It was midnight.
Under the cold glow of the moon, the arena stood silent as two figures faced each other, swords pointed forward. Neither moved. Neither spoke. Their eyes were locked, refusing to yield.
After a long moment, Rick was the first to act.
He surged forward, swinging his sword at Rome with all his strength. Rome reacted instantly, dodging to the side and counterattacking from Rick's blind spot. Steel met steel as Rick blocked the strike just in time.
They clashed again and again, blades flashing beneath the moonlight. No words were exchanged. Only the sound of metal and the sharp rhythm of their breathing filled the arena.
Both were giving it their all.
Suddenly, Rick took a deep breath.
In the next instant, he dashed forward, his sword arcing toward Rome's neck. The sudden attack startled Rome.
Damn it—!
He barely managed to raise his blade in time. The strike was blocked, but not completely. A sharp pain burned across Rome's neck as a thin line of blood appeared.
Rome felt the warmth of blood trickling down—but he didn't stop.
He rushed forward, swinging his sword downward with force. Rick blocked the strike, but Rome twisted his blade at the last second, throwing Rick's balance off. Before Rick could recover, Rome drove his knee into Rick's stomach.
Rick gasped, the air forced from his lungs.
Rick followed up instantly, slamming his fist into Rome's chin.
Both of them collapsed onto the ground.
For a moment, neither moved.
Slowly, they pushed themselves up, their bodies shaking, breath ragged.
"If you think this is enough to stop me…" Rome said between heavy breaths, "…then you're wrong."
Rick wiped blood from his mouth and smirked weakly.
"Yeah. Same to you."
Once more, they charged at each other.
They fought again—slower now, rougher, their movements losing precision. Each strike felt heavier than the last. Their vision blurred, legs trembling, sweat pouring down their faces.
Finally, both of them staggered back.
They stood at opposite ends of the arena, barely upright, bodies screaming in protest. Every breath burned.
"We can't go on like this…" Rome said, panting. "Let's settle this… in the next move."
The moonlight shimmered above them as both raised their swords one final time.
Two warriors.
One decision.
One strike.
"Yeah… let's do that," Rick replied.
Both of them drew in deep breaths. The remaining mana within their bodies began to circulate, gathering for one final exchange. They stood still for a brief moment, the air between them tense and heavy.
Then—at the same time—they dashed forward.
Their footsteps echoed as they closed the distance. In the center of the arena, they entered each other's range and swung their swords without hesitation.
Rome's blade swept horizontally toward Rick's chest.
Rick ducked beneath the strike at the last possible second.
In one fluid motion, Rick stepped inside Rome's guard and drove the handle of his sword upward.
The impact struck Rome's chin.
His vision spun. His body lost balance, and he collapsed onto the cold stone floor.
The fight was over.
Rick stood alone in the moonlit arena, chest heaving, sword hanging loosely in his hand. Rome lay on his back, staring blankly at the sky above.
From the shadows at the edge of the arena, two figures watched in silence.
"I can't believe Rick won…" Krai muttered, arms crossed. "He might be even stronger than both of us."
Leze turned away first. "I'm going back," he said coldly.
"Acting coldly, huh…well, i think i should head back also." Krai replied, glancing once more at the arena before following her.
When the arena finally fell silent, Rick knelt beside Rome.
Rome's consciousness slowly began to return.
…I lost.
The realization echoed painfully in his mind.
Tears welled up, slipping silently from the corners of his eyes as memories he had buried deep within himself began to surface.
It all began when I was six years old…
I was born into a wealthy family—the son of a successful merchant. Back then, everything was peaceful. We lived comfortably. I thought that life would always stay that way.
But one day, my father's business collapsed.
Crushed by debt, he fled to another kingdom… leaving me and my mother behind.
The merchants he owed money to showed no mercy. Our house, our possessions—everything was seized by the authorities. In a single day, we lost our home, our name, and our future.
We were left with nothing.
That punishment was still not enough for them.
In the end, both my mother and I were detained by the city guards. At the trial, we were found innocent—but since my father had already fled to another kingdom, it was impossible to capture him.
So the burden fell on us.
We were sentenced to repay the unsettled loan over the next twenty years.
After receiving the punishment, we were driven out of the administrative hall. With nowhere to go, we wandered the city for days and nights. During that time, I watched my once-beautiful mother bow her head and beg strangers for food.
There were nights when we ate nothing at all—sleeping in narrow alleys, wrapped in cold and hunger.
Then, one day, an old servant of our house took pity on us and helped my mother find work.
From that moment, things slowly began to improve.
We managed to rent a small room at the corner of the city. It was cramped and old, but it was a home. For the first time in a long while, I felt like maybe… just maybe… life was getting better.
Until one day.
A merchant began visiting our house.
At first, I didn't understand why he came. He spoke kindly, dressed well, and smiled often. I trusted him—because I wanted to believe that not everyone was cruel.
But one day, I learned the truth.
The truth shattered me.
I had just returned from outside when I noticed a guard standing in front of our door. Before I could even think, a scream tore through the air—from inside the house.
My mother's voice.
I rushed forward, but the guard stopped me. I tried to fight him. I fought with everything I had. But,
I lost.
He beat me so badly that I lost consciousness.
When I finally opened my eyes, the guard was gone.
I forced myself to stand, my body trembling as I stumbled toward the room.
When I entered… I saw my mother.
Her clothes torned. Her body was covered in scars.
That sight broke something inside me.
Tears streamed down my face. I wanted to scream her name—to ask what happened—but no sound came out.
Then she noticed me.
She rushed toward me, panic and fear written all over her face.
"Rome! What happened to you? Are you hurt?!"
Her voice trembled. Her eyes filled with tears—not for herself, but for me.
Looking at her like that… countless thoughts raced through my mind.
Why are you worrying about me?
You're the one who was hurt the most.
So why…?
I didn't understand.
I didn't understand why she cared about me so much.
And that… was the moment I truly realized—
My mother was the strongest person I had ever known.
After that incident, I began to hate wealthy people.
No—more precisely… I began to hate money itself.
I know how childish it sounds now. Deep down, I understood the truth. I wasn't hating money—I was using it as an excuse. An excuse so I wouldn't have to accept the one thing that terrified me the most.
That I was weak.
But excuses didn't change reality.
After that day, the same merchant came again.
And then others followed.
My mother became their plaything.
And I became a loser—a useless child who couldn't protect a single thing.
I challenged them many times. Every time, I lost.
When I tried to silence the people who spoke ill of my mother, I lost again.
I begged the city guards for help.
They did nothing.
I begged ordinary people for help.
They turned away.
I tried to protect her. I did everything I could.
And still… I failed. Again. And again. And again.
Every night, I stayed outside the house, waiting for morning to come—afraid of what might happen if I went inside.
And my mother…
She smiled every day, as if nothing was wrong.
That smile hurt more than any wound.
I began to hate myself—for being so weak.
So, from that day on, I changed.
I stole a book from the library—one about mana.
I trained in secret.
Again and again.
By some miracle, I was able to sense mana.
I trained every single day, telling myself that one day… one day I would make them pay for what they did to my mother.
And just like that, I turned fifteen.
At first, I had no intention of entering the Academy. Leaving my mother alone terrified me.
But one morning, while eating breakfast, everything changed.
It had been nine years since that day.
Nine years of silent suffering.
As my mother handed me food, I noticed her hands trembling. Her body was thin, covered in bruises she tried so desperately to hide.
Then she spoke.
"In these nine years… you barely said anything."
Her voice was soft. Sad.
"…Are you eating properly?"
I said nothing.
Then she asked the question that shattered me.
"Rome…( a brief pause) do you hate your mother?"
Those words—
They tore me apart from the inside.
I couldn't breathe.
I couldn't speak.
"THAT'S NOT TRUE,… I don't hate you."
My voice cracked as it left my throat. I had shouted at first, but the moment I saw my mother's face—thin, tired, yet still trying to smile—I felt my strength drain away.
She looked at me for a long moment, then spoke softly, as if afraid her words might break me.
"Rome… I've been thinking of sending you to the Royal National Magic Academy."
My heart dropped.
"NO! ," I said immediately. "I'm not going."
I shook my head again and again. "I'm not leaving you. I won't."
She didn't raise her voice. She didn't argue.
She only smiled—that gentle smile she always wore, the one that hid too much pain.
"Did you really think I didn't know?" she asked.
I froze.
"I know you train when I'm asleep," she continued. "I know you come home exhausted. I know you can sense mana."
My breath caught in my chest.
"You did it alone," she said quietly. "Without a teacher. Without guidance. Many people take months… even years. But you did it by yourself."
She reached out and placed her hand on my head.
"You have talent, Rome. Real talent. So please… don't waste it by staying beside an old, fragile woman like me."
Something inside me snapped.
"DON'T SAY THAT!" I shouted, my hands shaking as I slammed the plate onto the floor. It shattered loudly, the sound echoing through the room.
"I'M NOT LEAVING YOU! NOT WITH THESE PEOPLE!"
My voice broke. "And we don't even have the money—so stop talking like this!"
My vision blurred, my chest burning with rage and fear and helplessness.
But my mother didn't step back.
Instead… she hugged me.
Her arms were thin. Weak.
And yet, they wrapped around me with more warmth than anything I had ever known.
"What are you doing…?" I whispered, my body trembling.
"Don't hate yourself," she said.
Her words hit harder than any blow I had ever taken.
"What… are you talking about?" I asked, barely able to breathe.
"I know," she said softly.
"I know you hate yourself."
My hands clenched into fists.
"I know you blame yourself for not protecting me. I know you replay those moments again and again in your head."
Tears spilled from my eyes before I could stop them.
"I also know," she continued, her voice shaking now, "that you expect me to hate you for it."
She held me tighter.
"But Rome… you forgot one thing."
I felt her forehead rest against my shoulder.
"You are my child."
My breath broke into a sob.
"And a real mother," she whispered, "never hates her child."
That was all it took.
Everything I had been holding inside—the anger, the guilt, the shame—collapsed at once.
I cried.
I cried until my chest hurt.
I cried until my legs gave out.
I cried like the child I had never been allowed to be.
And my mother held me the entire time.
The next morning, she packed my belongings.
Her movements were slow, careful, as if this were an ordinary day.
She handed me a small leather pouch.
It was heavy.
Gold coins.
I didn't ask where she got them.
I didn't ask what she planned to do after I left.
I was afraid that if I spoke—even once—I wouldn't be able to leave.
So I stayed silent.
I took the pouch.
I took my things.
And without looking back… without saying goodbye…
I walked out of the house.
Toward the Academy.
Away from the only place that had ever felt like home.
That was why, when I saw Rick standing there—his ID clearly showing he had already paid for two full years here, and yet still carrying more money than I had ever touched in my life—it made something ugly twist inside my chest.
Anger rose before I could stop it.
That money…
It reminded me of everything I had lost.
Of everything my mother had endured.
Of the price we paid just to survive.
I had suffered for every single coin.
And he had it all so easily.
That was also the reason I began to hate him. ""
Rome lay on the cold ground of the arena, staring up at the empty sky as old memories clawed their way back into his mind—memories he had buried deep, memories that still hurt no matter how much time had passed.
After a long while, he forced himself to stand.
His legs trembled.
His breath was unsteady.
He turned to leave.
"Rome."
The voice stopped him.
"I don't know what you've been through," Rick said quietly. "And I won't force you to tell me."
There was no pity in his tone—only honesty.
"But when you're ready… I'll listen."
Rome said nothing.
Not a word.
He didn't turn around.
He simply walked away from the arena, his body shaking with emotions he refused to let spill out.
Rick remained there long after Rome disappeared from sight.
The sun slowly climbed higher, its light warming the stone beneath his feet—but he didn't move.
Only when a sudden realization struck him did his eyes widen.
"…I haven't slept at all."
He let out a tired breath, rubbing his face.
It was going to be a very long day.