The crowd's louder than before. Jiwoo's first win made people talk, and now everyone's watching to see if it was a fluke.
Rows of students leaned forward in their seats, voices overlapping with the hum of mana amplifiers that powered the barrier rings.
Real swords. Real mana.
No wooden weapons this time.
Jiwoo flexed his fingers once, feeling the rough leather grip of the academy-issued longsword. It wasn't sharp enough to kill through the barrier system—but it could draw blood if he slipped.
His opponent was already waiting inside the arena—a broad-shouldered second-year named Shin Taekho, known for his fire-imbued swordsmanship.
"Match sixteen," the announcer called.
"Han Jiwoo, First Year Combat Division, versus Shin Taekho, Second Year Combat Division!"
Cheers followed, mixed with skeptical laughter.
Taekho cracked his neck, pointing his blade toward Jiwoo.
"You're the one who beat Seo Nara, right?"
Jiwoo nodded once.
Taekho smirked. "Guess I should thank you. I've been wanting to see what the fuss was about. An E-rank beating a leaderboard name? That's new."
Jiwoo raised his sword. "Then stop talking and see it for yourself."
A murmur swept through the stands at his calm tone.
The referee's hand went up. "Ready— Begin!"
Flame burst from Taekho's sword the instant the signal dropped. He dashed forward, his slash tracing an orange arc through the air.
Clang!
Jiwoo blocked cleanly, though the impact rattled his arms. The tiles beneath their feet cracked from the mana pressure.
Taekho stepped back, smirking. "Not bad for someone your rank."
Another swing—faster. Jiwoo parried, twisted his wrist, and turned the momentum aside. Sparks flew.
The crowd roared as the two circled each other, blades flashing under the morning light.
Taekho flared his mana, the blade burning brighter. "Let's turn it up a little!"
The air shimmered with heat. He struck again, heavy and fast. Jiwoo ducked, the flame brushing past his cheek.
Every clash echoed like thunder.
Baek watched from the observation deck, arms folded. "Still calm. He's reading patterns mid-fight."
Soomin glanced at him. "He's precise. But his mana output is… nonexistent."
Baek shrugged. "If he can win without it, why force it?"
Back in the arena, Taekho's confidence grew. "Come on, E-rank! I heard you even put a scratch on instructor Baek, then show me something worth swinging at!"
Jiwoo exhaled once and adjusted his stance.
The next moment, he moved—clean, sharp, faster than before.
Their swords met again, and this time, Jiwoo's counterstrike slid past Taekho's guard, stopping just short of his ribs.
The second-year blinked. "What—"
Jiwoo stepped back, sword still pointed steady. "You leave your side open when you go for a heavy cut."
A murmur rippled through the stands.
"Did he just—teach him mid-fight?"
"He's analyzing while fighting?"
Taekho's jaw clenched. He burst forward again, flames spiraling higher, frustration bleeding into his movements. Jiwoo kept moving just out of reach, deflecting instead of trading blows.
The floor smoked.
The crowd leaned forward.
Finally, Jiwoo caught his rhythm—Taekho's shoulder twitch before every thrust, the half-step delay when he pulled mana into his sword.
The next attack came in high. Jiwoo sidestepped, turned his body, and in one clean motion, slammed the flat of his blade against Taekho's abdomen.
The sound cracked through the barrier.
Taekho stumbled backward, his sword clattering to the floor. For a moment, the only sound was the hiss of fading flame.
The referee raised his hand.
"Match over! Winner—Han Jiwoo!"
The arena erupted.
"He beat another upper-year!"
"That's two in a row!"
"And he still hasn't used mana once!"
Taekho exhaled hard, then gave a small grin. "You're good, freshman."
Jiwoo lowered his sword and bowed slightly. "Good fight."
They clasped hands briefly before leaving opposite sides of the stage.
***
In the observation deck, Soomin let out a slow whistle.
"Two victories, no mana, no injuries. You don't see that every day."
Sanghoon crossed his arms. "That kind of restraint only works until someone decides to crush him with pure force."
Baek smirked. "Then I hope they do. Let's see if he still finds a way."
Kain stood silently near the back, eyes following Jiwoo's retreating form.
His expression didn't change, but there was a faint glint behind his calm gaze.
He murmured, almost to himself,
"You fight just like your father."
Baek turned slightly. "You said something?"
Kain shook his head. "Nothing. Just an observation."
***
Behind the arena, Jiwoo sat on a bench, wiping his blade with a cloth.
His arms ached. His breathing was shallow. He stared at the faint scratches along the metal—each one a reminder of how close every clash really was.
"Two wins, huh?"
Jiwoo looked up. Baek stood there, coffee cup in hand, expression unreadable.
Jiwoo straightened quickly. "Instructor."
"Relax," Baek said. "You fight better that way."
He took a sip of his drink, studying him for a moment.
"No mana output again. You planning to keep fighting like that?"
Jiwoo nodded. "If I can win, I don't need to rely on it."
Baek chuckled softly. "Careful. That kind of thinking either makes geniuses… or corpses."
He started to walk off, then paused.
"Still," he said without turning, "not bad. Keep fighting like you mean it."
When Baek was gone, Jiwoo leaned back, closing his eyes for a moment. The cheers from the next match echoed faintly in the distance.
He wasn't sure if it was pride or pressure building in his chest—but it burned just enough to keep him awake.
He opened his eyes, tightening his grip on the sword again.
There were more duels to come.
And he wasn't planning to stop here.