Jackson Storm—tall, broad-shouldered, his blonde hair catching the arena lights like a crown—stepped forward. His cobalt-blue eyes glowed faintly, not from Aether, but something deeper, something colder. The crowd hushed. They knew his reputation. They'd seen what happened to those who underestimated him.
Across from him, Tessa shifted her weight, wiry and coiled like a spring. She was fast—everyone knew that—but speed alone wouldn't save her. Not against him.
"Begin." Mr. Leo said.
First move.
Tessa darted in, a blur of motion, her fist lashing toward his temple. Jackson didn't flinch. He shifted—just an inch—and her strike whistled past empty air. Before she could recover, his leg hooked behind her knee. A brutal sweep, effortless, like he was brushing aside a leaf.
She hit the ground hard.
The crowd gasped.
Second move.
Tessa rolled, kicking up in a desperate arc. Jackson caught her ankle mid-air, twisted, and drove his elbow into her ribs. A sickening crack echoed. She choked, air forced from her lungs, but he wasn't done.
Third move.
His palm snapped up, catching her chin with perfect precision. Not enough to break bone—just enough to send her crashing down, limp, her body folding like a puppet with its strings cut.
Silence.
Then—cheers.
Jackson didn't smile. Didn't even breathe hard. He just turned and walked away, the glow in his eyes dimming back to that eerie, unreadable calm.
Somewhere in the stands, a whisper spread:
"Are we sure he didn't use Aether?"
"As expected of House Storm," Drake muttered as he watched Jackson exit the arena.
"That was sick, don't you guys think so?" Xian said with a creepy smile.
Alexis remained silent, analyzing the battle in his mind. Drake, too, was silent—but for his own reasons.
"He is so dreamy!" Xian squealed like a fangirl.
Such a creep, Drake thought to himself.
"Next, Connor Frey and Drake Jagger," Mr. Leo announced.
'You've got to be kidding me,' Drake nearly exclaimed aloud.
Connor was finally going to get a free pass to pummel him. To make things worse, his aunt had suddenly resigned the night before, which meant he might be in an especially foul mood.
'Shit. He might just take his anger out on me.'
"Umm, Mr. Jagger, to the stage, please," Mr. Leo said, staring at him.
'Fuck!' Drake cursed internally. He had frozen up again.
He could hear chuckles from the other students as he made his way to the arena. He walked past Mr. Leo, who wore a surprisingly neutral gaze—not judging, not condemning, nothing.
"Aww," Connor mocked. "Are you scared? I'm surprised you didn't piss your pants." He chuckled.
"You see that fear? Hold it. Feel it. Because it's justified. I'm going to pound you into paste," Connor said, smacking his fist into his palm repeatedly.
Drake simply stared at Connor without replying. What difference would his words make? The outcome was already written in stone—he was merely following the script.
"Begin!" Mr. Leo roared.
Connor dashed toward Drake like a maddened tiger. He was fast—too fast for Drake to follow. In an instant, Connor appeared beside him, unleashing a devastating roundhouse kick that connected squarely with Drake's jaw.
BAM!
Drake's head collided with the ground like a cannonball.
Silence.
Everyone was stunned. Even Jackson's eyes widened for a moment before reverting to their usual indifference.
"He's dead!" someone in the audience suddenly yelled.
Mr. Leo stood unmoving, his expression still neutral. Alexis was on the verge of leaping into the arena, had Xian not held him back.
Connor stood over Drake with a devilish smile, basking in the self-glory of defeating him in one strike.
"I warned you," he said, turning to leave.
"Who says it's over?" Drake suddenly rasped, his voice weak.
"Aghhh—" He groaned as he rose to his feet, staggering, trying to shake off the dizziness clouding his mind. Blood covered half his face, forcing him to temporarily shut one eye.
From afar, Sir Duron's golden eyes observed everything. He was disappointed, as usual, but impressed by Drake's resilience in standing after such a hit.
Mr. Leo glanced in Sir Duron's direction. Their eyes met for a fleeting moment before he turned his attention back to the arena.
"You're still standing, huh?" Connor turned, a malevolent smile twisting his lips.
"In that case, let's continue." He cracked his knuckles.
"Here I come."
He dashed toward Drake again, vanishing from sight before reappearing above him, delivering a downward kick straight to the back of Drake's skull.
BAM!
Drake's head slammed into the ground once more—this time hard enough to form a crater. A pool of blood spread beneath him, his face embedded in the dirt.
Alexis bolted from his seat toward the arena, only to be blocked by Mr. Leo.
"Do not interfere!" Mr. Leo warned.
"He's going to die!" Alexis pleaded.
"He's still conscious," Mr. Leo said coldly. "And you know the rules, Knight. A duel only ends when one yields or is rendered unable to continue."
Alexis bit his lip. He knew the rules—had always abided by them—but this time, it was unbearable.
Noticing Alexis' distress, Connor grabbed Drake by the neck and lifted him.
"Hey, Knight," he called out. "Look at your pathetic friend."
Then, he began hammering Drake's face with brutal blows.
BAM! —BAM! —BAM!
Drake's face began to lose its shape.
And then—it happened.
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