
For Soren, the world slowed.
His throat locked up, his chest squeezing painfully tight.
The Hero.
The pivot of the story itself.
Standing right in front of him.
For several seconds, he could only stare at the offered hand, his thoughts dissolving into static.
"…Apologies," he finally forced out.
He took the hand, but released it quickly, as though it burned.
"Soren Arden. Rank 96th. Magician."
His voice was clipped and formal, stripped of its usual edge.
Olivia blinked, confusion flickering across her face.
"Is something wrong, Soren?" she asked softly.
He shook his head too fast.
"No."
Alex tried to smooth over the moment.
"I'm looking forward to our duel. Liv's told me a lot about you."
"Right."
The single word dropped like a stone.
The conversation died instantly.
Soren knew how strange he sounded, knew Amelia was staring at him now, confusion plain on her face, but the pressure in his chest made words feel impossible.
He couldn't breathe, let alone chat with the protagonist of the story.
Alex's smile faltered, just slightly.
"Well… I don't want to be a bother. I'll see you later, Soren. Liv, shall we go?"
Olivia hesitated, glancing back at Soren with clear worry, before following Alex away.
The silence that followed was thick.
Finally, Amelia spoke.
"What was that?"
Soren's jaw tightened.
"What do you mean?"
She studied him for a moment longer, then sighed.
"…Never mind."
••✦ ♡ ✦•••
[Rank 96 and Rank 5 of Arcane Studies, please come down to the arena.]
The announcement echoed clearly through the arena, cutting through the lingering chatter like a blade.
Soren exhaled slowly.
"It's my turn."
"Good luck."
Amelia's voice was calm, steady, but her fingers tightened briefly around his wrist before she let go.
It wasn't hesitation.
It was reassurance, wordless and instinctive.
He nodded once and stepped forward.
The walk down to the arena floor felt longer than it should have.
Each step echoed too loudly in his ears, the stone beneath his boots solid and unforgiving.
He could feel eyes following him, some curious, some assessing, some already dismissive.
On the way, he reached for one of the weapon racks lining the descent and grabbed a handaxe.
The familiar weight settled into his palm, grounding him just a little.
The leather-wrapped handle was worn smooth where his fingers rested, proof of countless hours spent swinging, adjusting, correcting his form until his arms ached.
"「Status」," he muttered under his breath.
.
[Status Window]
Name: Soren Arden
Age: 18
Race: Human
◈ Stats
Mana - 1.6 (E) [Increased by 0.2]
Divine Power - 0.8 (F+) [Increased by 0.3]
◈ Skills
- Basic Magic
└ Ignition (C) [Increased by 1]
└ Shock (C-) [Increased by 1]
└ Breeze (E) [Increased by 1]
- Blood Magic
└ Blood Absorption (E-) [Increased by 2]
- Pain Tolerance (F+) [Increased by 1]
- Basic Axemanship (F)
.
It had been almost a month since the midterms, and Soren hadn't wasted that time.
Between tutoring sessions with Lilliana, light physical training in the evenings, and practising whenever he had the mana or divine power to spare, he had pushed himself relentlessly.
Not efficiently, relentlessly.
Every spare moment had gone into becoming even a fraction stronger than he was before.
The most significant breakthrough had come just days ago.
[Blood Absorption] had climbed to E-.
With it came a subtle yet critical change: the ability to drain blood through physical contact rather than by mouth.
A small shift on paper, but a massive leap in practicality.
Blood magic was dangerous magic, yes, but no longer as clumsy or limiting as before.
However, it wasn't something he could use freely.
Every activation still carried risk, still demanded restraint.
But it was progress.
Then there was his training with Amelia.
Through effort, actual effort, rather than spending precious points, he had finally obtained [Basic Axemanship].
His swings were still rough, his form imperfect, but it was his.
Something he had earned rather than bought.
It was impressive.
Objectively speaking.
And yet, as he stared at the status window, a single thought pressed down on everything else.
'I'm still weak.'
The words clung to him like a shadow, impossible to shake.
"So why did you challenge me, Soren Arden?"
The voice was deep, calm, completely unthreatened.
Soren raised his head.
A mountain of muscle stood before him.
Carlen Frenun, ranked 5th in Arcane Studies.
Broad shoulders stretched his uniform, arms thick with clearly earned strength.
His presence alone radiated pressure, not the sharp, suffocating kind that Amelia carried when serious, but something heavier, steadier.
A class A mage with the body of a warrior.
One of the strongest students in all of first year.
This was the opponent Lilliana had chosen for him.
The memory surfaced unbidden.
– Well, if I had to give a name, it would probably be Carlen.
– Why? Uhm… if I had to give a reason, it would be because, unlike the other class A students in the magic major, Carlen isn't as eccentric. As you know, most of the higher-ranking students have a few screws loose, and while Carlen isn't an exception, he's better comparatively.
It hadn't been glowing praise, but it was enough.
Soren remembered approaching Carlen with both duel tickets in hand, heart pounding as though he were walking up to a wall.
Carlen had sized him up silently, eyes sharp but not mocking, before agreeing without complaint, even though refusal hadn't truly been an option.
Another memory followed.
– If he's anything like his brother, he might just help you if you ask honestly.
Soren swallowed.
His throat felt dry, tight.
Every instinct screamed at him to shut down, to deflect, to hide behind half-truths and excuses.
Instead, he forced the words out.
"I'm weak," he said flatly. "It sucks to lose all the time."
The honesty startled even him.
The arena noise seemed to fade slightly, as if the moment had carved out a small pocket of quiet.
Carlen raised a brow, folding his arms across his chest.
His gaze sharpened, no longer casual, studying Soren as though reassessing him from the ground up.
"Hmmm…"
The sound wasn't dismissive.
It was thoughtful.
————「❤︎」————