The next fight was announced: Omoi vs. Reina.
Omoi muttered under his breath as he stepped into the ring, his lips moving in that familiar nervous rhythm. He went over possible strategies, calculating angles, imagining counters, but frustration gnawed at him. He realized he didn't have much information on Reina's fighting style. The last time he had seen her fight seriously was at the very start of the academy year. She could've changed everything since then.
That meant he'd have to analyze mid-fight and adapt on the fly — something that made him uneasy. Omoi preferred having data, plans, and contingencies. Going in blind felt like walking a tightrope without a net.
Reina strode into the arena with her head held high, a faint smirk tugging at her lips. Confidence radiated from her. In her mind, Omoi didn't stand a chance. She knew his greatest strength was also his weakness: he overanalyzed. He drowned in his own thoughts.
Her plan was simple, but ruthless: start with straightforward moves Omoi could easily read and counter, lull him into comfort, then slowly introduce sharper, stranger angles — techniques just unpredictable enough that he wouldn't have time to adapt. By the time she flipped the tempo, he'd already be backpedaling. That's when she'd crush him.
The proctor raised his hand. "Begin!"
⸻
Reina exploded forward instantly, taunting him as she closed the gap.
"Don't choke, mutter-boy!"
Omoi didn't bite. His expression remained calm, eyes sharp despite the constant low hum of words under his breath.
Reina lashed out first — a sharp kick toward his midsection.
CRACK.
Omoi slid his sheath across his body, catching the blow cleanly. Swords weren't allowed, but the sheath itself was permitted, and he wielded it like a shield. He absorbed the strike, twisted his hips, and shoved back hard against her foot.
Reina stumbled half a step.
In an instant, Omoi swept low. His leg hooked hers, knocking her balance. She began to fall—
—but she spun midair, snapping an awkward yet powerful kick toward his temple.
Omoi's footwork was immaculate. He pivoted aside, her strike slicing past him harmlessly, and in that same motion he lined up his counter. His fist shot forward like a piston.
POP.
His knuckles cracked against Reina's cheek. The impact echoed. For a heartbeat, the crowd went silent. Then the arena erupted in cheers.
"Omoi landed clean!"
"Reina got tagged—!"
Reina's head snapped to the side. Anger flared in her chest. He was embarrassing her. Every fiber of her pride screamed at her to lash out wildly. But she grit her teeth, forcing her emotions down. She still had her plan.
⸻
The exchange resumed, faster now.
Reina pressed with sharp hooks, feints, and unusual angles — but Omoi read her movements with uncanny precision.
She swung a left hook. He ducked beneath it, sheath whipping into her thigh. Pain jolted up her leg. She flinched, unable to plant firmly.
Thud.
Omoi's fist drilled into her liver. Reina stumbled back, gasping. He surged to follow—
—but she feinted, snapping her arm forward.
Omoi's eyes narrowed. He saw through it. His sheath batted aside the real strike that followed, then he kicked at her wounded thigh again, smothering her momentum.
The crowd murmured, shock growing.
Crack! The hilt of his sheath slammed up under Reina's chin, snapping her head back. She reeled, dazed, just as Omoi reset her position with a brutal front kick that shoved her across the ring.
Omoi stood poised, muttering low, eyes locked on her. The crowd was buzzing now.
"He's dominating her…"
"This guy's precision is insane!"
"Is this the real gap between General Class and Elite Class?"
For the first time, the general students truly understood: Omoi might've been the quiet boy lost in his own thoughts, but in combat, he was a monster of calculation and precision.
Reina wiped blood from her lip, her smirk fading into a dangerous glare. Her pride burned, but so did her resolve. If Omoi thought this was going to be easy, he was about to learn just how ruthless she could be.
Reina lunged again, her speed relentless. This time she swept low, her leg cutting toward Omoi's ankles.
Omoi reacted fast, springing upward, twisting in midair to bring his heel crashing down in an axe kick.
But Reina slipped left, the strike slicing past her. Her eyes flashed. She feinted sharply toward his right side, forcing Omoi's guard up.
A trap.
Reina flowed to his unguarded left, her strikes hammering into pressure points — shoulder joints, ribs — snapping his defense open piece by piece. Omoi gritted his teeth, resisting for a breath.
Then crack — her elbow smashed across his face. His head whipped back, the crowd gasping.
Before he could recover, she feinted a knee strike. Omoi instinctively braced high.
That instant was all she needed. Reina's body twisted, her fist whipping around in a spinning backhand that exploded against his jaw, sending him staggering.
The pace had shifted. The crowd could feel it. Omoi, usually so calm and calculating, was struggling to keep up.
If I don't sharpen now… I'll lose.
Omoi planted his feet, steadying himself. He drew his sheath fully, holding it like a blunt sword. His eyes narrowed, muttering to himself as Reina closed in again.
She came fast — wild left hook.
Omoi blocked with his sheath and began his counter…
Crack!
Pain shot up his leg as Reina's foot slammed into his knee from an impossible angle. His joint buckled, balance faltering.
In that instant she tore the sheath from his grip, spinning it away across the dirt.
A vicious kick cracked across his face. Omoi tumbled back, clutching his knee, vision swimming.
Still, he refused to quit. He forced himself upright, teeth gritted against the pain. Reina was already mid-air, a flying knee aimed at his skull.
He didn't dodge. He let it hit.
BAM.
The blow rattled his jaw — but Omoi rolled with the strike, twisting his body and seizing her leg. His arms locked tight as he spun, dragging her into a brutal roll, crocodile-like, wrenching her limb at a sickening angle. The crowd roared — he was seconds from snapping her leg.
But Reina's eyes burned cold.
Her free knee pistoned down, smashing straight into his groin.
Omoi froze. His body went rigid in white-hot pain, his grip collapsing instantly.
Reina wrenched her leg free, and in the same motion drove him to the dirt, pinning him down with a savage heel press against his chest.
The referee's hand shot up.
"Winner: Reina!"
⸻
The crowd erupted, half-cheering, half-stunned. Omoi lay gasping, one hand clutching his knee, the other trembling over his gut.
Reina stood tall above him, her breath steady, her gaze sharp with satisfaction. She had dismantled him — not just with skill, but with merciless precision.
Even among the Elite, the message was clear: Reina wasn't just a fighter. She was a predator.
The next fight was called: Samui vs. Karui.
The crowd leaned forward in anticipation. Everyone wanted to see this clash — Samui's icy composure against Karui's hot-blooded fury. Calm precision versus wild aggression.
The referee raised his hand. "Begin!"
⸻
Karui exploded forward at full speed, teeth gritted. She wanted this to be quick, decisive — a storm that swallowed Samui before the girl's calm could settle in.
Her first strike was a wild right hook. Samui absorbed it cleanly on her guard, then countered with a sharp straight to Karui's midsection.
But Karui caught her arm mid-motion, flung it upward, and snapped a kick into Samui's face.
Crack.
Samui was knocked back, sliding across the dirt. She steadied herself quickly, but Karui was already on her, unleashing a vicious flurry — hooks, knees, wild strikes raining down in brutal rhythm.
The crowd roared at the spectacle. But beneath the storm, Samui's guard never cracked. Her arms and shoulders moved with minimal effort, deflecting and parrying, letting Karui's fury burn without landing clean. With one sharp pivot, Samui created distance, retreating to reset.
⸻
The pattern emerged. Karui, pure offense — a torrent of fists and kicks. Samui, all defense — cool, efficient, and maddeningly patient.
Karui darted in again, trying to overwhelm her, but this time Samui struck first. Her fist darted out — Karui rolled her shoulder, slipping the punch and swinging back toward Samui's head.
Samui ducked low, evading, then slid back out of range. The exchange ended in another stalemate.
The crowd buzzed. Karui's aggression kept pressing, but Samui refused to break.
"This could go all day," someone muttered. "Unless Karui stops throwing wild and starts thinking."
⸻
Karui snarled and charged again, firing fast jabs. Samui no longer content to simply deflect, shifted gears.
She blocked a jab — then immediately fired one of her own into Karui's exposed guard. Thud. It drilled into Karui's liver, making her flinch.
Before Karui could recover, Samui's palm snapped across her cheek, then her leg swept low, knocking Karui's feet out from under her.
Crash. Karui slammed into the ground.
Samui followed, dropping down with a brutal elbow aimed at her chest —
—but Karui twisted, booting Samui square in the gut. The impact knocked the calm girl backward, the fight resetting once more.
⸻
Karui's face twisted in rage. "Fight me properly, damn you! Stop running like a coward!" she shouted, voice echoing across the courtyard.
But Samui's expression didn't change. Her breath was even, her stance steady, her eyes unshaken.
This time, it was Samui who stepped forward first, calm and deliberate.
The angry Karui grinned through the sweat and blood and surged to meet her, their clash exploding once again at center ring.
Samui advanced, calm and steady, her eyes locked on Karui. The furious redhead met her charge head-on, teeth bared. Their fists collided in a brutal exchange — Karui throwing wild, Samui parrying sharp.
Karui's rage gave her speed. A hook scraped across Samui's cheek, drawing blood and a roar from the crowd. For a moment, it seemed the fire might finally burn through the ice.
Karui pressed harder, screaming with each strike.
"Stand still and fight me!"
Samui's lips parted in the faintest whisper.
"You rely too much on anger."
The words hit harder than a fist. Karui's strikes faltered for half a second — just enough.
Crack.
Samui's knee drove into Karui's gut. Air burst from her lungs, her body folding.
Before Karui could recover, Samui's elbow slammed into her jaw, snapping her head sideways.
She staggered, dazed — and Samui swept her legs from beneath her with cold efficiency.
Crash. Karui slammed to the ground, dirt flying.
The crowd gasped — but Samui wasn't finished.
She flowed down with her opponent, pinning Karui with a knee across her chest, her palm raised for a finishing strike.
Karui thrashed, snarling, but Samui's precision was absolute. The hand chopped down, stopping just shy of Karui's throat — close enough for the sharp breeze to sting.
The ref's voice rang out instantly:
"Winner: Samui!"
⸻
The crowd erupted, split between awe and sympathy. Karui lay on her back, groaning, punching the dirt in frustration.
Samui rose smoothly, dusting her uniform, her face expressionless save for the faint line of blood at her lip. She extended a hand.
Karui hesitated, glaring up at her… then finally took it. Samui pulled her up with ease.
"You're strong," Samui said flatly. "But strength without control will always burn itself out."
Karui clenched her fists, pride stung, but she nodded. "Next time… I'll beat you."
Samui didn't answer, simply turned and walked off the stage, her calm presence a quiet contrast to Karui's fiery vow.
The crowd buzzed, already whispering about what would happen when Samui faced her next opponent.