"Now!"

From his seat, Elric watched as only a handful of people sprang into motion while the rest hesitated, casting wary glances at one another.

Around him, murmurs erupted as the participants began chatting in hushed excitement.

"There's already a winner in this round," someone said matter-of-factly.

Another voice, tinged with confusion, asked, "How do you know?"

"Heh," the first speaker scoffed. "I saw him having the number one before I stepped off the stage."

"Who are you talking about?"

A third participant, overhearing the exchange, leaned in.

"Ryan Martin. The one who's considered top two in the Tritus Academy," the man replied with a resigned shake of his head.

A ripple of sighs swept through the crowd. Then, spotting him, a few students couldn't hold back their surprise.

"It's true!" one of them shouted.

"That means only four spots are left in this round..." someone else muttered from a few seats away.

"No," another one said, their eyes never leaving the stage. "There might be dark horses we don't know about. Nothing is set in stone."

Scoffs echoed in response, but no one bothered to argue. The comment was dismissed as empty bravado.

"Not everyone is stupid," Neve murmured quietly.

Elric's voice cut in, calm and focused. "Look."

His gaze was fixed on the arena—on a single man.

"Hmm?" Neve turned toward Elric, following his line of sight. Then she saw it.

In the middle of the arena stood a lone figure, saber in hand, completely unchallenged.

A space had formed around him—not by force, but by presence. He hadn't lifted a finger, yet no one dared approach.

He had short black hair and the uniform marked him as a student of Tritus Academy. The outfit resembled those of the other academies, save for the deep black that set it apart.

He was Ryan.

Wary glances flicked his way from all sides, but as time went on, more and more students averted their eyes. Instead of confronting him, they turned on each other—choosing easier opponents over the silent threat standing at the center.

"A bunch of cowards," Neve said coldly.

Elric let out a quiet sigh. "I wasn't looking at him. Keep watching."

Still puzzled, Neve kept her gaze on the arena. Soon, she spotted what Elric had seen—a man with short black hair, dressed in the white uniform of Altura Academy, calmly walking toward Ryan. A sheathed sword hung at his side, and each step he took was steady.

As the man entered the clearing formed around Ryan, he slowly unsheathed his blade.

Ryan turned his head slightly, his voice calm but carrying a hint of disdain. "Are you sure? You still have time to retreat."

The man shrugged, offering a light smile. "Why is every 'top' student so condescending? I've never understood it."

On the stage, a few students shook their heads, silently writing the challenger off as someone foolishly throwing away his shot at advancing. No one spoke—they either didn't care or didn't see the point.

But in the stands, the atmosphere buzzed with reaction.

Some spectators, convinced Ryan had already secured his spot, jeered at the approaching challenger. Others pitied him. Students watching from above joined in the commentary, voices mixing with the crowd—some amused, others curious.

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"Did you want me to see that?" Neve asked, a hint of curiosity in her voice.

Elric nodded. "Mhm. I don't know why, but something's telling me this is going to be interesting."

Inwardly, though, his thoughts churned: He looks familiar… Have I met him before? But I don't remember ever dealing with anyone from Altura.

"If you say so," Neve replied, eyes still on the arena.

Down below, Ryan shifted into a combat stance.

"I gave you a chance, you should've taken it" he said—and then burst forward, closing the distance in a blink. His saber came down in a clean, brutal arc.

But the black-haired man's expression didn't change. Calmly, effortlessly, he raised his sword to meet the strike.

In that instant, the difference between them became starkly, undeniably clear.

Ryan's attack was stopped cold. The force of the rebound jolted his arm so hard his shoulder nearly dislocated. Meanwhile, the Altura student's blade continued forward with fluid precision, stopping only when its tip hovered at Ryan's chest.

The crowd hushed—stunned by what they had just witnessed.

Ryan didn't waste a moment thinking about his shoulder. He stood frozen, staring blankly at the man before him. His pupils were dilated, sweat clung to his forehead, and yet his body refused to move.

The black-haired man stepped forward, his tone casual—teasing. "Is that all?"

But Ryan said nothing. Not a word. Not a breath.

The man's brow furrowed slightly. "Did I go too far? But… wasn't he supposed to be one of the strongest here?" he muttered to himself, confused by the situation.

Then gasps erupted from the stands.

No one could believe it—the number two ranked student from Tritus Academy had just been overwhelmed in a single exchange. No, it wasn't just a loss. He had been spared.

The shock rippled through the students watching above. One of the favorites to place in the top five had been defeated so completely… and now stood paralyzed, unable even to speak.

Neve turned toward Elric, her voice low and serious.

"How did you know?"

"I didn't know. I had a hunch," Elric said, still half-lost in thought as he tried to recall any past interaction with the Altura students.

"A hunch, huh?" Neve echoed quietly. She didn't press further—she could tell Elric wasn't bluffing.

Up in the grandstand, Jonathan turned to Victor, his lips twitching with a mix of amusement and disbelief.

"Was he that bored?"

"Maybe you shouldn't have raised the prize money," Victor replied flatly, his eyes fixed on the arena—more specifically, on the man who had just effortlessly defeated Ryan.

Jonathan let out a tired sigh. His gaze dropped slightly, weariness flickering in his expression.

"I never expected him to show up. Samuel? Maybe. But Thomas? Since when does he fight for money?"

"People change," Victor said simply, without looking away.

Seeing that Victor had no intention of elaborating, Jonathan could only turn his attention back to the arena. This time, however, his gaze remained fixed on Thomas, unblinking.

On the stage, Thomas stood still, momentarily wondering if he'd gone too far. But before he could dwell on it, Ryan finally seemed to regain control of his body.

"Who are you?" Ryan asked, his voice strained.

The question snapped Thomas out of his thoughts.

"Thomas," he answered instinctively. Then, almost as an afterthought, he added, "Do you want to keep fighting?"

Ryan muttered the name under his breath, trying to recall if he'd ever heard it before. But his mind quickly caught up with the situation—and the question.

He shook his head hastily. "I—I admit defeat," he stammered, returning his saber to his Inventory before hurriedly retreating off the stage.

Thomas turned toward the remaining students, many of whom had stopped mid-fight to watch the exchange. A faint smile tugged at his lips.

"Anyone else want to fight?"

Heads turned left and right as students exchanged glances with their former opponents—then quickly resumed their fights, eager to avoid drawing the man's attention or giving him a reason to speak again.

Seeing this, Thomas gave a resigned sigh.

"Guess I'll have to wait for the next round," he muttered, then sat down cross-legged in the center of the arena, completely at ease.

A collective twitch ran through the lips of the spectators.

Even Ryan hadn't been bold enough to sit on the stage during the first round. But then, everyone recalled the brief, overwhelming exchange they had just witnessed—and could only accept it.

This man wasn't just strong.

He was leagues above Ryan.

The round continued without further incident, but in the stands, chaos quietly brewed. Students ran between sections, whispering, searching—desperately trying to uncover anything about the man who had just dominated one of the top contenders.

But every lead turned cold.

Even students from Altura Academy came up empty. No name, no record, no recognition.

Frustrated, they could only comfort themselves with the thought: sooner or later, his identity would come to light.

For now, they had no choice but to wait.

Half an hour later, only six students remained on the stage.

Elric glanced at Neve and said, "Looks like it's your turn. Try not to lose."

She answered with nothing but a sharp snort.

Just then, one of the six was decisively knocked out of the ring, and a staff member promptly stepped forward to announce, "Round one is over. You five, please follow me to report your names."

The remaining students—four of them drenched in sweat—nodded and followed after the staff member, their exit accompanied by scattered cheers and excited chatter from the audience.

A second staff member took the stage and called out, "Round two is about to begin. Will the student with number two please make their way to the arena."

"Off you go," Elric said with a smirk as Neve stood up, rapier in hand.

She didn't respond, her focus was already on the fight ahead.

It didn't take long for the participants of Round 2 to step onto the stage. Barely a minute later, the staff members had already confirmed the students' numbers.

Out of the corner of his eye, Elric noticed the five contestants who had advanced from the first round making their way to the stands to watch. His gaze lingered on one— a brown-haired man—longer than the others, but a sudden shout from the arena snapped his attention back.

"Round 2, start!"

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