The dueling arena of Apogee Academy was massive — a sprawling, open-air coliseum built for spectacle. Massive marble walls, floating screens, enchanted sound projection — the kind of place that screamed: Look at us. We're prestigious as hell.
It could host up to sixty, maybe sixty-five duels at once if they really wanted to push it.
But today, they settled for fifty simultaneous matches.
One hundred students clashing in the central arena, while the remaining three hundred — well, 297 to be exact — sat up in the stands, watching, waiting, silently calculating how soon they'd be called up.
Four rounds for one set.
Four sets in total.
Each student fights exactly four matches.
Now here's the kicker — and the part some people started whispering about the moment the matchups were announced:
Every class has 80 students. But Class A? They're down three.
And yeah — that's a problem.
Because in a format where everyone's supposed to fight four duels, someone's gonna have to pick up the slack.
And the Academy, in all its bureaucratic glory, found a neat little fix:
Twelve students from Class A — and only from Class A — will be randomly selected to fight five matches instead of four.
Could be anyone. No exemptions. Random draw.
And that's where things get spicy.
If the lucky draw picks someone like our golden-haired protagonist Leon or everyone's favorite Barbie girl Selene — then yeah, sure, Class A gets a power boost.More matches means more chances to rack up victories and inflate the class win ratio.
But if the name drawn belongs to some weak-ass extra, the kind of guy who fumbles in basic sparring?
Yeah. Class A might as well kiss their victory chances goodbye.
And that's not even considering exhaustion.
After four brutal one-on-one matches, most students will be running on fumes. Throw in a fifth match, and it's no longer a competition — it's a slow bleed.
Let's face it: Class A is in a screwed-up spot.
And yet, they're supposed to be the elite. The prodigies. The pride of Apogee.
Tough luck.
But that's life, right?
When has it ever been fair?
It teases you with a clear sky, a smooth ride… and the next second, you're flat on your face with dirt in your teeth and a steel boot pressing down on your spine.
You don't get to pick your circumstances.
Only how you handle them.
Cry, scream, blame the system… or grit your teeth and take it with a crooked smile.
Up to you.
But thankfully…
That's not my problem to solve.
Let Class A eat their own bad luck.
I've got my own battles to worry about.
I was part of the first set.
Of course I was.
Maybe someone thought it'd be entertaining to throw the mysterious transfer student right into the fire and see what sparks came out. Or maybe it was just random chance.
Either way, I was already walking toward the designated area — a numbered white circle on smooth gray tiles, surrounded by magical warding lines that shimmered faintly under the sunlight.
The sky above was clear, but my thoughts weren't.
I felt the weight of eyes. Hundreds of them.
Some curious. Some indifferent. A few expectant.
But none of that mattered.
Because for now, it was just me… and the one who was about to stand across from me.
My name was already on the screen.
Edward Brightwill vs. Robert Hooke.
Robert Hooke, huh.
For those of you who didn't get my previous joke — allow me to explain.
(Yes, this is me, referring to the joke from the last chapter.)
Back in my old world — Earth, if that still rings a bell — there was a man named Robert Hooke who discovered the cell in 1665.
Yes, the cell. Microscopes. Biology textbooks. The whole deal.
And now, somehow, the universe thought it'd be hilarious to pit me against a sword-wielding teenage version of that name.
Not a scientist. Not a scholar. Just a muscle-brained katana enthusiast…
Who probably thought Hooke's Law was a finishing move.
What are the odds, right?
So yeah — this cell-seeking freak is my first opponent.
Lucky me.
I rolled my wrist, adjusting the grip on my sword.
Across from me, my opponent finally stepped into the ring.
Tall. Broad-shouldered. Short brown hair. A katana at his waist, which he unsheathed slowly — with an unnecessary flair like he was posing for a poster.
There was a quiet arrogance in his eyes as he looked at me. The kind that belonged to someone who'd read one too many motivational quotes and thought that made him unstoppable.
He tilted his chin up, flashing that smug little grin I'd seen one too many times during sparring class.
The kind of grin that screamed: Ithink I'm hot shit because my uncle taught me sword tricks.
I wasn't interested in small talk.
Not today.
Not here.
But unfortunately, he had other plans.
"Ooo, so I got Brightwill as my first opponent, huh?" he said, loud enough for the front few rows to hear. "I was expecting someone with fire in their eyes. Someone with a real fighting spirit. But Brightwill? C'mon, man — everyone knows you lost your— blah blah blah blah…"
(Yes. I'm skipping his boring provocation. You're welcome.)
He kept talking.
I kept ignoring.
He wasn't my only opponent today, and I wasn't about to waste energy on the opening act.
A loud chime echoed through the arena — clear, sharp.
The match was about to begin.
One minute left.
Robert was still monologuing like he was auditioning for the role of generic shounen rival #3.
The crowd behind me started getting louder — murmurs, scattered cheers, fake bets being whispered between bored students with too much time and not enough sense.
None of it reached me.
My world had already narrowed — collapsing into a clean frame that included only three things:
The ring.
The sword in my hand.
And the idiot standing across from me.
That's all I needed.
That's all it ever was.
I adjusted my stance.
Fingers tightened around the hilt.
Feet shifted — muscle memory guiding me into position.
Inhale.
Hold.
Exhale.
The second chime rang out.
Begin.
---
Robert moved first — of course he did.
Katana drawn with way too much flair, he dashed forward like a lead in some third-rate anime adaptation of a samurai epic. His blade came down in a sharp arc — fast, deliberate, aimed at my shoulder.
I stepped aside.
Simple.
His swing cut through air.
A slight grunt escaped him as he readjusted, followed quickly by a second slash — horizontal, sharper this time, aimed to catch my ribs.
Another clean dodge.
No wasted movement.
No need to parry.
I hadn't even raised my sword yet.
"You're quick," Robert muttered, circling around me, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Didn't think you'd be dodging like that."
Then he smiled.
The smug kind. The kind people wear when they think they've got you half figured out.
"Guess you're not completely washed up after all."
Still, I said nothing.
I didn't need to.
Instead, I finally drew my blade — not with ceremony, not with flash. Just a fluid, almost lazy motion. Like I was only doing it to be polite.
Robert raised an eyebrow, amused. "Well, well… Brightwill still has a bit of fire in him. Clearly not the waste I was expecting. But don't think that means anything. Just because you can dodge a few swings doesn't mean you're— blah blah blah blah blah…"
(Yes, I'm skipping the rest of his speech. Again. You're welcome.)
Seriously — why the fuck is he still bragging mid-fight?
This isn't a podcast, man. It's a duel.
He came in again — faster this time, more serious, like he finally realized I wasn't just standing still for dramatic tension.
Our blades met in a brief clash — three strikes, quick exchanges. Sparks, steel, pressure.
I parried.
Dodged.
Matched his pace — not because I needed to, but because I was curious how long he could keep up.
His rhythm was easy to read. His weight shifted too much. His stance leaned too far forward.
Predictable.
He overextended on the third swing.
I ducked under and tapped the flat of my blade against his thigh.
Not enough to wound.
Just enough to prove a point.
He staggered back with a hiss, surprise flashing in his eyes.
"You—!"
Yeah, yeah. We've heard it all before.
He lunged again — wild, angry, all brute and no finesse.
And that's when it really became obvious.
I didn't need Adaption. Not because I was holding back.
But because there was nothing to adapt to.
I wasn't syncing to his pattern.
I wasn't drawing from some latent trait or hidden edge.
I was just better.
Sharper. Cleaner. More patient.
He telegraphed everything.
Every attack shouted its intent before it even reached me.
I met his next flurry with calm blocks — not deflecting hard, just letting his strength slide off my blade.
One opening.
That's all I needed.
I slipped inside his guard, tapped the back of his knee with the edge of my boot, and swept.
Down he went.
A hard thud. Wind knocked out. Blade flung a few feet across the ring.
He blinked up at me, dazed — and angry. Always angry. That kind of rage that belongs to people who can't stand the idea of losing to someone who didn't even try.
I stepped forward.
My blade lowered — not cutting, just resting gently at his throat.
The crowd was still.
No applause.
No shouts.
Just a quiet kind of tension.
They didn't know what to make of it.
Was this the same Edward Brightwill? The one with dead eyes, the one everyone whispered had fallen off?
I met Robert's gaze. He opened his mouth to speak.
I beat him to it.
"Just so you know…"
"The cell you saw under the microscope?"
"It was already dead."
Ding.
Match over.
---
And that was without using Adaption.
No trait.
No power-ups.
Just patience. Timing. Experience.
If that was me holding back…
Well.
They haven't seen anything yet.
---
Author's Note
Hello dear readers,
So I've been thinking…
Maybe it's time we kick off a little Fun Fact series about our lovely (and occasionally unhinged) characters.
You know — the kind of totally unnecessary but weirdly entertaining trivia like:
"Edward once stabbed someone using a spoon"
or
"Selene secretly loves strawberry milk but would rather die than admit it."
So here's the question:
Do you want these Fun Facts in the comment section, or should I sneak them into the main chapters as little Author Fun Facts™?
Let me know what sounds more fun to you.
(Then I'll probably ignore your answer and do whatever I feel like anyway. Classic me.)
Today's Fun Fact is waiting for you down in the comment section.
Go take a peek. 👀
Stay curious, stay chaotic —
—Author-san 🖋️