From the upper balcony, the directors of the four academies observed the arena below. Draped in velvet and guarded by silent knights, it was a place meant for power and judgment.

Torwan sat with his arms crossed, face unreadable as the final blow of the match landed. Tyria collapsed, defeated. His fingers tapped once on the armrest before he turned his gaze toward Nicolas von Aldros.

"Who is that boy?" Torwan asked, his voice calm but laced with subtle irritation.

Nicolas gave a short glance at the arena, then back to his colleague. "A student from my academy. His name is Noel Thorne, you should have heard him from the announcer."

Torwan tilted his head slightly. "Interesting. Would you consider a student exchange, Nicolas?"

Nicolas let out a faint chuckle. "No, that won't happen."

Then, rising from his seat, he straightened his coat. "Excuse me. I need to visit the restroom."

Torwan watched him walk away without saying a word. Once Nicolas had disappeared into the corridor, Torwan leaned slightly toward the aide standing behind him.

"Bring Tyria to my office. I want to see her," he said, his voice cold and firm.

The assistant gave a silent nod and vanished from the balcony.

The arena buzzed with anticipation once again. Spectators leaned forward, eyes wide with curiosity as the announcer's voice echoed through the magical amplifiers.

"Next match!" the voice boomed. "Representing the Imperial Academy of Valor—Marcus!"

A wave of cheers erupted from the Valor supporters. Marcus stepped confidently into the arena, his navy-blue uniform sharp and clean, sword sheathed at his hip. His brown hair was slicked back, and his gaze was calm, focused.

"And facing him, from Luceria Grand Academy, Anastasia de Ravienne!"

The crowd's reaction shifted — some excited, others cautious. A girl stepped onto the field, noticeably shorter than Marcus, but carrying herself with elegance and precision. She wore the signature purple uniform of Luceria, trimmed in silver, her red eyes steady analyzing her rival.

As she stopped at her starting position, small sparks danced across her hands and arms. The air around her shimmered faintly with residual magic.

"She's literally crackling," Marcus muttered to himself, loosening his shoulders. 'Looks fast. Lightning and water, huh? Gotta be careful.'

Across the field, Anastasia raised her chin ever so slightly.

"Try not to embarrass yourself," she said coolly, her voice carrying just enough to reach him.

Marcus smirked. "No promises."

The announcer's voice rang out again. "Combatants, ready—"

Both took their stances.

"Begin!"

Marcus didn't wait.

He surged forward the moment the signal was given, his sword flashing from its sheath. His mana flared violently around him, swirling in hues of molten orange and deep earthen brown.

"Azure Flare Strike." he shouted.

A burst of searing blue flame erupted from his blade, racing straight toward Anastasia. It detonated on impact as she raised a quick watery shield — steam hissed into the air.

"You're fast," she murmured, already moving to the side. Her fingers crackled.

"Aqua Pulse."

A sphere of condensed water shot out from her palm, fast and focused. Marcus ducked under it and slammed his palm against the ground.

"Stoneburst."

The arena floor beneath Anastasia's feet exploded in jagged fragments of stone. She jumped back instinctively — not fast enough to avoid a cut along her leg.

The crowd roared as the first real blood of the match was drawn.

Anastasia's eyes narrowed.

"Don't get cocky."

She raised both hands — and this time, lightning coiled through her fingers like living snakes.

"Voltage Chain."

A bolt arced forward in a sharp zigzag, aiming not just at Marcus but anticipating his possible dodge paths. He clenched his jaw and raised his arm.

"Stoneguard."

A slab of thick rock formed in front of him just in time. The lightning struck with a deafening CRACK, splintering the shield but not breaking through.

She didn't give him time to breathe.

"Waveslice." she called, twisting her arm in a fluid motion.

A blade of high-pressure water shot across the arena in a horizontal slash. Marcus leapt over it — and countered mid-air.

"Blazing Pillar."

A pillar of roaring blue fire exploded from the ground beneath her. Anastasia barely managed to roll away, the fire singeing her uniform as she skidded across the floor.

When she rose, her expression had changed — no longer composed, but focused.

For the first time, her lips curled into a smile.

"Good," she said softly.

Electricity pulsed from her again, stronger now. The tempo was rising.

Marcus landed with a roll and didn't hesitate.

"Molten Lance."

A roar of mana surged behind him as he drove his sword into the earth. A crack opened in the floor, glowing with heat—then a solidified spear of magma burst forth from the ground and launched toward Anastasia like a missile.

She twisted her body aside just in time. The lance grazed her shoulder, scorching fabric and skin. Her boots skidded as she landed hard, one knee down.

Marcus pressed the advantage.

"Dragon's Breath."

He exhaled with force, unleashing a cone of blistering blue fire from his mouth. The flames rushed across the arena floor in a wide arc. The crowd gasped at the sheer intensity.

Anastasia's body blurred.

"Flow Step."

A ripple of water surrounded her feet, accelerating her sideways with supernatural speed. She slipped out of the flame's reach by mere inches, steam hissing around her.

Then she stood tall, breathing steadily, eyes locked on Marcus.

She raised both arms. Magic whirled to life in twin spirals — one of water, one of lightning.

"Aquabind."

Tendrils of water rose from the ground beneath Marcus, wrapping around his legs like living ropes. He tried to leap, but they snapped tight.

'Shit! Too late—'

"Voltage Pulse!"

A surge of raw electricity shot down from her palm into the water lines. It raced into Marcus' body like a whip, locking his muscles with a violent jolt.

The arena went still for a beat.

"Earthen Shell." he grunted, forcing out the spell through grit teeth.

A partial dome of stone formed just in time to block a second lightning strike — this one aimed to finish him. The spell fizzled on contact with the barrier, cracking the stone but not shattering it.

But Marcus remained trapped inside, panting, smoke rising faintly from his shoulders.

Anastasia didn't stop.

She clenched her hand into a fist.

"Riptide Spiral."

A vortex of water formed in her other hand, swirling faster and faster, laced with crackling electricity. She launched it forward — and it drilled straight through the weakened shell.

Stone exploded. Marcus was thrown backward across the arena, his sword clattering away.

He groaned, trying to rise — but his arms gave out beneath him.

Anastasia raised her hand again, mana flaring bright around her palm.

"Lightning Lance."

A spear of pure electricity crackled to life above her shoulder — fast, deadly, and aimed directly at Marcus' chest as he struggled to push himself up.

But before the spell could launch, the Lightning Lance struck the shield dead-on and shattered in a flash of sparks, dispersing harmlessly into the air.

The barrier flickered, then vanished.

A pause.

Then the announcer's voice rang out across the arena, amplified and final:

"Victory goes to Anastasia de Ravienne, from Luceria Grand Academy!"

Cheers erupted, especially from the purple-clad section of Luceria supporters. Magic flares lit the air in celebration. Others clapped with respectful restraint.

From the Valor stands, Clara stood frozen, her eyes wide. For a moment, she didn't breathe.

Then Marcus, still on the ground, shifted slightly and gave her a thumbs-up, tired, bruised, but conscious and alive.

Clara exhaled sharply, tears threatening to form, and smiled faintly through trembling lips.

Arena staff approached Marcus to assist him. He let them help him up, leaning on one shoulder as he was guided away.

Across the stage, Anastasia quietly lowered her hands.

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