The day of the Midterm Exhibition Tournament arrived with a deafening roar.
The Academy Colosseum was packed to the absolute brim. The massive stone bleachers were a sea of colorful noble crests, waving banners, and glowing magical projections. Students, faculty, and visiting aristocratic families from across the capital had come to watch the first-years prove their worth.
Up on the elevated Faculty Balcony overlooking the arena floor, the atmosphere was incredibly tense.
Teacher Sophia Irene was sitting gracefully in her plush seat, sipping from a delicate porcelain cup of herbal tea. Outwardly, she looked like a picture of elegant, untouchable confidence. Inwardly, she was mentally calculating exactly how much a shattered arena barrier was going to cost to replace.
"Acting brave, Teacher Sophia?"
Sophia didn't flinch. Sitting a few seats down was the strict theory professor, the old man who had demanded Arion's expulsion. He was smiling smugly.
"I have no need to act, Professor," Sophia replied smoothly, taking another sip of her tea.
"It is a shame," the old man sighed, though he didn't look sorry at all. "Your student has nowhere to hide today. No false walls. No labyrinth tricks. Just him, his geometric bases, and the eyes of the entire Academy."
Sophia lowered her teacup. She looked at the old man, a dangerously sharp smile tugging at the corner of her lips.
You arrogant old fool, Sophia thought. You think you trapped a commoner in a cage with your precious noble students. You have absolutely no idea that you just locked them in a cage with a walking cataclysm.
"He should have been mine."
Sophia's smile immediately vanished.
Standing directly behind her chair were the four eccentric teachers from the entrance ceremony. They were all staring down at the arena, but their intense, jealous auras were aimed directly at the back of Sophia's head.
The female teacher who had scanned Arion with a triangular rune on the very first day was practically vibrating with obsession.
"I yelled dibs," the woman muttered darkly, her eyes wide. "I claimed him. He is my student! You stole him from me, you lazy junior teacher!"
Sophia completely ignored her, though a bead of sweat rolled down the back of her neck. I didn't steal him! He picked me because I was yawning!
Down below, the heavy iron gates of the waiting tunnels began to slowly grind open. The crowd erupted into deafening cheers as the first-year students marched out into the blinding sunlight.
Exousia Ignis led the pack. Her posture was flawless, her uniform pristine, and her eyes burned with absolute determination. Behind her, the other noble students marched in perfect, disciplined formations.
And then, trailing at the very back of the line, was Arion.
He wasn't marching. He was strolling.
He had his hands shoved deep into his jacket pockets. He was yawning so widely his jaw popped, and he was casually chewing on a piece of toast he had clearly smuggled out of the canteen.
Up on the balcony, the theory professor chuckled darkly. "Look at him. The posture of a defeated commoner."
"Look at him," Sophia countered, her voice dripping with pure, vindictive satisfaction. "The posture of someone who isn't remotely threatened."
Down in the arena, Sebastian Ambrose was already furiously writing in his notebook.
"Incredible!" Sebastian gasped, analyzing Arion's toast. "He is consuming dense carbohydrates to convert into raw thermal energy! The combat simulation has already begun!"
Exousia, hearing this, turned around. She saw Arion casually scratching his head with half a piece of toast hanging out of his mouth in front of five thousand people.
Her eye twitched so violently she nearly went blind.
CHIME!
A massive, magically amplified bell rang through the colosseum, instantly silencing the cheering crowd.
High above the arena, standing at a grand podium carved from white marble, was the Academy Principal. He raised his hands, his booming voice echoing across the stadium.
"Welcome, students, faculty, and esteemed guests!" the Principal announced. "Today, we witness the culmination of our first-years' early training! Magic is not merely about raw power. It is about discipline. It is about the absolute mastery of geometric bases and the flawless recitation of the twelve-word incantations!"
"In this regulated arena," the Principal continued, "there are no shortcuts. There is no hiding. You will face your opponent head-on! A ring-out, a surrender, or the inability to cast a properly structured spell will result in immediate disqualification!"
Arion finished his toast. He swallowed loudly, dusted his hands off on his pants, and openly checked an invisible watch on his wrist.
"Now," the Principal declared. "Let the randomized sorting begin!"
The golden names on the projection board spun rapidly.
Clack. Clack. Clack. DING!
MATCH ONE:
Lucius Aetherius vs. Arion
The stadium erupted into a mixture of loud cheers, shocked gasps, and mocking laughter.
Down on the sand, the rest of the first-year class scrambled out of the arena, moving to the designated safe-zones behind the thick, transparent mana barriers.
Lucius Aetherius stepped forward. He was a tall, arrogant-looking noble with slicked-back blonde hair. He sneered, looking down his nose at Arion.
"To think my first match is against the Famous Failure," Lucius scoffed loudly, ensuring the audience could hear him. He raised both of his hands, his fingers sparking with dense green mana. "I will enjoy exposing you, commoner. I will show you the absolute difference between true, orthodox magic and mere street brawling."
Arion stood fifty feet away. His hands were still shoved deep into his jacket pockets. He looked completely bored.
"Are we fighting," Arion asked deadpan, "or are we doing monologues? Because if you're going to talk the whole time, I'm going to take a nap."
Lucius's face flushed bright red.
"Insolent brute!" Lucius spat.
He spread his feet into a perfect, textbook casting stance. His fingers sliced through the air, tracing a complex geometric shape in less than a second.
VZZZT!
Green light trailed behind his fingertips, forming a massive, glowing magic circle that hummed with immense pressure.
"Sto ónoma tou theoú tou anémou..." (In the name of the God of Wind...) Lucius chanted, his voice echoing across the silent stadium.
He rapidly fired off the ancient phrasing to borrow power from the heavens, gathering and shaping the element with the first nine words.
Behind the protective barrier, Exousia watched intently. He's using a high-tier wind spell! It's too fast to dodge!
"...tha sou diatáxo tis velónes!" (...I command the needles!) Lucius roared, flawlessly executing the final words of the binding contract so the magic would leave his space safely.
A terrifying, shrieking storm of razor-sharp wind needles erupted from the glowing circle, rocketing directly toward Arion at blinding speed.
Arion didn't panic. He didn't draw a circle. He didn't chant.
Instead, he simply pulled his right hand out of his pocket. Relying entirely on his abnormally dense internal pathways, he reinforced his skin with raw mana and casually swatted the air like he was shooing away a mildly annoying fly.
CLANG!
A loud, metallic sound rang out through the arena. The high-tier wind needles slammed into the back of Arion's bare hand and completely shattered into a harmless, gentle breeze.
Lucius's jaw dropped. The entire stadium went dead silent.
Arion let out a heavy sigh, aggressively scratching the back of his messy hair.
"Twelve words," Arion complained loudly. "You spent twelve words just to blow some air at me. My turn."
Arion raised his right hand, pointing a single finger directly at Lucius.
Lucius panicked. He frantically began drawing a defensive geometric circle in the air. "Sto ónoma tis theás..." (In the name of the Goddess...)
He didn't get to finish.
Arion didn't chant. He just flicked his finger.
THOOM!
A massive, invisible shockwave of pure kinetic force erupted from Arion's fingertip. It instantly deleted the fifty-foot distance and slammed into Lucius's half-formed geometric base, shattering it like cheap glass.
"Gah—!"
Lucius was violently launched backward. He flew through the air like a ragdoll and slammed hard against the transparent mana barrier, slowly sliding down to the sand, completely unconscious.
The match had lasted exactly seven seconds.
The dead silence in the colosseum stretched on. Nobody breathed. Nobody moved.
Up in the Faculty Balcony, the smug smile completely melted off the theory professor's face. His jaw unhinged, making him look like a dying fish.
Teacher Sophia did not faint. She did not panic.
She gracefully picked up her porcelain teacup, took a long, slow sip, and turned her head to look directly at the frozen old man.
"As I was saying, Professor," Sophia said, her voice dripping with terrifying, polite smugness. "It truly is a shame he has nowhere to hide."
Down in the arena, Arion casually shoved his hand back into his jacket pocket and yawned.
"Cool," he muttered. "Is there catering in the waiting room?"