A dry gust swept across the arena, scattering golden grains of sand into the air—shrouding the entire field in the ethereal light of reflected quartz. The crowd's chatter seemed to die down as the two competitors faced one another directly over the hundred-meter diameter of the training ground. The tension was palpable.
Ansel clenched his hands, looking at the small figure of Dominic ahead of him. Despite being so far away, Ansel could feel the pressure of Dominic's gaze. This fight, which had once seemed so one-sided, carried a different aura now.
"It's like we're witnessing a battle between two equals," Ishi commented, stroking his chin. "...I thought that boy was a fraud." The beating of his heart was unusually loud; it felt as if a starved animal was banging against the cage of his ribs. The emotion was impossible to pinpoint. Was it dread? Was it fear, hope, or respect? Ishi narrowed his gaze, 'Maybe it's a bit of everything...'
* * *
Principal Xerxes stood next to a robed woman in the arena's designated training tower. Despite being the headmaster of the academy, Xerxes couldn't hide his nerves. A bead of sweat rolled down his temple as he spoke to the woman beside him, refusing to make eye contact. "...Why did you do it?"
"Because, I quit," the woman spoke, the sound of her smile carrying with her voice. "I've got my eyes on something bigger than this pitiful academy. Fate really is a mysterious thing..."
'Fate,' Xerxes solemnly nodded, understanding the weight behind the woman's words. Though he felt intimidated by her presence, he couldn't quell the feelings of pity seeping from his heart. "I understand," he spoke, "...still, it's going to be quite inconvenient to clean everything up."
"Well, don't worry about that," the woman continued to smile, "...what happened had nothing to do with you. The higher-ups at the Unity Department will handle the rest, so you can go back to being a good little puppet, okay?"
Xerxes felt the sudden urge to warn the woman to watch her tone, but no words escaped his lips. 'She's right...' he thought. 'In the end, all I am is just a puppet for the board.'
* * *
"It's so intense..." Rotteger murmured, fiddling with his glasses. "I didn't know Ansel was capable of looking so intimidating."
"I wouldn't say he's intimidating," Cerua interlocked her fingers, "...just look at his face. He's not trying to scare anyone at all. He's—"
"Brave," Sven interjected. "In some kind of twisted way, the most terrifying kind of person is a brave person, right? Being able to put life and limb on the line to prove a point..."
"He's so unintentionally arrogant," Erya smiled, a wistful look in her eyes. "...He really is an odd person." She leaned back into her seat, forming a spyglass with her hands to focus on Ansel's figure. "He's not looking away."
"Oh, by the way," Rotteger reached over, swatting away Eyra's jury-rigged spyglass with his hand, "Did Ansel ever manage to perfect his infinite void? He never got to show us a proper resonant strike..."
"Why do you sound so sad? I showed you a proper resonant strike on the first day of training... so am I not good enough?" Eyra pouted, furrowing her brow. Then, shaking her head, she sighed with an amused expression playing across her features. "...He never told me. All he said was that he was trying."
"There's no doubt about that," Ceyra murmured, leaning forward in her seat.
"Alright! The two competitors have taken their places on the arena ground!" The referee spoke, the broken chord of sound allowing them to project their voice across the entire training ground. "The match will now commence. Competitors, take your stances..."
The crowd went completely and utterly silent. Even the wind seemed to halt. It was as if time had completely frozen, before...
"Fight!"
* * *
Dominic kicked off from the ground, his blond braids swaying with the movement. The dry earth cracked from the pressure of his footsteps, a thin cloud of dust following the trail of his path. His limbs moved with perfect efficiency, conserving as much energy as possible while simultaneously exerting the maximum amount of force. A thin layer of sweat was already forming across his forehead as he ran toward Ansel. 'Why... is he just standing there?'
Ansel stood perfectly still, his expression unchanged as he watched the trail of dust behind Dominic snake its way toward him. "Hooh," he let out a long exhale. 'Don't panic... don't panic...' He repeated the mantra in his mind before clenching his eyes shut.
"Wh-what the hell?" a student spoke up from the crowd. "What's he doing?! He's closing his eyes in the middle of a fight? Is he trying to get himself killed or something?"
"He's already given up?" another student chimed in. "...Well, that was disappointing. At least that Dominic guy doesn't show any sign of stopping... we'll get to some spilled blood after all."
"Idiots," an upperclassman interrupted, silencing his juniors. "...Do you really think any sane person would take a nap in the middle of a duel? Try and use your brains..." The upperclassman pointed in Ansel's direction, "...or just shut up and watch."
Dominic sped toward Ansel like a missile. When he got into the twenty-meter range, he retracted his right arm, preparing to deliver an immense blow with the potential to end the fight in one single shot. He grit his teeth, seeing the contours of Ansel's face grow clearer in his field of vision. "It's over!"
Ansel felt the world around him disappear. The ground flaked off beneath his feet, the sky began to chip away like fading paint, and the crowd of onlookers faded into the infinite darkness. Even Dominic vanished, succumbing to the nothingness. 'My personal void...' Ansel exhaled. It was perfectly empty—except for the one golden particle floating just ahead of him.
'You...' Ansel thought, focusing on the humming particle, 'You have to go... please. You have to disappear. Just for a moment... let me forget absolutely everything.' Ansel's face contorted with a desperate plea. The particle continued humming, indifferent. Ansel opened his mouth, a small flicker of anger swelling within his chest. "Disappear!"
Swoosh.
As Ansel had shouted the word, he realized that he had opened his eyes. The real world faded in with the paint strokes of a cosmic brush. In front of him, Dominic's fist was rapidly approaching.
It was a meter away from his face.
Thirty centimeters away from his face.
One centimeter away from his face.
'What?' Ansel's eyes widened. 'When did he get so close?'
THUD.
Ansel's head was forced to turn from the sheer momentum. His entire body jerked to the left as Dominic's fist smeared his own blood against his cheek. Then, carried on by the inertia, Dominic whizzed past Ansel and rolled across the ground, sparing a predatory glance at his bloodied opponent.
Ansel's nose was broken, and a thin stream of blood was pouring from his left nostril. His lip was split, and his cheek was slightly bruised. Looking down at his own dirtied palms, Ansel felt his throat constrict with instinctual fear. 'He wasn't even using his ability... if he touches me again...'
* * *
"Th-this is insane." Cerua recoiled, her hands flying to cover her own gasping mouth. She immediately stood up, leaning over the seat in front of her to get a better look at Ansel's condition. Upon seeing her friend's distressed state, Cerua turned back to face the rest of the group. They were all wearing similar expressions.
"This needs to stop..." Sven spoke out. "...Dominic didn't even use his ability yet. I've heard that he has a broken chord of strength—specifically kinetic storage and release."
Eyra's eyes widened with horror. "That means... if he releases the energy—"
Rotteger went still. "Ansel's head would be caved in." The bile was already creeping up his throat the moment he decided to speak. Rotteger stood up, looking like a ghost as he clutched his own aching head. "This... th-this isn't a duel... it's a..."
* * *
"Execution..." The words escaped from Xerxes' lips. He didn't feel pity for the bloodied boy. He didn't feel disgusted by the blond boy. He didn't feel excited. He didn't feel nervous. In fact, he felt nothing at all. "What exactly are you hoping to get out of this?"
The woman beside him went silent. "...This could be problematic."
* * *
"Lieutenant... what is the meaning of this?" Gunther narrowed his gaze at Pengal, a deadly weight reflected in his eyes. "...You wanted me to watch an academy student get brutalized?"
Pengal gulped. "I..." For the first time, he wondered if he had gone too far. Everything he had planned over the past seven years had led up to this moment. But now, looking at Dominic, Pengal wondered if he had stoked a flame into an uncontrollable inferno.
"I'm leaving," Gunther stood up. "This is a clown show and an utter waste of time. You should expect to be reprimanded soon." Gunther scoffed one last time at Pengal before turning around to walk away.
"Wait!" Pengal reached over, pulling on Gunther's cloak.
The force caused Gunther's hood to roll down, exposing his profile to the entire crowd. However, he paid no mind. Hiding his identity was a part of Pengal's plan, and it made no difference to him whether it failed or succeeded. "What?"
"Please," Pengal tightened his grip, "just stay and watch a little longer."
Gunther bit his lip in contemplation. It was the first time he had seen Pengal so desperate in their many years of acquaintanceship. There was only one reason why Pengal would show such a pathetic level of pettiness. There was something truly special he planned. Something he would stake his whole reputation on. "Alright," Gunther chuckled, "...one last favor for the scummy bastard who used to be my favorite junior."
* * *
Ansel brought a shivering hand to press against his bleeding nose—the world reduced to a blur in the background. All he could focus on was the image of Dominic slowly getting back up onto his feet.
The crowd was a mess. Some were shouting, asking for the match to be called off. Others watched silently, enticed by the violence. The referee was nowhere in sight, and staff members refused to intervene. This is when the general consensus spread among the onlooking students: 'This isn't just a normal spar between two first-years...'
"I don't want to hate you," Dominic panted, taking a step toward Ansel. "But I have to. Ever since the moment you stepped foot on campus, I've hated you. I hate everything about you. I hate your face, I hate the sound of your voice, I hate your friends, I hate your family."
"B-but why?" Ansel could only make out a singular question. His body was shuffling back against his own will. With every step Dominic took, Ansel felt as if he were an injured rabbit, trailing along a forest floor as it laid out a crimson trail of blood for a snarling fox to follow.
"Because," Dominic clenched his fists, "how else am I going to kill you?"
Ansel stood perfectly still. Staring into Dominic's eyes, he saw a depth he had never seen before. He had no reason to move back any further. The crowd was growing restless. Students were jeering at the pair, who stood frozen—staring at one another. "Why do you have to kill me?"
Dominic's clenched fists suddenly eased at the question. His eyes imperceptibly widened for the briefest moment before they narrowed once more. "Because," he took another step forward, "it's something that needs to be done."