As Alaric stepped onto the battleground, his eyes wandered across the arena.
Who am I facing today?
A small smile appeared on his face.
I wonder what kind of fighter he is.
The arena was already packed with spectators. Most of the individual events had already ended, and students from every class had gathered to watch the remaining sword duels. Their voices rose and fell like crashing waves, filling the stadium with excitement.
Despite the noise, not a trace of nervousness showed on Alaric's face.
Instead, he searched through the crowd until he spotted three familiar faces.
"Ah."
"There they are."
He raised a hand and waved toward Elara, Caelin, and Lalanat.
The audience immediately began whispering.
"He's way too relaxed."
"Is he actually that strong?"
"Or did he just end up here because nobody else wanted to fight?"
Praise and jealousy mixed together as people quietly judged him before the match had even begun.
A knight serving as the referee stepped onto the battlefield.
"Step forward."
Both fighters obeyed.
The knight handed each of them a wooden sword before speaking in a loud, clear voice.
"The rules are simple."
"If you drop your sword or fall to the ground, you lose."
He looked at both competitors.
"Are you ready?"
Both nodded.
"...Begin."
The crowd erupted into cheers before either fighter made a move.
From the stands, Lalanat unconsciously clasped her hands together.
Caelin remained silent, his eyes fixed on the battlefield.
Beside them, Elara leaned forward, still catching her breath after finishing her dance performance earlier.
Alaric's opponent slowly raised his wooden sword.
"So..."
"You must be Alaric."
"The son of Kalvein Thandor."
His voice carried quiet confidence.
"I am Victor."
"A noble of Valerith."
"I'll be the one to defeat the rude noble who knows nothing but how to swing a sword."
Alaric casually rested his wooden sword near his face.
"...Talk less."
"Fight more."
"Mister First Rank."
Victor's eyebrows twitched.
"...Very well."
He stepped forward.
"Show me what you've got."
Without another word, Victor charged.
Instead of swinging...
He thrust his sword straight toward Alaric's chest.
Alaric slipped to the side instead of blocking.
Fast...
He fights more like a swordsman than a brute.
Victor didn't stop.
He thrust again.
The same attack.
Alaric waited.
Watching.
Reading.
From the audience, Caelin smiled faintly.
Lalanat noticed.
"...What?"
"You look confident."
Caelin never took his eyes off the match.
"...It's already over."
Lalanat blinked.
"...What?"
Before Caelin could answer—
The crowd exploded.
Victor hit the ground.
A loud gasp swept through the arena.
Alaric stood over him, wooden sword still in hand.
As if nothing had happened, he casually waved toward the stands.
Still stunned, Lalanat slowly raised her hand and waved back.
Caelin let out a quiet breath.
"When Victor attacked the first time," he explained, "Alaric didn't just dodge."
"He was watching."
"He confirmed the opening behind Victor."
"When the same thrust came again..."
"...he slipped past it..."
"...and attacked before Victor could recover."
Caelin smiled.
"Wooden sword."
"No hesitation."
"Speed and strength together."
Lalanat looked back toward the battlefield.
"...Was it luck?"
"A little," Caelin admitted.
"If Victor had changed his attack..."
"...the fight wouldn't have ended that quickly."
He folded his arms.
"But Alaric has one frightening strength."
"He reads the battlefield almost immediately."
Elara nodded quietly.
"It's a good start."
"But becoming the champion won't be that easy."
"He still has more opponents waiting for him."
Her eyes remained on Alaric, who was still smiling and waving at the audience as though he had just finished a casual training session.
Nearby, Victor slammed his fist against the ground.
"...Impossible."
"My speed is my greatest weapon."
"So... how?"
Alaric walked over and offered him a hand.
Victor brushed it aside.
"...Don't push your luck."
Without another word, he stood up and walked away.
Alaric scratched the back of his head.
"...Yeah."
"I know that feeling."
Then his usual grin returned.
"Anyway..."
"Let's go check Elara's results."
After leaving the arena, Alaric made his way toward the academy's information board.
From a distance, he spotted the others immediately.
Elara stood quietly in front of the board, one hand lightly gripping the edge of her skirt.
Her head was lowered.
She looked as though she was trying her hardest not to cry.
Beside her, Lalanat rested both hands on Elara's shoulders, speaking softly in an attempt to comfort her.
Caelin stood nearby with his arms folded, his usual calm expression replaced by quiet concern.
Alaric slowed his pace.
...Did she not even place third?
Why does she look so upset?
By the time he reached them, the atmosphere had grown painfully quiet.
"...Is everything alright?"
The moment the words left his mouth, he looked at Elara's face.
"...Ah."
"...I guess not."
Lalanat stepped closer and lowered her voice.
"She came in second."
Alaric blinked.
Relief crossed his face.
"...Isn't that a good thing?"
He smiled, hoping to lighten the mood.
"We still got points."
"So why does everyone look like the world just ended?"
Lalanat sighed softly.
"Our class only finished third in the quiz."
"We only have four points so far."
"...Oh."
Alaric scratched the back of his head.
"...That does sound pretty bad."
Elara quietly wiped the corner of her eyes, still refusing to look at anyone.
Alaric stepped a little closer.
"...Princess."
He smiled awkwardly.
"You're crying?"
"That's... kind of unusual."
Smack.
Lalanat immediately hit his shoulder.
"Ouch!"
Alaric rubbed the sore spot before sighing.
"...Sorry."
He looked back at Elara.
"I didn't mean it like that."
His voice became gentler.
"You already did everything you could."
"You can't control the results."
Caelin nodded.
"He's right."
"It's only the first day."
"Our chances might be small..."
"...but they're not gone."
"We still have opportunities ahead."
Lalanat gently pulled Elara into a hug.
"They're right."
"You already did your part."
"And Alaric will win his sword matches too."
"So..."
"...don't carry all of this by yourself."
Elara slowly nodded against Lalanat's shoulder.
"...Okay."
She quietly wiped away the last of her tears.
Not long afterward, more students from Class Two began gathering around the information board.
Several classmates hurried over to Alaric.
"Congratulations on your win!"
"That match ended so fast!"
Others approached Elara instead.
"You danced beautifully."
"Don't let the results discourage you."
"You were amazing."
A few students quietly apologized for the quiz competition as well.
"...Sorry."
"We couldn't score higher."
Elara looked around at everyone.
After a brief silence...
A small smile finally appeared.
"...Thank you."
"I'll do better next time."
The crowd gradually became louder as more students arrived.
Before long, their teacher stepped between them and clapped loudly.
"That's enough."
"Save your energy for tomorrow."
"Everyone, head back to the residence."
The students reluctantly dispersed, still chatting among themselves as they slowly left the academy grounds.
That evening, the academy residence was unusually quiet.
The excitement from the day's events had faded, replaced by a tired calm.
After dinner, everyone naturally drifted back into their usual routine.
Upstairs, Caelin and Lalanat sat together, quietly going over the drama script for the next performance. Their voices occasionally drifted down through the wooden floor.
Downstairs, only Alaric and Elara remained in the kitchen.
Standing side by side at the sink, they silently washed the dishes.
The sound of running water filled the room.
After a while, Alaric broke the silence.
"I hope those two are doing alright."
Elara continued washing a plate without looking up.
"...Yeah."
Silence returned.
Alaric glanced sideways.
"...You're still upset?"
Receiving no answer, he leaned over slightly and lightly poked her cheek.
She slowly turned to look at him.
"I don't think..."
"...we're close enough for you to touch me like that."
Her voice wasn't loud.
But it was enough to make the air between them suddenly feel cold.
Alaric immediately pulled his hand back.
"Ah..."
"I'm sorry."
He gave an awkward smile.
"I was only trying to cheer you up."
A quiet sigh escaped Elara's lips.
The tension slowly melted away.
"...I'm fine."
"I'm just..."
"...a little dizzy."
She rinsed the last plate before placing it carefully on the rack.
After a brief pause, she spoke again.
"...Besides."
"You're still competing tomorrow."
She finally looked at him.
"You have to win."
"For all of us."
A faint smile appeared on Alaric's face.
"...Is that how you ask someone for a favor?"
Elara froze.
Her hands slowed beneath the running water.
She lowered her eyes.
"...Please."
The single word came out so softly that it almost disappeared beneath the sound of the water.
Yet somehow...
It carried more weight than everything she had said before.
Alaric's expression immediately changed.
"...Princess."
"Are you alright?"
Elara quickly wiped at the corner of her eyes.
"...Yeah."
She tried to smile.
"...I am."
But the tears refused to stop.
"I know it's selfish..."
"...but please."
"Help me."
"Help me by winning."
Her voice trembled.
Alaric quietly watched her for a moment.
Then he smiled.
"...There's nothing selfish about asking a friend for help."
"In fact..."
"...you should."
"I'd do the same."
Elara lowered her head.
"...I'm sorry."
"I couldn't hold it in anymore."
"It's okay," Alaric replied gently.
"If holding everything inside only hurts..."
"...then you don't have to keep pretending."
For a brief moment, he hesitated.
Then...
He carefully stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her.
A gentle hug.
Elara didn't pull away.
She simply closed her eyes.
For a little while...
Neither of them spoke.
The silence itself was enough.
Eventually, Alaric slowly stepped back.
"I'll head outside for a bit."
"I want to get a few more swings in before tomorrow."
Elara nodded.
"...Okay."
She gave him a small smile.
"I think..."
"...I'll take a bath and get some sleep."
"...Goodnight."
Alaric smiled back.
"...Goodnight."
He quietly walked out into the cool night air.
Elara remained in the kitchen for another moment before turning off the water.
Soon...
The house fell silent once again.
Outside, the night carried on as though nothing had happened.
But somehow...
It no longer felt quite as lonely as before.
Time passed quickly.
By the end of the second day, the gap between the classes had begun to narrow.
Class Seven still held first place, leading by only two points.
Class Two remained close behind.
Class One followed five points behind them.
Thanks to Lalanat's script and the efforts of the drama team, Class Two secured first place in the drama competition.
They also claimed second place in archery and third place in the quiz event.
Altogether, they now had sixteen points.
Meanwhile...
Alaric's winning streak continued.
One opponent after another fell before him until he reached the semifinals.
If he won tomorrow morning's match...
He would advance to the championship duel later that same day.
The final day would decide everything.
---
That evening, excitement and nervousness filled the residence once again.
No one said it aloud.
But everyone understood how much tomorrow mattered.
As usual, Alaric broke the silence first.
His mouth was still full of food.
"So, Lala..."
"Your script really did well."
He swallowed before grinning.
"Guess you're not just good at writing after all."
Lalanat quickly shook her head.
"...No."
"It wasn't just me."
She smiled softly.
"The people on stage were amazing too."
She looked down at her plate.
"I'm just part of the process."
"They're the ones who brought the story to life."
When she looked up again...
Everyone was staring at her.
Lalanat immediately panicked.
"Ah..."
"N-no."
"I don't mean..."
"I don't want all the credit."
"I just..."
She struggled to find the right words, growing more flustered with every second.
Caelin couldn't help smiling.
"But Lalanat..."
"Results only exist because of the process."
"If there wasn't a script..."
"...there wouldn't have been a performance."
He looked at her kindly.
"So don't downplay what you accomplished."
"You were still at the center of it."
Lalanat lowered her head slightly.
"...Thank you."
Alaric suddenly swallowed the rest of his food.
"Yeah."
"He's right."
Then he added in his usual blunt way,
"Besides..."
"...you'd never survive being on stage anyway."
Lalanat blinked.
"...Huh?"
Alaric scratched his cheek.
"I mean..."
"You're really shy."
"You'd probably freeze before the play even started."
Before Lalanat could respond—
Elara reached over and pulled Alaric's cheek.
"Oww!"
"Could you finish eating before talking?"
She let go before sighing.
"And maybe learn how to say nice things properly."
"Even when you're trying to compliment someone."
Alaric rubbed his cheek.
"...I was complimenting her."
"I know," Elara replied.
"That's exactly the problem."
Lalanat and Caelin quietly laughed.
Soon the entire dining room filled with their familiar bickering once again.
The tension that had weighed on everyone throughout the day slowly disappeared, replaced by warm laughter and easy conversation.
Tomorrow...
Everything would be decided.
The arena buzzed with excitement as students, teachers, senior classes, and even a few knights gathered to watch one of the semifinal sword duels.
For Alaric, this wasn't the end yet.
A victory here would earn him a place in the championship match later that day.
For Class Two, every point still mattered in the race for the title of The Chosen Class.
Cheers echoed throughout the arena as Alaric stepped onto the battlefield.
He smiled and casually waved toward the audience before his attention shifted to the person waiting across from him.
His opponent held two wooden swords.
Alaric blinked.
"...Two swords?"
He glanced toward the referee.
"Is that allowed?"
"And... how do I know if I've won?"
The referee nodded.
"It's allowed."
"The rules remain the same."
"If either one of his swords leaves his hand..."
"...or if he surrenders..."
"...you win."
He paused before adding,
"If either fighter suffers an injury serious enough to continue..."
"I have the authority to stop the match and declare the winner."
Alaric nodded.
"...Got it."
He turned back toward his opponent.
A young man from Draven Mark.
The son of a wealthy merchant.
Alaric smiled faintly.
"...Interesting."
From the front row, Elara folded her arms tightly across her chest, her eyes never leaving the battlefield.
Beside her, Lalanat quietly clasped both hands together, almost as if she were praying.
Caelin leaned forward, excitement written plainly across his face.
The referee stepped between the two fighters.
"Ready?"
Both competitors nodded.
"...Begin."
Silence swept across the arena.
Mark moved first.
He rushed forward without hesitation.
The moment their wooden swords met, Alaric realized something.
Fast...
Too fast.
The second blade followed almost immediately.
Then another.
And another.
The attacks came from different angles, leaving almost no room to breathe.
Alaric blocked one strike after another before finally jumping backward to create some distance.
He let out a slow breath.
...This style burns stamina quickly.
I can't afford to get dragged into his rhythm.
Across the arena, Mark smirked.
"Running away already?"
From the audience, Caelin quietly chuckled.
"...You wish."
Without warning...
Alaric exploded forward.
The distance between them vanished in an instant.
Clack!
Clack!
Clack!
Wooden swords collided again and again as Alaric answered with an aggressive barrage of attacks.
Mark blocked the first strike.
Then the second.
Then the third.
But with every exchange, his footing slipped farther backward.
The pressure kept building.
Suddenly—
Thud!
Alaric's foot drove straight into Mark's stomach.
The impact forced the air from his lungs.
Mark staggered backward.
The crowd gasped.
"...Damn it."
He barely had time to lift his head.
Too late.
Alaric was already in front of him.
A powerful right-handed swing came crashing down.
Mark caught it.
One of his swords locked Alaric's strike in place.
For a brief moment...
Alaric's left side was completely exposed.
Mark didn't hesitate.
His second sword whipped forward.
Thud!
The wooden blade slammed into Alaric's ribs.
Pain shot through his body.
His breath caught.
One knee nearly touched the ground before he forced himself back to his feet.
Mark took several exhausted steps backward, breathing just as heavily.
A faint grin appeared on his face.
Both fighters stood there...
Bruised.
Breathing hard.
Still refusing to fall.
For a brief moment, the entire arena fell silent.
Then the spectators erupted into cheers, thrilled by the fierce exchange between the two semifinalists.