The arena, illuminated by the harsh daylight, pulsed with feverish anticipation.
Zarek was already there.
Standing at the center, full of confidence, he was waiting for his opponent — none other than Menma.
He had been waiting for this moment with impatience. That was even the reason he accepted the duels against the Orion students — not to measure himself against Menma, but to humiliate him…
Menma stepped forward, calm, composed. He walked slowly toward the center, without a word, his expression neutral but determined.
A heavy silence fell over the spectators as the two young mages faced each other.
— "The duel is about to begin!" shouted a voice from the crowd.— "Zarek won't show any mercy, he's ruthless…" murmured another.
The arena resonated with excited whispers, but around the two opponents, a near-sacred silence had settled.
Zarek, taking his combat stance, his eyes blazing with fierce determination, stared at Menma, who walked toward him step by step, his face serene but focused.
The duel was about to begin.
— "You're going to regret showing up," Zarek declared, a disdainful smile on his lips.
Menma didn't reply.
A moment of silence. Then the signal rang out.
At first, the exchanges were measured.
Zarek only used a fraction of his power, knowing he couldn't unleash everything due to the duel's rules. He launched precise, fast flames, like burning whips, aiming to test Menma's reflexes, to gauge his defense.
Menma moved with natural agility, gliding across the ground, dodging precisely and parrying without flinching. His counterattacks were sharp, like slashing lightning, occasionally surprising Zarek.
Their gazes locked onto each other, every move analyzed, every breath counted. Their balance was perfect — each observing the other with caution and precision.
"Zarek seems more engaged in this fight," murmured a spectator, eyes gleaming."But Menma's holding up well… compared to the four before him, this one has some skill."
The arena trembled under the weight of palpable tension.
Zarek stood tall, his breathing calm, the flame in his eyes gradually growing — like a fire slowly fanned to life.
At first, his attacks were almost measured, precise — fine streams of fire, like incandescent whips cracking through the air with discipline. He wasn't trying to exhaust himself, but rather to probe Menma's defense, to measure his ability to endure and strike back.
Menma, on his side, was focused, muscles tense, senses on high alert. He remembered the grueling hours spent with Calem — the patient mentor who never stopped repeating that self-control and endurance were the key, far more than brute strength. The training had been long, exhausting — sometimes humiliating — but today, every drop of sweat seemed to have found its meaning.
The first exchanges resembled a ballet:
Zarek launched his flames with control; Menma dodged and countered fluidly, evading the burn, looking for a weakness in this fiery dance.
The crowd held its breath, admiring the precision from both fighters, the intelligence of a duel not yet about raw strength, but perfect control.
Then, slowly, the flame in Zarek's eyes ignited further.
His jets of fire widened, their shapes surged with more vigor, burning the air around them, heating the atmosphere and forcing some students to take a step back, feeling the growing bite of danger.
Zarek's gaze grew darker, more feral, and every muscle in his body seemed ready to explode with contained energy.
Menma sensed the change. His muscles tensed further, his senses sharpened. He reached deep within, remembering Calem's advice — how to channel pain, ignore fear, and push the limits of the body.
Each dodge became more difficult, each block heavier, but he refused to give in.
Zarek's flames — wider, fiercer — struck faster, harder, a torrent of fire and rage that left almost no room to breathe.
The crowd murmured, some voicing concern.
"He's really pushing it now…" whispered a spectator."Menma's holding on, but for how long?" asked an anxious voice.
He straightened instantly.
— "Still standing? Amusing. Let's see how long that lasts."
Then, without warning, Zarek unleashed a continuous burst — a veritable storm of flames pouring down on Menma like an avalanche of living embers.
There was no room for error now, as Zarek increased the tempo, flooding the area with intense heat and blinding light.
On the field, Menma staggered under the new thermal shock, his skin reddened, his clothes partially scorched.
But his eyes stayed locked on Zarek. He didn't give up.
— "You're tiring me," Zarek growled.
But he held firm. Every blow taken was a trial, a brutal reminder of Calem's training — the hours spent taking hits, learning not to break, to stay standing through the pain.
Zarek, panting yet unyielding, his face marked by the fierce determination of a warrior ready to go all the way, showed no sign of slowing.
His gaze shot lightning, his magic overflowed with power, and the crowd, mesmerized, seemed suspended in awe of a duel defying human limits.
Several minutes passed, the battle took on an almost inhuman turn.
From that point on, it was no longer just a fight — it was Zarek's rage unleashing all his pent-up energy, an unstoppable torrent of fire, while Menma became the very embodiment of resistance.
A battle of will, of heart, where every breath and every move was a victory in itself.
A vibration. A breath. A light.
Alina slowly opened her eyes.
Her mind was foggy, her ears still ringing…
Then a roar of flames made her jolt upright.
— "Where…?"
She sat up slowly, her body numb, still marked by the aftershock from earlier.
Before her, in the arena, a torrent of fire surged relentlessly toward a familiar figure.
Menma.
He was still there. Standing. Alone.
The flames circled around him like enraged serpents, and the air seemed to vibrate with raw mana.
Alina's heart skipped a beat.
— "He… he's still standing?"
Her hands clenched on the edge of the railing. Her breathing became short, anxious.
— "Stop… stop, Menma… You're going to…"
Another explosion echoed, even more violent.
She stepped back, eyes wide, trembling.
And yet… she couldn't look away anymore.
Something in that boy, in the way he fought without ever falling, had just shattered something within her.
Her fear. Her silence.
— "Hold on…"
For the first time, she was no longer watching from afar.
She was living every second, every impact, every pain — through him.
Then came the final moment, when Zarek gathered the full force of his magic, an explosive crescendo.
A massive sphere of fire formed between his hands — a miniature sun charged with rage and unmatched destructive power.
The temperature rose abruptly, forcing spectators to step back, to shield their eyes from this display of raw force.
Menma, exhausted but standing, fixed his gaze on the glowing orb with fierce determination, ready to take the inevitable blow.
The crowd held its breath, a heavy silence of dread settled over the arena.
Frightened whispers echoed from all sides.
"He's going to kill him!""That's not a duel spell, it's a war-grade attack!"
Zarek, panting, sweat streaming down his forehead, clenched his teeth. His gaze turned pitch-black with fury.
— "He should've fallen long ago… I'll make him fall!"
He brought his arm down.
— "NO! THIS IS MADNESS!" a professor screamed.
But Zarek didn't care. He hurled the sphere down, roaring.
And at the exact moment Menma was about to take the full impact, a blinding light shot across the arena.
A sword of divine light slashed the fireball in two, stopping the assault cold.
All eyes turned toward the silhouette that had intervened: Masaru, calm but firm, locked eyes with Zarek.
— "This duel is over, Zarek. That's enough."
Zarek, breathless, drenched in sweat, lowered his arms, his gaze a mix of anger and fear.
"Tch… Masaru, that bastard had to butt in…" he thought.
— "Heh… I just thought Menma had a bit more guts in him…" he muttered, his breath shaky.
Calem stepped into the arena, raising his hand to calm the crowd.
— "The duel is over. Zarek is the victor."
The crowd remained silent for a moment, suspended in uncertainty.Then, in the distance, William and Alina rushed toward Menma, who still stood motionless, in a guard stance, arms bloodied.
— "Menma? Are you okay?" Alina asked, worried, looking at his pale face and frozen body.— "Menma?" William repeated, kneeling beside him.
But no answer came. Menma was unconscious — yet still in combat stance, frozen in a final moment of bravery