The early morning sun filtered through the tall windows of the academy’s central training hall, casting long shadows across the polished stone floor. The walls were reinforced with mana-inscribed barriers that shimmered faintly—an ever-present reminder that what happened in this space would not be gentle.

The students stood lined up in neat rows, dressed in their reinforced combat uniforms, each with their weapon of choice either strapped across their back or summoned at their side.

This wasn’t a strategy lecture.

This was a combat class.

And now that clubs were gone and the academy was tightening its rules, classes like these had become more intense… and more frequent.

At the center of the room stood Instructor Verren, a tall, broad-shouldered man with grey hair swept back and a voice that could silence a room with a single word. A seasoned warrior with years in the field, Verren had little patience for excuses—and even less for wasted potential.

His sharp eyes scanned the class as he spoke.

“Listen up.”

The chatter immediately died.

“Without club activities and private training groups, you now have fewer outlets to develop your combat. That is no excuse to stagnate. From now on, these sessions will be held twice a week—and every time, you will fight.”

There was no resistance. No one dared to complain.

He began calling names.

Instructor Verren’s voice rang clear in the vast training hall, a blade slicing through any remaining tension.

“Today’s sparring assignments have been pre-determined,” he said. “These are mandatory. You will engage with full focus and intent. Controlled strikes only—but fight as if your advancement depends on it.”

He glanced down at the slate in his hand.

“First match—Victor Blackthorn vs. Ethan Hartley.”

The moment the names were spoken, a stillness fell across the room.

Dozens of heads turned at once.

Victor.

The name alone carried weight—undeniable weight.

Recently, he had become something of a phantom within the academy. Months ago, he had been omnipresent: top of the charts, impossible to ignore, a prodigy in every measurable sense.

But now, sightings of him were rare.

He’d been granted special permissions from the headmaster himself—an independent path, tailored to his “advanced pace.”

Most students couldn’t even recall the last time they’d seen him in class, let alone training.

And yet—he was here now.

Victor stepped forward from the rear line, his footsteps calm, confident, and deliberate. His uniform was sharp, barely worn, like a blade kept in a scabbard too long. His golden eyes gleamed with amusement, as if he already knew how the match would go.

Ethan, on the other hand, said nothing. He simply adjusted the cuffs of his sleeves and stepped forward as well, his expression unreadable.

A tension began to coil in the air.

This wasn’t just any match.

This was a clash of two very different forces:

Ethan—steady, dependable, principled.

Victor—blazing, dominant, dangerous.

Instructor Verren’s voice broke the silence again.

“Second match—Astron Natusalune vs. Julia Middleton.”

“Third match—Irina Emberheart vs. Lilia Thornheart.”

Now that earned murmurs.

Even some of the instructors watching from the side turned their heads.

Two of the sharpest minds in the class, known for their icy precision and dominant battlefield control—pitted directly against each other.

Lilia glanced toward Irina with a cool nod.

Irina returned it without a word.

“Fourth—Lucas vs. Carl.”

Lucas blinked, visibly relieved.

“Okay. Not a death sentence. I can work with that.”

Carl rolled his shoulders with a smirk. “You sure about that?”

“Fifth—Jasmine vs. Mira Cross.”

“Sixth—Layla vs. Tessa.”

“Seventh—Eva vs. Noah.”

Names continued down the list, but the attention in the room never strayed far from Victor and Ethan.

Because the moment Victor’s name had been called, it became clear to everyone—

This class was no longer just training.

This was something different.

A test. A message. A reckoning.

And now that Victor was back, all eyes were watching.

Verren’s voice echoed one last time.

“Each pair—find your zone. Weapons ready. Matches begin in five minutes.”

The students moved, not with chatter, but with sharpened focus.

Combat classes had always been serious.

But today?

The moment Julia heard the name—”Astron Natusalune”—her eyes lit up.

She couldn’t help it.

That smirk? Already tugging at the corners of her mouth.

Because really, how could she not smile?

After what happened during the training simulation, she’d been itching for another round. And now, by sheer twist of fate—or maybe divine mercy—she had him. Officially. No surprise traps, no stolen victories. Just a straight-up, sanctioned duel.

She exhaled through her nose, bouncing lightly on her feet as her fingers flexed with anticipation.

“Heh,” she muttered to herself, the grin spreading. “Quite lucky, I am.”

Her blue eyes flicked across the hall, locking instantly onto him—quiet, composed, standing in his usual posture with his arms at his sides, silver and black combat uniform untouched, immaculate.

Astron.

He hadn’t moved much when his name was called. No reaction. No visible shift in expression. But he had looked at her.

Their eyes met.

And just for a second, she caught something. Something subtle, something unreadable.

Interest? Calculation?

She wasn’t sure.

Didn’t matter.

She was going to drag a reaction out of him one way or another.

With a light bounce in her step, Julia strode across the hall toward him, her sword slung casually over her back, arms swinging as she closed the distance.

“You know,” she said, her voice light and teasing, “if I were a little more sentimental, I might say this feels like fate.”

Astron’s eyes followed her calmly, his expression neutral.

“But I’m not sentimental,” Julia went on, stopping in front of him and giving him a lopsided grin. “I’m just excited to hit you properly this time.”

Astron tilted his head slightly. “You already tried.”

Julia chuckled. “Yeah, and you ran away like a thief in the night. Now you don’t get to run.”

There was a long pause.

Astron blinked once. “If I recall, I won.”

Julia’s grin widened. “Technicality. Not a win if I wasn’t done.”

Astron gave the faintest shrug, his tone as even as ever. “Is that so?”

Julia opened her mouth to retort, but paused when she noticed the others approaching. The energy in the training hall had shifted entirely—less of a school class now, more of a staged battleground.

Lilia was the first to step into view, her pace smooth and unhurried. Her combat gear was more tactical than flashy—practical, efficient. She said nothing, her sharp emerald eyes locking instantly with Irina’s from across the space.

Irina had already been walking toward them, her long red hair tied back in a tight braid, her crimson combat jacket trimmed with mana-threaded accents that shimmered faintly under the hall’s light. Her movements were measured, feline—confidence woven into every step.

The two girls paused a few feet apart, neither breaking eye contact.

“Looks like we’re up,” Lilia said, her tone quiet but edged.

Irina’s lips curved just slightly. “Don’t hold back.”

“I wasn’t planning to.”

The tension between them crackled—precision against blazing pressure. Neither had to say more. There was no teasing between them, no taunts or antics like Julia’s—just raw, calculated intensity.

Behind them, Lucas and Carl made their way across the room.

Lucas looked like he was trying very hard not to appear nervous, cracking his knuckles as if to psych himself up. “Sooo… looks like we’re the most reasonable pairing here,” he said to Carl with a wry grin.

Carl, the group’s ever-reliable tank, didn’t smile. He adjusted the gauntlets on his forearms, the reinforced plates clicking into place. His usually laid-back face had hardened into something different—stern, focused.

“Don’t hold back,” he said simply, voice low

Lucas blinked. “You too, huh?”

“I don’t care if it’s a spar,” Carl added. “Instructor said fight like it’s real. So I will.”

Lucas swallowed, then let out a breath. “Alright. Guess I’ll stop trying to be friendly.”

They came to a stop beside the others, the full group now gathered, an unspoken gravity forming around them.

Astron didn’t say a word. His gaze drifted slowly across each of them, stopping briefly on Irina, then Carl, then Lilia… before returning to Julia.

Her grin hadn’t faded.

“You’re not nervous?” she asked him, voice light but eyes sharp.

Astron met her gaze with that same unreadable calm. “Are you?”

Julia gave a short laugh, rolling her neck. “Please. I live for this.”

Irina, nearby, crossed her arms. “Just don’t get too distracted trying to show off.”

“Says the one who’s about to throw down with Lilia like it’s a national event,” Julia shot back.