"This isn't exactly what I had in mind," Victor muttered, hands in his coat pockets as he stood in the middle of the open training field behind St. Freya's main building. His eyes opened halfway, expression unreadable as he glanced at the crowd forming around them—rows of students, some wide-eyed, others whispering.
Of course, it was Mobius's idea.
Even more surprising was the fact that she was actually teaching at the academy.
Even more baffling—someone let her.
And that someone was Himeko.
"I thought this would have been a private duel," Victor sighed. "Not an open-air circus."
"...There's a lot of people," Yuzuki mumbled behind him, pulling his coat closer as his eyes scanned the crowd.
Familiar faces popped up like glitches in memory—Sakura, arms folded with an empress's poise; Theresa, perched on a folding chair with a clipboard; and Himeko, of course, standing like a lioness surveying prey. Calm. Amused.
What startled him more, though, was the quiet presence seated toward the back—Fu Hua, watching him with a gaze so focused it felt like gravity.
She's in our class?
More than that—she was class rep.
Yuzuki's thoughts trailed.
There was more to it.
But now wasn't the time to unpack that.
"Victor being one of the only guys on campus might have helped boost the turnout," Eden remarked from her spot at a small white café table, perfectly out of place in the dirt field. She sat like royalty, legs crossed, smiling serenely.
The table—of course—had been brought by the school's strangely adept guidance counselor: a tall man in black priest robes, dark skin and kind features. His presence radiated peace and irony in equal measure.
"You look like you've done this before,"
Yuzuki muttered.
The priest offered a wink.
"Tea, Miss Eden?"
"Always," she replied, extending her cup with a grateful smile.
"And for you ladies?" he asked, turning to Mei and Kiana, seated awkwardly at Eden's side.
Mei glanced down, tense under the weight of stares from the other students. She looked like she wanted to sink into her seat. Kiana, on the other hand, raised her cup with zero hesitation.
Kiana, of course, just slammed her cup on the table. "Hit me with the strongest stuff you got!"
The priest laughed—loud and genuine—as he poured her tea. "Chamomile it is."
Victor wasn't watching them.
Not really.
His gaze had drifted.
Mobius noticed.
"Curious about him?" she asked, her tone dancing somewhere between a smirk and a taunt.
Victor didn't answer right away. He sighed, but didn't look away from the figure standing at the opposite end of the field—Etoile, unmoving, his expression unreadable.
"...No. He just feels… familiar. Somehow."
"Of course he does," Mobius murmured, something sly in her eyes.
Victor looked down—at the girl clinging to his side.
Elysia, radiant in pink, smiled up at him with dreamy contentment, arms gently looped around his waist like she belonged there.
"Don't rush," she whispered, voice like silk through fingers. "You'll understand… when you're ready."
Victor exhaled slowly, his hand brushing against her hair without thinking.
"...You're right."
Then he looked back across the field.
To the boy.
No—not a boy. A fragment.
A mirror.
A child made from memories he couldn't hold anymore. From laughter and touch and love he once had—and no longer remembered.
From Mei.
From Eden.
From Elysia.
From them.
From him.
And yet… standing there across the field was someone born of their warmth, staring at him with the cold stillness of an echo.
Victor frowned, jaw tightening.
He didn't know if what he felt was guilt.
Or grief.
Or something even deeper—
emptiness dressed in the skin of nostalgia.
"…Let's get this over with," Victor sighed, taking his first step toward the center of the training field.
The noise around the arena drained with every footfall. Students who were laughing moments ago went still, their eyes drawn to the figure moving like a shadow against the sun. There was something about him—cold, deliberate—like the first chill of a winter storm no one was ready for.
Some sighed dreamily.
Others muttered curses.
Most simply watched—unblinking.
Across from him, Etoile stood with arms folded, younger by several years but brimming with something darker—pride, bitterness, hunger.
"Let's keep the spar simple, alright?" Himeko called out from the middle, her voice light as she raised a hand. One eye shifted between them. Her lips twitched upward. "Try not to break anything expensive."
"I hope you aren't planning to humiliate your child, Father," Etoile said, baring a smug grin as he raised his fists into a proper stance.
Victor looked at him, deadpan. Hands still deep in his coat pockets.
"You need to be disciplined."
Himeko raised an eyebrow. "Oookay then… Begin!"
The crowd erupted—only to be cut short mid-cheer as Victor disappeared.
A blur of motion—gone.
Etoile's pupils dilated, scanning his periphery. He twisted on instinct—
Only to snap his head up—
Too late.
Victor dropped from above, both legs outstretched like the blade of a guillotine.
"You're naïve, old man, if you think I'd fall for—!" Etoile snarled, raising his arms in a cross-guard.
Impact.
The force of Victor's kick rattled the air.
Dust exploded outward in a shockwave as Etoile skidded backward across the dirt, digging in, stopping only by slamming heel-first into a training post.
And then Victor was in front of him again.
No break. No hesitation.
Etoile threw a flurry of jabs—sharp, fast, methodical.
Victor leaned. Tilted. Stepped.
His feet whispered against the ground.
Hands still in his pockets.
And yet every blow—deflected.
Every slash—parried.
Every movement—read and denied.
"You're good," Victor admitted, voice calm. "But predictable."
Etoile grit his teeth and twisted low, claws gleaming as he aimed for Victor's ribs—only for Victor to pivot just enough for the attack to brush past the fabric of his coat without leaving a mark.
On the sidelines, the students were silent. Even breathing felt too loud.
Some looked away—unable to keep watching. The gap in skill wasn't just visible between them and the two. It was humiliating.
Even Fu Hua gave a faint, approving smile, arms crossed in stillness.
"Is it just me," Yuzuki muttered, "or is he not even trying?"
"Not just you," Kiana yawned, resting her chin on Yuzuki's shoulder. "Tell me when it's over."
Chris and Eden, meanwhile, were chatting calmly at their table, not even watching.
Mei, however—Mei's eyes never left the field.
She watched Victor like he was a song only she could hear.
Back on the field, Etoile's expression contorted in frustration.
"Stop toying with me, old man!"
Victor finally exhaled—long and slow.
"Which mom do you get that from?"
He glanced toward Elysia, who stood nearby with her arms folded, hair dancing in the wind. Her smile never wavered.
"You're so rude," she giggled.
"Shut up!" Etoile lunged forward in rage, fist flying—
Victor stepped inside.
Caught his wrist.
And spun.
Over the shoulder.
Etoile's back hit the dirt with a hard thud that echoed across the field.
Before he could move, Victor stepped forward—boot pressing down firmly on Etoile's chest, pinning him in place like a fallen banner.
The fight was over.
It had never really started.
"You lose, kid."
"…Tch."
Etoile glared upward, breath ragged, pride cracked.
Victor said nothing more.
Then—
Clap. Clap. Clap.
Himeko stepped into the ring, arms crossed, brow raised in amused appraisal. Her crimson coat flared slightly behind her in the wind.
"Well fought," she said, her voice cutting through the air. "But…"
She tilted her head, one eye narrowing.
"That was barely a warm-up for you, wasn't it?"
Victor didn't answer. He didn't have to.
So Himeko grinned.
"Then how about you face me instead?"