It was as if the world around Arvian had ceased to exist.

  In the stands, the crowd fell into stunned silence. No cheers, no gasps—just thousands of people holding their breath. Arvian himself saw nothing ahead of him. Only violent flashes of light, burning straight into his vision, tearing at his senses.

  Yet the cold remained.

  That familiar, biting chill clung to him, steady and unyielding, refusing to let go.

  “Mr. Lysell, please answer! It is impolite to ignore someone.”

  A faint smile tugged at Arvian’s lips.

  “Sorry. I didn’t quite catch the question.”

  Aron stiffened. “What I asked, Mr. Lysell, is whether you are willing to surrender now.”

  “That’s not what I meant,” Arvian replied calmly. “Your question doesn’t make sense. I have no reason to surrender. I can see clearly—you didn’t hit my eyes.”

  “That’s impossible! Everyone saw you look straight into the blinding beam of light!”

  “That’s because I was wearing ice-made contact lenses. They blocked your attack. If you really want to blind me… feel free to try again.”

  A scoff escaped Aron. “Come on. That’s ridiculous.”

  “Then listen carefully.”

  The instant those words left Arvian’s mouth, ice surged from his leg and flooded into the ground. A freezing trail raced forward across the arena floor, shooting straight toward Aron.

  Aron barely managed to jump aside in time.

  There was no time to think.

  Arvian was already there.

  A punch slammed into Aron’s lower ribs. A kick followed immediately, striking him from behind. Blow after blow came crashing in, relentless and sharp.

  Aron gritted his teeth and forced himself back, refusing to be overwhelmed.

  This is strange… Did I really not hit his eyes? And yet—his attacks aren’t precise. He’s not aiming for my vital points. Does that mean he truly didn’t look into the light? No. I have to be sure.

  A beam of light erupted from Aron’s hand once more.

  Arvian responded instantly, raising a thick wall of ice that swallowed the attack head-on.

  Then an ice beam shot back in retaliation.

  But it was a feint.

  As Aron tried to evade, Arvian was already there—standing directly behind him.

  A powerful grip seized Aron by the clothes. In one smooth motion, Arvian lifted him into the air.

  At the same time, Arvian’s mind sharpened.

  I need to find them. Arlen’s Aima. Toma’s Aima. Toma’s is special—unique, overwhelming. There… I can see it. That blue light. And next to it, Arlen’s blazing, scorching energy. That’s where I need to land this.

  Arvian hurled Aron downward, slamming him onto the section of the arena closest to where Toma and Arlen were seated.

  The next instant, ice spread across the entire arena floor.

  Aron’s feet froze solid, locked in place.

  Arvian stepped back.

  One step.

  Then another.

  He counted silently as he moved.

  One… two… three… four… five… six… seven…

  Cracks spread through the ice.

  Eight… nine…

  Aron began to break free.

  Ten. Now!

  Arvian suddenly slipped on his own ice.

  The commentator clutched his head in disbelief.

  “Is this really happening!? Arvian—the precise Frost Prince—slipping on his own ice!? An unbelievable blunder!”

  One of Aron’s legs was still frozen, but he seized the opening. A blinding beam of light erupted toward Arvian once again.

  But Arvian was ready. He pushed himself upright.

  That’s it. I can feel it—the Aima of his attack. Now it’s my turn.

  Arvian quickly formed an ice mirror in his hand, blocking the beam of light coming straight at him and, using the mirror, deflecting it at a forty-five-degree angle.

  The reflected light crashed into another block of ice.

  Then another.

  Then another.

  Blocks Arvian had placed earlier, under the guise of missed attacks.

  But none of them had been misses.

  They were guides.

  The beam of light ricocheted from ice to ice until it slammed straight back into Aron.

  He couldn’t dodge.

  His leg was still frozen.

  A scream tore from his throat as the light consumed his vision.

  Aron collapsed to his knees, one hand shooting into the air.

  “Referee! I surrender! I can’t go on!”

  The moment those words left Aron’s mouth, the referee immediately called off the match.

  In the commentator’s booth, chaos reigned. He spun around in his chair, barely able to contain himself.

  “I’ve seen countless matches, everyone, but I can say this without hesitation—never anything like this! Arvian displayed unbelievable technical genius! He deceived me, the audience, everyone watching! He laid a flawless trap for Aron and defeated him using Aron’s own weapon!”

  This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

  In the stands, the spectators needed a few seconds to process what they had just witnessed. Then the realization hit—and the arena exploded into wild, thunderous cheers.

  Down in the arena, Arvian turned his head slightly toward the referee.

  “Could I request some assistance? I can’t see anything right now.”

  “Me too, please!” Aron added quickly from nearby.

  Soon after, the medical team arrived and carefully placed both boys onto stretchers, transporting them toward the infirmary. They hadn’t gone far when a reporter hurried over and stopped them.

  “Arvian! One quick question—if you couldn’t see, how did you manage to win?”

  Lying on the stretcher, Arvian answered calmly.

  “It’s simple. I sensed my opponent’s Aima, so I always knew where he was. Now, if you’ll excuse us—we’re leaving.”

  By the time they reached the infirmary, Kaine was already waiting.

  “Lay them down. Good heavens… whose ability caused this?”

  Aron answered immediately, his tone polite despite everything.

  “Mine, ma’am.”

  “And how long does the effect last?”

  “At most one or two hours.”

  Kaine scratched her head lightly.

  “Normally, I can heal things like blindness, deafness, muteness, and similar conditions. But since this is the effect of an ability, I can’t interfere. You’ll have to wait it out—which means you’re both staying here overnight.”

  Arvian protested weakly.

  “But it should wear off by evening.”

  “That’s true,” Kaine replied without budging, “but side effects like dizziness, nausea, sickness, and temporary loss of balance can still occur. Shall I keep going?”

  Arvian let out a quiet sigh.

  “No… you’re right. Sorry.”

  “I’m sorry as well, but it’s my responsibility to keep you here.”

  Aron simply nodded.

  “No problem. We understand the situation.”

  ***

  Toma and Arlen sat high in the stands, quietly discussing what they had just witnessed.

  Arlen frowned, clearly still confused.

  “I don’t get it. How did Arvian pull that off if he couldn’t see?”

  Toma didn’t hesitate. He already knew the answer.

  “It’s simple—Aima sensing. The technique Carter taught us. The one that lets us sense our own Aima and the Aima around us.”

  Arlen tilted his head.

  “Okay, but then how did he know exactly where his opponent was standing? And how did he place those ice blocks so perfectly?”

  Toma let out a small chuckle.

  “Now that, Arlen, is actually a good question. I don’t know the answer either… but let’s go ask Arvian.”

  Arlen’s eyes lit up.

  “Yeah, that sounds good! Let’s go.”

  ***

  Inside the infirmary, Arvian and Aron were already talking.

  Aron’s voice carried genuine admiration.

  “Congratulations, Mr. Lysell. You came up with such a brilliant tactic that even I didn’t anticipate it.”

  Arvian smiled faintly.

  “Thanks. And honestly, you were the toughest opponent I’ve faced so far. But could you stop being so formal? This whole ‘Mr. Lysell’ thing feels strange.”

  Aron looked apologetic.

  “I’m sorry, but I can’t help it. As a secretary, I’m completely used to speaking this way.”

  “I see,” Arvian replied. “You’re an interesting guy.”

  Aron nodded once, then hesitated before continuing.

  “I’ll take that as a compliment, Mr. Lysell. But may I ask one more favor?”

  Arvian raised an eyebrow.

  “What would that be?”

  “Would you tell me how you actually did it?”

  Before Arvian could answer, the door opened and two familiar figures stepped inside.

  “We’d be curious about that too,” Toma added as he entered with Arlen.

  Arvian broke into a grin.

  “Chhh… you guys showed up too?”

  Arlen wasted no time.

  “Come on, tell us already!”

  Arvian took a deep breath, gathering his thoughts, then began explaining.

  “I realized that as long as I relied on my eyes in a fight against an ability based on blinding light, I couldn’t win. My vision would be completely focused on avoiding the light itself. So I removed vision from the equation entirely.”

  Arlen blinked several times.

  “You figured that out… and actually let yourself go blind!? That’s insane—in a good way!”

  Arvian shot him a sharp glance. He didn’t like being interrupted, but knowing Arlen, he simply continued.

  “Before I lost my sight, I prepared everything in advance. The ice pillars were placed deliberately. I positioned them so the final beam of light would end up striking the section of the arena closest to the stands—right where you and Toma were sitting.”

  Arlen’s eyes widened.

  “Wait—I get it now! But why us specifically?”

  Toma answered before Arvian could.

  “It’s simple. Our Aima stands out. It’s powerful and unique, so he could sense it even after going blind.”

  Arvian nodded.

  “Exactly. I can recognize your Aima, so I used it as a reference point. I measured the distance from the edge of the arena closest to you. When Aron and I crashed down, I made sure it happened at the nearest possible spot. Then I froze the ground so he couldn’t move and counted the distance—ten meters. That lined up perfectly with one of the ice pillars.”

  He continued without pause.

  “After that came the fake slip. I needed to look clumsy and provoke Aron into attacking. When I deflected his beam using the ice mirror in my hand, I already knew the angle—forty-five degrees. That reflection sent the beam to the nearest pillar, then to the next, and the next… until his own ability struck him.”

  Aron began clapping, genuine admiration written all over his face.

  “Incredible. Mr. Lysell, you’re a genius. Using your friends’ Aima as reference points, calculating distances with such precision—even while blind. Your Aima-sensing ability is outstanding. You truly belong in the finals.”

  Arvian waved it off.

  “Oh, come on. Thanks, but that’s a bit much.”

  Toma nodded approvingly.

  “That was smart. No doubt about it—you earned your place in the finals, bro.”

  A faint smile crossed Arvian’s face.

  “I’m already there. Now it’s your turn.”

  Toma’s expression hardened.

  “Don’t worry. I’ll take down that arrogant student council president.”

  Arvian laughed softly.

  Toma raised an eyebrow questioningly. “What’s with that laugh?”

  “So that just hit me… I’m blind. Which means I won’t be able to watch your match. Guess I’ll have to listen to it on TV or something. Still—good luck. We’ll meet again in the finals.”

  Toma answered with a brief smile as he was already turning toward the door.

  “Thanks. I’m heading out now. Lyrien’s in the neighboring room—I’ll check on her before the match starts.”

  Arlen stretched and turned toward the exit.

  “And I’m heading back to the stands. I want to watch your match live.”

  “Alright, see you.” With that, Toma turned and headed toward Lyrien’s room.

  Inside, Lyrien lay just as she always had—peaceful, unmoving.

  Toma gently took her hand, checking her pulse.

  “Everything seems fine,” he murmured. “But I still don’t get why you haven’t woken up yet… especially when Kaine says you’re already better today.”

  After a moment, he carefully let go of her hand.

  “I should go now,” he whispered. “I still have revenge to take.”

  ***

  The tension in the arena eased slightly, but only for a moment.

  After Arvian’s victory, there was still one match left to decide that day—and it was the one everyone had been waiting for.

  The commentator wasted no time, his voice immediately filling the arena.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, we’ve just witnessed an incredible match! Arvian has secured his place in the finals and is now waiting for his opponent. And now, the moment of truth—who will face him? Toma Sorien… or Velk Vandemire!”

  The crowd stirred.

  “It must be said that there is serious hostility between these two fighters. Their conflict began yesterday, when Toma intervened to stop Velk’s unsportsmanlike behavior. That act only fueled the fire—and judging by the atmosphere, the fans are preparing something spectacular for the opening of this match. And look at that—both fighters are entering the arena now, as usual, from opposite ends!”

  The moment Toma stepped into the arena, the stands erupted.

  Cheers exploded from every direction. His name echoed like a chant from a battlefield.

  In one massive section of the stands, fans unveiled an enormous banner bearing Toma’s image. It looked less like a school tournament and more like the choreographed display of hardcore football ultras.

  The commentator couldn’t hide his amazement.

  “This is unbelievable! I’ve been commentating here for years, but I have never seen a competitor with a fanbase this intense!”

  When Toma and Velk finally reached the center of the arena, they stopped only a few steps apart, staring straight at each other.

  Velk broke the silence first, his voice dripping with mockery.

  “Congratulations on your cute little show. But don’t get any ideas—you can’t win a match like this. Victory requires morality. Humility.”

  Toma’s expression didn’t change.

  “What are you even talking about? I’ve already won—can’t you see? Every single person in these stands is on my side. Go on about morality and humility if you want, but I’m not the one putting on this show. People just love me that much.”

  His gaze hardened.

  “And let’s not forget—there’s no bigger immoral rat here than you. You’re the one who nearly killed his own cousin.”

  Velk sneered.

  “He was weak. He got exactly what he deserved.”

  Something in Toma’s eyes shifted.

  “I managed to calm myself down after yesterday,” he said quietly. “But after hearing that? There won’t be a single drop of mercy left in me.”

  The air around him felt heavier.

  “I’m going to beat you so badly that your life will change starting tomorrow. I’ll drag you back down to reality and teach you something important—being a noble doesn’t mean anything when you’re weak, pathetic, and completely unworthy of respect.”

  Velk opened his mouth.

  “Listen—”

  The referee stepped in sharply, cutting him off.

  “That’s enough! The match is about to begin. If you want to kill each other, do it inside the ring!”

  A moment later, the bell rang.

  The sound thundered across the arena.

  And just like that, the match everyone had been waiting for began—

  Toma Sorien versus Velk Vandemire.