A year ago.

  Amid the festive buzz of the same grand competition, Vichel and Tseryo stand before the announcement board displaying the battlemage tournament’s 76th roster across each group. Vichel’s name appears under Group C.

  The height difference between Tseryo and Vichel is striking as they stand side by side—the tall young master beside the petite Vichel.

  “Do you know anyone in your group?” Tseryo asks, tilting his head slightly toward her.

  “Mostly upperclassmen. Only a few are from my year, and I don’t know them,” Vichel replies.

  Alongside the names, the list also displays each participant’s class level. One name in Group C immediately catches Tseryo’s attention.

  “You’d better be careful if you face him in the arena.” Tseryo points at the name Zeff.

  “Zeff Lou Roan? He’s in our year. Do you know him?”

  “He’s been competing since his first year. Back then, he managed to defeat a fourth-year senior. And in last year’s competition, he also took down several seniors. Seems like he trains hard. I wonder how strong he’s become this year.”

  That thought lingers with Vichel. “Alright, I’ll watch his matches carefully. Hopefully, I won’t run into him right in the first round.”

  Vichel shifts her gaze directly to Tseryo. “So, you’ve always watched the competition every year, yet never once joined.”

  A faint chuckle escapes the young master. “I don’t like being the spectacle in the arena.”

  “And today I’ll be the one entertaining you,” Vichel protests playfully, though her smile softens the tone.

  Tseryo grins wide in return. “Your match will surely be exciting.”

  As the competition unfolds, Vichel clears each round with victory, eventually facing Zeff in the Group C final.

  “Two third-year students have defeated all the fourth-year seniors in Group C, and now they meet in the arena,” the announcer declares, making the clash between Zeff and Vichel the center of attention.

  From the spectator stands, Tseryo watches intently, his eyes gleaming with curiosity.

  Three of Liam’s juniors from the patrol unit are just as excited watching.

  “Senior Liam should be here to witness this rare moment! But instead, he chose patrol duty and only comes back by the semifinals.”

  “Hey, would you dare refuse if Sir Bernice Thaolz himself asked you to go with him?”

  “Poor Senior Liam. His heart must be burning right now, eager to finish his duty just so he can watch the competition.”

  That meeting in the arena is the very first time Zeff locks eyes directly with Vichel. Something makes his gaze linger on her longer than usual. It isn’t the look of someone struck by love at first sight, nor the stir of any sudden feelings. Zeff’s eyes simply want to rest on the girl before him a little longer, and he himself doesn’t understand why.

  Tseryo, however, does not like that look—how Zeff stares at Vichel.

  The match bell resounds.

  Vichel, fully prepared, summons her elemental sword—white, wrapped in the flow of wind. But Zeff does not immediately draw a weapon. Instead, he speaks, his expression carrying the weight of his own thoughts.

  “If I were to ask you to step down and let me take the third-years’ spot in the semifinals, I suppose you wouldn’t agree, would you?”

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  The question startles Vichel. “If you already know the answer, why bother asking?”

  “Ah, forget it. I figured it’d turn out awkward,” Zeff mutters to himself.

  Vichel grows more puzzled by the man’s words, still waiting for the moment her opponent will finally show signs of starting the fight.

  For a moment, Zeff glances around the lower part of the arena, noting several stacks of items the committee has yet to clear away. Then his gaze shifts back to Vichel.

  “I know you’re strong. Don’t take to heart what I’m about to do.”

  Zeff charges forward, fists wreathed in crackling violet electro. Vichel meets him without hesitation. The clash of wind and electro erupts fiercely across the arena, igniting both tension and excitement among the spectators.

  But Zeff’s actions in the arena are never aimed at defeating Vichel through sheer force. After evading several of her strikes, he unleashes bursts of electro merely to divert her focus—creating the perfect opening to vanish in a blur of speed.

  Vichel loses track of her opponent, unaware of Zeff’s sudden presence at her back. In an instant, he hooks her leg, sending her stumbling off balance—only to be caught firmly in his powerful arms. Before she can recover from the shock, Zeff hurls her with decisive force out of the arena.

  Vichel’s small figure is sent flying, landing atop a heap of cloth stacked at one side of the arena floor.

  The crowd erupts into cheers. Victory is declared for Zeff, securing his place in the semifinals.

  Several staff members quickly rush to help Vichel, making sure she isn’t injured, then guide her back to the participants’ room.

  All of it casts a shadow over Tseryo’s face. He looks at the arena with discontent, watching Zeff claim victory after eliminating Vichel in such a way.

  .

  “Such a pity I wasted the chance to repay what he did to you back then.” Tseryo finishes his story about the match he witnessed a year ago.

  Vichel’s eyes widen as she follows along. She hadn’t expected this one thing.

  “So … that’s the reason you joined the competition this year?” she asks carefully, afraid of misunderstanding.

  Without hesitation, Tseryo replies, “Yes. I thought I needed to defend my friend’s pride.”

  A soft laugh escapes along with Vichel’s widening smile. “Thank you ….” She adds a little awkwardly, “I guess I should also apologize for … making you end up going through something unpleasant ….”

  “No need, really,” Tseryo cuts in at once. “Even if the outcome wasn’t what I hoped for, I was truly glad when I saw Zeff Lou Roan struck down by my power and lying at the bottom of the arena. I’ll always remember that moment as entertainment.”

  This time Vichel laughs outright, no longer softly. Luckily, Tseryo is the only patient in the ward—otherwise, the nurses would surely scold them.

  Tseryo’s face lights up with renewed spirit, accompanied by Vichel’s laughter. His body now feels steady enough, and he steps down from the bed.

  “You’re leaving? Do you want me to call your assistant to help you walk?”

  “Thanks, but I already feel stable enough to walk on my own to the spectator seats. I don’t want to miss your match against Heirian Geroga.”

  Vichel blinks in mild surprise, then lets out a soft laugh.

  “I think you still need some rest. Maybe your senses haven’t fully cleared.”

  Confusion spreads to Tseryo. “Why? Did I miss something?”

  “I already told you—you were unconscious for almost an hour. My match ended a while ago.”

  Tseryo startles, only now realizing.

  “So then … the result?”

  Vichel smiles wide. “Take a guess.”

  .

  Flashback to Vichel’s battle against Heirian in the arena The Last Blood Executioner. The power of wind clashes with the roaring force of fire.

  “That was my first time fighting Heirian. His fire is truly terrifying. He attacks with brutal strength, and his stamina seems endless.”

  Like an unstoppable force, Heirian’s flaming claymore keeps striking at Vichel in the arena, though she always manages to slip away through the narrowest openings.

  Vichel still remembers Heirian’s taunts as he hunted her down:

  “Your boyfriend already lost to a fighter from Argoust—now it’s your turn to share the same fate! Fighters from Argoust are the best!”

  Those words stick in Vichel’s mind.

  “Who is he calling my boyfriend?”

  “At that moment, all I could do was dodge and try to place wind seals on some of the high cliffs I passed.”

  “I did get hit by Heirian once, when he suddenly changed his attack pattern. It hurt so much—the damage was huge—and that was already in the eighth minute.”

  “But… all my training with wind seals really paid off. In the final seconds before the executioner machine activated, I unleashed every wind seal I had placed. Heirian was struck from every direction. His protective sheath’s status dropped lower than mine. And right at that moment, the executioner machine activated and rained him down with missiles.”

  “It felt like I only won because of luck.”

  Tseryo looks astonished, deeply impressed by Vichel’s recount of the battle.

  “Truly, I feel regret for not witnessing your fight. You must have looked incredible in that moment.”

  “Your battle was the one far more incredible.”

  Tseryo’s expression shifts to a serious one.

  “Then… you’ll be facing Zeff Lou Roan in the final?”

  When Zeff watches Vichel’s victory in the semifinal, he smiles broadly, fixing his gaze on the girl who will be his opponent in the final round.

  “Yes, I suppose it’s really time to worry now, isn’t it?” Vichel says with a smile, though her face is shadowed by unease. “Am I going to be struck down by the spear of thunder too?”