The morning classes dragged by in a blur.

I took notes mechanically.

Kyle sat beside me through it all, quieter than usual. He wasn't bouncing in his seat or whispering excited. He just sat there, staring at the board, his jaw tight.

By the time the final bell rang, all others knew what was happening. Word had spread, commoner challenging a top-ten noble to a duel. The kind of thing people gathered to watch.

It was one thing that these nobles enjoyed the most beside the power... entertainment.

As we reached, training grounds were packed.

Students ringed the main arena, nobles in the front, commoners hanging back near the edges, everyone talking in low, excited murmurs. A few upperclassmen had shown up too, leaning against weapon racks with expressions that ranged from curious to amused.

Instructor Kael stood in the center of the arena, arms crossed, his expression unreadable.

From the side, Marcus arrived first, flanked by two of his friends.

He walked with the easy confidence of someone who'd already won, his practice sword resting casually over one shoulder. He stepped into the arena, spinning the sword once for show, and the nobles in the crowd cheered.

Kyle stood at the edge of the ring, his hands clenched at his sides.

I walked up beside him. "You don't have to do this."

"Yeah, I do."

"Kyle—"

"I'm doing it, Jin." He looked at me, and for once, there was no grin. Just pure determination.

"I have to."

And with that, he stepped into the arena.

The crowd quieted.

Kael looked between them.

"This is an official Academy duel. Standard rules apply. First blood, yield, or incapacitation ends the match. Excessive force will result in immediate disqualification and disciplinary action." His gaze lingered on Marcus for a moment.

"Understood?"

"Understood," Marcus said smoothly.

"Yeah," Kyle said, his voice steady.

"Take your positions."

They moved to opposite sides of the arena. Kyle drew his practice sword, settling into a basic guard stance. Marcus mirrored him, his posture relaxed, almost lazy.

The crowd beside us murmured to themselves, whispering behind ears, some placing bets.

Kael raised his hand.

"Begin!"

Marcus moved immediately.

He closed the distance in three quick steps, sword coming down in a sharp diagonal slash.

Kyle got his blade up in time.

His jaw tightened as the impact jarred his arms.

He's testing Kyle's defense. Seeing how much pressure he can take.

Marcus pressed forward, each strike precise and controlled. High, low, middle, forcing Kyle to react, to stay on the defensive.

Kyle gave ground, his footwork was functional. He deflected what he could, dodged the rest.

He's doing better than I expected.

But from what I can see, Marcus was toying with him.

Every strike was measured. Every movement calculated. He wasn't trying to win quickly, he was making a show of it, drawing it out for the crowd.

And Kyle seemed to know that too.

Despite that, he swung back, a clumsy counterattack aimed at Marcus's shoulder.

Marcus sidestepped easily, his blade flicking out to tap Kyle's ribs, hard enough to sting but not enough to break skin.

"Is that all you've got?" Marcus said, loud enough for the crowd to hear.

A few nobles laughed.

Kyle's jaw tightened.

"Not even close." He attacked again, putting more force into his strikes.

Marcus deflected them.

Kyle's breath was coming out in ragged gasps. He was losing ground, and getting frustrated.

This is going exactly how Marcus wants it to.

I stood at the edge of the crowd, my hands clenched into fists.

I could edit. Make him slip.

End this quickly.

My fingers twitched, focus on the ground.

But...

I looked at Kyle, drenched in sweat, breathing hard, but still fighting. Still trying.

If I interfere, it'll diminish what he's doing.

He challenged Marcus for me. The least I can do is let him fight his own battle.

I forced my hands to relax.

Goddammit.

I sat down on one of the benches, leaning back, trying to look disinterested.

Just watch. Don't interfere.

In the ring, Marcus was still pressing his advantage.

Kyle landed a solid parry, forcing Marcus back half a step. For a moment, it looked like he might actually have a chance. But his grip was trembling. And he was favoring his right side.

But to make the matters worse, Marcus's expression shifted.

The smugness disappeared, replaced by something colder.

He lunged forward, his strikes coming faster, harder. No longer playing. No longer making a show.

Kyle struggled to keep up, his defenses crumbling under the onslaught.

Marcus feinted left, then struck right, his blade slamming into Kyle's side with brutal force.

Crack!

The sound echoed across the arena.

Kyle gasped, his body jerking sideways. His sword dropped from his hand, clattering to the ground.

"Argh!"

He stumbled, clutching his side, his face twisted in pain.

"Way to go Marcus!" One of his friend commented.

Others laughed.

"Still standing? Impressive!"

A few commoners shifted uneasily, eyes darting toward the instructor, and then away.

Kyle's fingers twitched. He tried to straighten but failed.

"Yield," Marcus said flatly.

Kyle didn't respond. He just stood there, swaying, his breathing ragged.

"I said yield," Marcus repeated.

Kyle looked up, meeting his eyes. "No."

Marcus's expression darkened.

He stepped forward and drove his shoulder into Kyle's chest, slamming him backward.

Kyle hit the ground hard, crying out as he landed on his injured side.

"Stop!" Kael's voice rang out, sharp and commanding.

But Marcus wasn't done.

He raised his practice sword and brought it down, not on Kyle's arm or leg, but directly onto his ribs.

Crack! Crack!

Kyle screamed.

But Marcus didn't stop there.

He raised his sword again, the air around it compressed.

And I felt it instantly.

"That's..." someone whispered.

And quickly, Marcus brought the sword down.

The blow landed with a dull, heavy thud.

Kyle's body slammed into the ground.

I was on my feet before I realized I'd moved.

"Enough!" Kael roared.

He was already moving.

Mana flared around his hand as he seized Marcus by the shoulder and yanked him back.

"The match is over!"

Marcus shrugged him off, breathing hard, his eyes blazing. "He wouldn't yield."

"The match. Is. Over," Kael repeated, his voice deadly calm.

Marcus stepped back, raising his hands in mock surrender. "Fine. Whatever."

I was already moving toward Kyle.

He lay on his side, curled around himself, his face pale and slick with sweat. His breathing came in short, shallow gasps, each one punctuated by a wince of pain.

I dropped to my knees beside him. "Kyle."

He looked up at me, his eyes unfocused. "Did I... win?"

"No, you idiot."

He tried to laugh, but it came out as a choked sound. "Figures."

Kael crouched on Kyle's other side, his expression grim. "Don't move. We're getting a healer."

"I'm fine," Kyle muttered.

"You're not fine. You've got at least two broken ribs, possibly more." Kael looked up at one of the watching students. "Get a healer. Now."

The student ran.

I stayed beside Kyle, watching his face twist with every shallow breath.

Marcus stood at the edge of the arena, wiping his sword clean with a cloth, his expression unreadable.

Some of the students were cheering. Others looked uncomfortable.

But I didn't look at any of them.

My eyes were on Marcus.

He met my gaze across the room, and for a brief moment, the noise faded.

Then he smiled.

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