The field was chaos.
Shouts echoed like ripples across the academy grounds—equal parts amazement, disbelief, and breathless confusion.
The news had spread like wildfire: St. Freya's battle instructor, the Crimson Lion herself, was going to spar the mysterious new transfer student.
More students arrived by the minute, scrambling for space along the edges of the training field. Some climbed fences, others leaned out windows. A few first-years were selling popcorn.
"Uhh… is this even legal?" Yuzuki muttered, blinking as he took in the growing crowd.
He was promptly silenced by Kiana, who shoved a cookie into his mouth with no mercy.
"Shush! This fight's gonna be soooo epic!" she grinned, bouncing in her seat, finally shaking off the drowsiness from Chris' cursed tea. "It's like teacher vs final boss—but in reverse!"
Nearby, Mei leaned forward slightly, her gaze flicking between the field and the group beside her.
"...Will Victor be okay?" she whispered—not to Kiana this time, but to Mobius and Eden, who sat calmly like queens overlooking a blood sport.
Mobius didn't even blink. "Wrong question, Number Five," she replied with a wicked smile, fingers laced beneath her chin. "The better question is: will Himeko survive?"
Mei stared at her, visibly unnerved.
"I am worried though," Eden murmured softly, exhaling a gentle sigh. Her hands were clasped in front of her like she was praying—for safety, or maybe for restraint. "Even now, he carries himself akin a storm. Sometimes, I wonder if he even feels the ground beneath him."
Not far off, Chris stood silent, arms folded.
"...This is the real test," he said under his breath. His voice was low, but it carried weight. His usual soft stoicism was replaced by something colder—sharper. It suited the battlefield better than the chapel.
Mei turned toward him, eyes narrowing slightly. But before she could respond, her gaze was drawn to the quiet tension across the stands.
Bronya, who had ignored nearly everyone all day, was focused entirely on the match to come. Her back was straight, her eyes bright with unspoken calculation. The only thing beside her was a sulking Etoile, arms folded and gaze buried in the dirt.
She didn't speak to him.
Instead, she simply extended a hand. Open. Waiting.
"...Watch," she whispered.
Etoile hesitated—then, with a huff, took her hand without looking up.
"I know," he muttered.
_______________________________________________________
The noise fell away as they reached the center of the field.
Victor stood alone in the middle, his coat catching the wind like a black banner. His expression was unreadable, his eyes distant—as if he were already playing the match ten moves ahead.
Opposite him, Himeko stretched her shoulders with a casual grace, spinning a wooden claymore in one hand before slamming it down into the earth with a heavy thud.
"I've gotta admit," she said, grinning wide. "It's been a while since I looked forward to a fight this much."
Victor raised an eyebrow, posture still relaxed.
"Excited to beat up a student?" he asked dryly.
Himeko laughed. "No. Excited to fight someone who might actually make me break a sweat."
She dragged the blade free from the dirt, resting it over one shoulder.
"Come on, winter boy. Show me what makes the rest of them so damn obsessed with you."
The breeze picked up again. Dust curled at Victor's boots.
Somewhere in the crowd, Elysia's giggle danced past the wind.
Victor took one slow breath—
— She moved.
The blade came first, wide and arcing, humming through the air with a whistle that made students flinch from twenty meters away.
Victor stepped into it.
A clean sidestep. Shoulders low. The blade missed his face by less than an inch, cutting air like it was flesh.
Then he turned, boot twisting in the dirt—and kicked.
Himeko blocked with the flat of her weapon, her heels dragging only slightly as the impact pushed her backward. She grinned.
"Not bad," she said. "Again."
Victor obliged.
He shot forward, his coat trailing like a streak of ink. Legs spun in rapid footwork—one, two, three—feints, sweeps, a rising knee, a low drop pivot into a sweeping heel hook. Each motion was tight, mechanical, brutally efficient.
Himeko blocked every strike.
Sometimes by blade. Sometimes by elbow. Sometimes by pure, raw momentum.
The claymore may have been wooden, but in her hands it struck like iron. When she parried, it felt like a mountain shifting its weight.
Their clash became a rhythm. Blow for blow. Strike for strike.
The crowd had fallen silent.
Only the sound of wood cracking against cloth and bone echoed through the field.
_______________________________________________________
Inside Victor's head, the stillness broke.
She's fast.
Faster than I expected.
Heavy hits. But not just power. She knows how to shift it. Where to direct it. There's no wasted motion.
She's reading me.
He ducked a crushing downward slash and rolled left—barely avoiding a spinning follow-through that whipped his coat open.
Good.
She's good.
A grin almost formed.
Excitement. Or maybe—
No… it's not excitement.
It's something else.
Victor's leg shot upward, aiming for her ribs, but she turned into it—took the blow—and used the recoil to spin her sword in a tight half-circle, driving the pommel toward his head.
He blocked with his forearm, but the weight behind it numbed the whole limb.
She's not slowing down.
_______________________________________________________
From the sidelines, Mei gripped her sleeve tighter.
"He's… enjoying this?" she whispered.
"Not quite," Mobius said, narrowing her eyes.
_______________________________________________________
Himeko feinted left.
Victor moved right.
Too slow.
The claymore clipped his shoulder with a dull crack. Students gasped.
Victor's foot slid back in the dirt, his boots carving a long trench—but he stayed upright.
He looked up.
Still breathing evenly.
Still calm.
But something had shifted.
_______________________________________________________
From the crowd, Chris's eyes narrowed.
"…He's about to break."
_______________________________________________________
Back on the field—
Himeko charged.
She didn't yell. Didn't roar. She just moved—full speed, blade high, body a missile of experience and strength. She was grinning like a woman who finally got to test her edge against steel.
Victor's knees bent. His hands rose.
Preparing to block.
Come on, he thought. Let's—
Then it happened.
Mid-air, at the apex of her leap—Himeko brought the claymore down.
Hard.
And something in Victor—
Snapped.
His posture didn't change.
But his hands dropped.
Limply.
Eyes still locked on her.
But colder. Sharper. Like glass beneath snow.
And in that instant—
Everyone watching knew something had gone wrong.
_______________________________________________________
The blade came down.
Dust exploded.
A cloud swallowed the field.
The noise vanished.
And in the sudden silence, no one could see who had landed clean.
Who had fallen.
Only the dust answered.