I glanced back and gasped.

Kael, cloaked in blinding mana, charged like a natural disaster. He wasn't running anymore; he was practically flying low to the ground.

'He's coming.'

I stopped running. I slammed my heels into the dirt, skidding to a halt.

I reached into my pocket.

My last shell.

The [Mana-Conductive Silver Slug].

It was a custom round I had saved for the Boss Battle. A bullet carved from pure mythril-silver alloy, designed to disrupt mana flow upon impact.

I dropped it into the chamber.

CLACK.

"What are you doing, Lucien?!" Kael roared, leaping into the air.

He was twenty meters up, suspended in the sky like a descending god.

"I'm right here!" I shouted back.

"Prepare yourself!"

As Kael raised his sword, a chilling sensation made his skin crawl. The sense of death.

The aura around his sword condensed. It wasn't just a slash anymore. He was pouring every drop of his remaining mana into the earth-shattering technique he found in the tomb.

"You've lost your reason, Kael!"

"I grew stronger because of you, Lucien!"

Kael shouted, his eyes glowing white.

"Me?" I scoffed, aiming the gun upward.

"Yes! Your mockery. Your schemes. They pushed me!" Kael declared, his voice echoing through the arena. "I, Kael... will surpass you!"

I felt a vein pop in my forehead.

'Exhausting. Damn protagonist.'

I, Lucien Ashborne, the trash extra villain. A sacrifice, fertilizer, a stepping stone arranged for the protagonist's growth?

'Don't screw with me.'

As Kael's resolve peaked, my thread of reason snapped.

"Fine! Then die, you lucky bastard!"

Kael plummeted.

[Sovereign Art: Final Form - HEAVEN FALL]!

He swung his sword down.

The air pressure alone cracked the arena floor before the blade even touched it. A massive wave of golden energy, heavy as a mountain, crashed down toward me.

I didn't dodge. I couldn't dodge. The area of effect was the entire ring.

To survive, to beat the plot, to prove that I was more than a plot device...

I pulled the trigger.

[Skill: Mana Discharge (Infused into Bullet)]

BOOM!

A blinding silver flash burst from the barrel.

Below, the golden sun crashing down. From below, a silver moon shooting up.

In the small world of this confined space, the sun and moon collided.

KABOOOOOM!

The explosion was deafening.

A shockwave of gold and silver mana swept outward, shattering the magical barrier protecting the audience.

"Shields! Raise shields!" Samantha screamed, jumping in front of the front row students.

The arena was swallowed by a blinding white light.

The spectators—students, teachers, and high-ranking Knights—were forced to cover their eyes. But the Platinum Knights, the recruiters from the Orders, stood up, their eyes wide.

"..."

"..."

No one dared speak.

The duel was over. But the aftermath rumbled like thunder.

"They're not at cadet level…" a scout from the Royal Guard whispered, his hands trembling. "Two first-year cadets? That was Gold Knight level output!"

"Who won?" Bordon shouted, trying to see through the dust cloud.

Slowly, the dust settled.

The arena was a crater. The stone floor was gone, replaced by pulverized gravel.

In the center of the devastation...

One figure was kneeling. One figure was standing.

Lucien Ashborne was sprawled on his back, his shotgun lying a few feet away, smoke rising from the barrel. His uniform was shredded, and he wasn't moving.

Standing over him, using his sword as a cane to keep himself upright, was Kael.

Kael was a mess. His golden hair was singed, his body covered in burns and bruises, and blood dripped freely from his nose and arm. He was shaking uncontrollably.

But he was standing.

"He... stood up," Celestia whispered, putting a hand over her mouth.

The referee, recovering from the shock, stepped forward.

"Winner... Kael!"

Kael didn't cheer. He didn't raise a fist in victory.

He stared down at Lucien.

He looked at the small silver bruise on his chest plate—right over his heart. The Silver Slug had hit dead center. It had cracked the armor, bruised the ribs, and stopped millimeters from piercing his heart.

If his aura had been even 1% weaker... he would be dead.

Kael dropped his sword.

He fell to his knees beside Lucien.

"You..." Kael panted, his voice hoarse. "You crazy... bastard."

Lucien's finger twitched.

A low groan escaped his lips.

"Did I... win?" Lucien rasped, his eyes still closed, barely clinging to the edge of consciousness.

Kael let out a breathless, pained laugh, clutching his bruised ribs.

"No. You lost."

"Damn... it," Lucien coughed, a faint, bloody smirk touching his lips. "Still can't beat the protagonist, huh~."

Then, the darkness took him completely.

But just before his consciousness snapped, he saw a blur of silver and blue rushing toward him from the tunnel, faster than any medic.

The crowd erupted. It was the greatest duel in the history of the Academy's first year. A clash that shattered the arena and the expectations of every spectator present.

But high above in the VIP box, the recruiters from the Imperial Orders weren't cheering. They were frantically scribbling notes, their faces pale.

They weren't just looking at the winner.

They were looking at both of them.

The boy who summoned the sun, and the boy who shot the moon. Both were nowhere near the level of first-year cadets.

They were anomalies.

[Mid-Semester Practical Assessment: Concluded]

****

[The Infirmary]

I slowly regained consciousness, like waking from a long, heavy dream.

I hoped to see my bedroom ceiling. I hoped to wake up in Kitchen 21. But as my eyelids fluttered open, I was greeted by the stark, sterile white ceiling of a hospital.

"Haa..."

I let out a long breath.

The view was becoming annoyingly familiar.

Faint, golden sunlight filtered in through the blinds, casting long slats of shadow across the bed. I hadn't been out for too long—it was likely late afternoon of the same day.

'Alive,' I noted, checking my internal status. 'Mana core is empty. Ribs are sore but knit together. Exhaustion level: Critical.'

I stared at the ceiling, and the memory of the final clash washed over me. The Silver Slug. The Golden Sword. The overwhelming force of Kael's plot armor.

A bitter taste filled my mouth.

'Ariana won't be happy…'

Every time I got injured, she became upset, even angry. But this time was different. This time, I hadn't just gotten hurt; I had collapsed right in front of her.

A wretched feeling twisted in my gut.

It wasn't the physical pain. It was the shame.

I had lost in front of my lover.

What could be more disgraceful for a man? I had used my best gear, my highest stats, my tactical planning, and even a custom-made mythril slug that cost a fortune in points. I had fought with everything I had.

And I still ended up on my back, looking up at the Hero.

'So pathetic.'

"Pfft."

A self-deprecating scoff escaped my lips. Losing didn't hurt my pride as a gamer. But losing as a man… that stung.

Then, a small, warm hand touched my forehead.

"Lucien? You're awake?"

I turned my head to the left.

Ariana was there.

She was sitting on the uncomfortable wooden stool beside the bed, her body leaned forward anxiously.

She looked… rough. Her usually pristine silver hair was slightly disheveled, losing its usual ethereal luster. Her eyes, normally a sharp, clear violet, were swollen and rimmed with red. She had been crying. Hard.

Seeing her like that—fragile, worried, and waiting for me—the self-pity vanished, replaced by a sharp pang of guilt.

An apology slipped out before a greeting.

"…Sorry."

Ariana blinked, her hand pausing on my forehead.

"You've been apologizing to me a lot lately," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

"I couldn't win in the end," I rasped, looking away from her gaze. "I talked big, I used every trick in the book… and I still lost."

I expected her to be disappointed. I expected her to tell me I was reckless.

Instead, she shifted her hand from my forehead to my cheek, her thumb gently brushing away a speck of dried blood I had missed. The warmth was grounding. It felt like being a child again, safe from the monsters under the bed.

"It's okay," she said softly.

I frowned, looking back at her.

"…Okay?"

"Yes."

"Ariana, I lost," I emphasized, frustration leaking into my tone. "I failed to beat him."

"So what?"

Her answer was instant. Sharp.

I froze.

"So… what?"

Ariana leaned in closer, her eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that took my breath away.

"Do you think I care about your rank?" she asked, her voice trembling slightly. "Do you think I care if you are first or second? When I saw that explosion… when I saw the arena shatter… I didn't care who won."

A fresh tear escaped her eye, tracking down her cheek.

"I just wanted you to stand up. And when you didn't… I thought my heart stopped."

She squeezed my hand, her grip surprisingly strong.

"You fought the strongest student in the Academy to a standstill. You made the Princess look weak. You made the instructors panic. You are amazing, Lucien. But to me… you're just the idiot who keeps throwing himself into danger."

She sniffled, a small, watery smile breaking through her sadness.

"So you lost. So what? You're alive. You're here. And you're holding my hand."

I stared at her.

For a villain who calculated everything in points, stats, and victory conditions, her logic was flawed. It was irrational.

It was perfect.

The tension in my shoulders melted away. The sting of defeat, the shame, the bitterness… it all dissolved under her gaze.

I turned my hand over, interlacing my fingers with hers.

"You're too good for me, you know that?" I murmured.

"I know," she sniffled, wiping her eyes with her free hand. "So you better treat me to a very expensive dinner once you can walk."

"Deal."

I looked at her—the way the afternoon sun caught her silver hair, the way her thumb stroked my knuckles, the way she looked at me like I was the only person in the world.

'If only time could freeze like this,' I thought, closing my eyes, finally at peace. 'I could stay in this losing screen forever.'

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