The girl stood frozen as she watched her chakrams echo against the earth in a sharp, metallic ring. The sound reverberated through the training ground, a cruel reminder of her helplessness. She wasn't naive enough to believe she could win.

She was talented, undeniably so, but she wasn't foolish. She had expected, at the very least, to exchange a couple of attacks. She believed she could do that much. Yet reality proved her expectations painfully, brutally false.

She had seen the attack coming, her instincts flaring in warning, but her body had refused to respond. She could tell that her opponent, Young Lord Canestane, had even reduced his speed to match hers, almost graciously, almost mockingly, yet she couldn't muster the strength or reflexes to put up even a semblance of a fight.

With a heavy sigh, she lowered herself and picked up her chakrams with careful ease, her fingers brushing lightly over the cold metal. Her black eyes lifted, meeting William's gaze for a brief moment. Without a single word, without the slightest hint of complaint or excuse, she turned and walked away, her steps slow but steady.

"You overcommitted," William's voice echoed across the field, the tone calm and flat. The words froze her mid-step. She turned, her posture rigid, now facing him fully as though silently beckoning him to continue. William, noticing that his opponent seemed genuinely eager to learn, continued without hesitation.

"You overcommitting to a single attack was the mistake from the very start," he explained, his voice steady but firm. "You knew your opponent was stronger than you, and yet you still dove in without a single tactical thought. Unless you are faster than your opponent or capable of catching them completely unaware, it's best not to commit so deeply. Not unless it's a feint, and a convincing one at that."

The girl stood still, processing his words carefully. Then she gave a respectful nod. "Thank you," she said softly before turning once again and walking back to her previous position.

With that brief exchange concluded, William exhaled lightly and returned to his own spot. This time, Finch stepped forward for the next sparring match. His soul bound black chain materialized in his hand as he walked with a calm, controlled presence that drew attention without effort.

"So," Finch said flatly, his tone carrying an effortless air of superiority, "who will be stepping forward next?"

Instructor Clinton didn't waste words. Just like before, he simply repeated the rule he had given to William earlier: only shallow, non-fatal injuries were permitted. No broken bones. No excessive brutality.

This time, a boy stepped forward. His expression was calm, his steps deliberate. Twin daggers rested in his hands, their edges gleaming faintly beneath the light as he faced Finch with calm focus.

"Begin," Instructor Clinton's voice rang out.

At the command, neither moved. The boy had learned from the previous girl's mistake, charging recklessly had no place here. But just as he remained still, so did Finch. The two locked eyes, entering a silent contest of patience and willpower. It wasn't a battle of strength, not yet, but a battle of discipline.

Finch sighed softly, the sound almost amused, and took a step forward. He walked with a steady, measured gait toward the boy, each step deliberate. The boy didn't move. A faint frown creased his features, as though he wasn't entirely sure what to do next. Still, he remained rooted in place, watching confused and almost hesitant to act or move.

The instant Finch stepped within striking distance, everything changed. The boy's muscles tightened, surging with explosive energy. Like a coiled viper, he lunged forward with blinding speed, both daggers slashing toward Finch's temples in a deadly, synchronized strike.

His earlier appearance of confusion had been nothing more than a calculated facade. His hesitation, his frown, his stillness, everything had been a ploy designed to lure Finch into a false sense of security. He had waited, bid his time patiently, calculating the perfect moment. And when Finch stepped into range, he acted with flawless execution.

But Finch remained expressionless, as if he had deciphered the boy's entire strategy long before the boy himself had even committed to it. His hand moved with clean precision. The black chain blurred upward, coiling like a living serpent. It locked into position with uncanny accuracy, and the boy's daggers were instantly caught between the chain's links, halted mid-strike.

The boy's eyes widened in shock as his meticulously planned assault crumbled effortlessly before him.

Instantly, he tried to withdraw. His center of gravity shifted as he attempted to pull back and create distance. But Finch had no intention of allowing an escape. His wrist twisted sharply, controlling the chain with natural familiarity and ease. The weapon obeyed immediately, snapping forward and coiling around the boy's wrist, binding him in place.

Realizing it was futile to continue, the boy exhaled and offered a small, resigned smile. He knew there was nothing more he could do. He looked up at Finch expectantly, as though waiting for a correction or a lesson, just like the one William had given earlier.

Understanding the unspoken request, Finch nodded and spoke. "Your plan wasn't bad. In fact, it was quite clever. But your hands gave everything away." His voice was calm but instructive. "You gripped your daggers too tightly. Those weren't the hands of someone confused, hesitant, or nervous. That was the grip of someone preparing an attack."

The boy frowned deeply, his expression practically screaming; 'how could anyone predict an attack from just a grip?'

Finch sighed and shook his head with a gentle firmness. "When you fight more, when you gain real experience, you'll understand. Don't ask questions the battlefield will eventually answer for you. Some lessons can only be carved into you through combat itself."

The boy paused, absorbing the words, then nodded gratefully. After offering a short bow, he turned and walked away. Throughout the duel, Finch had never relied on mental commands to control the chain; he had manually guided it with precise wrist movements, demonstrating finesse rather than relying on supernatural assistance.

Finch turned as well, heading back toward Asher and William. "I guess I should call you Instructor Finch now," William said jokingly as he watched Finch approach.

Finch smirked. "Don't worry. I can teach you for as low as one point when we get back to Star Academy," he replied lightly, amusement flickering in his eyes.

"Why don't you get to rank 3 first before talking like that, or at least rank 199?" William retorted with a mocking smirk.

"Hmph. Now that I've gotten serious with my training, you'd better watch your back. You might be the one standing behind me at the end of the year," Finch shot back.

"I'll be waiting for you at the top then," William replied, unwilling to let Finch have the final word.

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