The next morning, the academy yard was filled with buzzing students, instructors shouting instructions, and a few floating targets that looked ready to attack anyone careless enough to trip.
Not me. Definitely not me. Totally not me.
Today was the official duel evaluation. Random pairs. Magical duels. Wooden swords. And apparently, invisible embarrassment was not an option.
I shuffled to the line, wobbling slightly and muttering, "Remember, Riven… weak, clumsy, unremarkable. Blend in. Hide your power."
I scanned the yard. Banners of Veyr, Arathia, Valcor, Lysithea, and Ashcroft flapped proudly. My family's minor noble crest… looked sad in comparison.
Perfect. Just blend in…
The instructor clapped, voice booming. "Pairs for today's duels: prepared yourselves!"
And of course… my opponent was Prince Kaelen Veyr.
Nope. Nope. Nope.
He approached, aura glowing, sword at the ready. "Ashcroft," he said with that perfect smirk of his, "try not to embarrass yourself… too quickly this time."
Too quickly? I was aiming for maximum humiliation duration. Way better that way.
We faced off. I tripped immediately—perfect. Arms flailing, sword spinning, falling back, pretending clumsiness.
Kaelen lunged. My flailing sword accidentally deflected his strike—just barely. A small burst of hidden skill.
He blinked. Interesting.
"Wow…" Syria called from the sidelines. "The floor inspector strikes again!"
Selene tilted her head slightly, quietly observing. Charlotte's cold glare was sharper than any blade I'd ever faced.
I kept "failing" spectacularly, dodging attacks with exaggerated flops and rolling maneuvers that somehow made me land exactly where I needed to.
Yes. Perfect camouflage. Everyone thinks it's luck. Absolutely clumsy genius.
The duel ended with me bowing dramatically, pretending to collapse from exhaustion. Kaelen's smirk was gone, replaced with a very faint spark of respect—or suspicion.
Syria laughed and clapped. "I love this! Keep it up, Ashcroft! Accidental genius is my favorite style!"
Selene's quiet gaze lingered a moment longer than usual. Charlotte… well, she didn't blink. I'm fairly certain she calculated my death probability down to a decimal point.
The instructor finally announced, "Not bad, Ashcroft. Survived with… style."
I grinned to myself. Step one: survive duels. Step two: survive attention. Step three: remain secretly dangerous. Progress: 66%.
And as I staggered off the dueling platform, tripping slightly over my own feet for flair, I thought to myself:
Tomorrow… maybe I'll actually show them a little more of what I can do. But… carefully. Very carefully.