Crossing the Line
The head referee sprinted into the arena.
Down on the field, the Ace Match between the factions of Mirpark and Shirakh was in full swing. Watching the sudden disruption from the elevated spectator box, Muniherr stroked his chin, murmuring under his breath.
"Hmm... The referee is intervening?"
Under ordinary circumstances, such a thing was practically unheard of. Unless an outright accident occurred during a duel, the chief official had no reason to halt the proceedings and storm the ring. In other words, something grave had just unfolded right in the middle of the grounds.
"Professor Muniherr?" an assistant asked, glancing over.
"I shall head down myself."
"Uh... In person, sir? Surely the head referee and the two assistant judges can handle—"
"Sitting up here doing nothing but scribbling down marks is growing dreadfully dull anyway. Keep a detailed record in my stead while I am gone."
"Understood, sir. Safe travels."
In dueling events, major incidents usually stemmed from one of two causes.
The first was external interference capable of altering the outcome inside the ring. While no such incidents had been uncovered during this Faction War, it had once been fairly common in the past, back when corruption and bribery ran rampant throughout the institution. But to Muniherr's discerning eye, this did not appear to be an act of covert sabotage. Had an outside array or illegal artifact been detected, the referee would not have rushed in quite so urgently. That left only the second possibility.
It wouldn't be unprecedented. Such foolishness happened all the time back in the Empire.
Employing every ounce of strategy, discipline, and technique to seize victory—that was the simple, pristine premise of a duel. Yet within high-stakes tournaments like the Faction War, the raw hunger for glory tended to overshadow everything else. Consequently, combatants frequently let their tempers get the better of them. Given that these students were young and still tethered to adolescent pride, it was hardly a shock when emotion overwhelmed reason. Even so, Muniherr had no intention of overlooking such behavior.
It seems they have forgotten that this is an academic evaluation.
Winning and losing were not the sole criteria of this tournament. Losing sight of one's discipline and the underlying purpose of the duel would only result in severe point deductions.
"Hm?"
However, the moment Muniherr reached the arena floor, he sensed that something was fundamentally off.
I expected an orderly situation report the moment I set foot on the sand.
Instead, utter disarray met his gaze.
"You there. Report."
"Ah... Professor Muniherr!"
"I saw from above that an issue arose," Muniherr said crisply. "What in the world is happening here?"
"Well, you see..."
Looking thoroughly distressed, the assistant referee cast an uneasy sideways glance at the unresolved confrontation in the center of the ring. Deciding that this exceeded his authority, he hurried over to the professor and whispered a hasty explanation of the situation.
"Hah." A sharp, incredulous breath escaped Muniherr's lips. "Understood. I shall mediate this matter personally."
"...Yes, sir. We leave it in your hands."
Up in the stands, the spectators buzzed with confused murmurs. From their distant seats, it was impossible to fathom why the duel had ground to a sudden halt. The only undeniable fact was that someone had barged into the Ace Match uninvited—and that intruder hailed from the Shirakh faction.
What on earth are you thinking, Junon?
There was no passing judgment until he heard both sides. Standing on the blood-flecked sand were Lana, Demian, the medic who had rushed to the scene, and Junon himself.
"Head referee," Muniherr addressed.
"Ah, Professor Muniherr."
"What is the medic's diagnosis?"
"Cadet Lana succumbed to Mana Exhaustion just as she suffered physical trauma. She is currently unconscious."
Unconscious. Considering the reckless quantity of mana she had channeled, collapsing was the natural physiological consequence. Unfortunately, her unconscious state meant she could not offer testimony to justify Junon's unauthorized intrusion.
"I shall render the ruling. Escort Miss Lana from the field and see that she receives proper care."
"Right away, sir."
After a measured breath, Muniherr looked between the two young men who still stood glaring at one another, their postures taut with unresolved violence. He addressed Junon first.
"I find it exceedingly difficult to believe, but did you somehow forget the rules governing the Ace Match?"
"No, Professor." Junon's answer came without a second's hesitation.
Just as Muniherr expected. A mind as sharp and pragmatic as Junon's would never fail to memorize tournament protocol.
"Then why did you break onto the field?"
The rules of the Ace Match dictated a strict sequence of one-on-one battles: the victor remained on the field while the defeated combatant was eliminated, continuing until one faction had routed all five opposing members. Under such regulations, interference by an off-field teammate was categorically forbidden.
"Because that bastard crossed the line." Junon extended an index finger, pointing straight at Demian's sneering face.
"Crossed the line?"
"The outcome was decided the instant Lana's final strike failed to connect. But when she moved to declare her surrender, he actively prevented her."
"Hmm..."
If true, Demian would face severe disciplinary sanctions.
Yet no one mentioned such a detail to me.
The referees were tasked with watching the perimeter for illegal spellcraft and external tampering; none of them had been close enough to parse microscopic movements in the heat of a clash. Muniherr himself had been watching from high above, too far away to catch the subtle mechanics of a grapple.
And there wouldn't have been any nearby witnesses on the sand.
Demian had indeed gripped Lana's wrist while swinging his Magic Armament, but whether that arm had been raised in legitimate surrender was notoriously difficult to adjudicate in the chaos of battle.
"I am aware that Miss Lana made an upward motion with her left arm," Muniherr said, shifting his piercing gaze. "Now then, Demian. I ask you: is there truth to this claim?"
Demian merely shrugged with exaggerated innocence. "Good grief, Professor. What kind of absurd nonsense is that? I was just fighting to make sure I secured a clean victory, that's all."
"Your tone is insolent," Muniherr warned coldly. "Wipe that arrogant smirk off your face and answer me properly."
Chastised by the sharp reprimand, Demian clicked his tongue in petty annoyance before offering a sullen defense. "She suddenly threw her hand up right in front of me. For all I knew, she was getting ready to cast another spell, so I took precautions and grabbed it."
"The decisive moment had already passed. What reason could you possibly have had to unleash an attack of that magnitude?"
"How am I supposed to know what was going through her head in the middle of a fight? More importantly, shouldn't you be punishing that bastard over there for breaking the rules and charging into my match?"
Even under Muniherr's icy glare, Demian showed no inclination to mend his crooked manner of speech. Yet, obnoxious as the boy was, reaching an immediate verdict remained thorny. The missing piece of the puzzle rested entirely with Lana.
"The medic reports that it is merely light dizziness and exhaustion, and that she should regain consciousness shortly. Therefore, I shall suspend this ruling until Miss Lana awakens to give her account."
Leaving those instructions behind, Muniherr turned and stepped back off the field.
Left standing alone on the bloodstained dirt, the two youths continued to lock eyes. Demian leaned in, his lips curling into a foul sneer as he whispered, "Couldn't even muster the guts to enter the ring yourself, and now you come running because your little lapdog got battered? Heh!"
"...Take that back right now."
"Oh, really? Why should I? If you've got a problem with it, why don't you take a swing? Not that it'd change anything. These days, squashing a nobody like you is no harder than stepping on an ant." Demian reached out and tapped Junon's shoulder twice with an insulting thud. "A pathetic loser steeped in an inferiority complex threw everything she had at me, and look—barely a scratch on my uniform. I guess when a piece of trash teaches a girl, she just turns into another piece of trash, huh?"
"You son of a..."
"Whoa, easy there! Throw a punch now and you're disqualified on the spot. No need to glare like that, though. You're up next anyway, so sit tight and wait your turn like a good little boy. Heheh!"
Flashing a vile, mocking grin, Demian sauntered off toward his side of the arena.
"Phew."
Junon let out a long, scorching breath, expelling the suffocating heat rising from his chest. Staring silently at the back of Demian's retreating head, he muttered in a voice like grinding stones, "I was trying to stay out of this. But you just wouldn't leave well enough alone."
Following Professor Muniherr's intervention, the match was temporarily put on hold. But the official pause mattered very little to Junon right now.
"Teacher Junon! What on earth happened out there?" Ethan came running up, breathless with anxiety.
"Ethan. Run an errand for me."
"Huh? An errand?" Taken aback by the sudden command, Ethan blinked in bewilderment.
"Take this to Lana."
"Whaaat?! H-Hold on a second! Teacher Junon!"
Ignoring Ethan's panicked shouts, Junon marched past without glancing back, heading straight for the Shirakh faction's waiting room.
Rattle.
The instant the sliding door opened, dozens of eyes snapped toward him. Junon couldn't care less what they were thinking, nor did he give a damn about whatever rumors were flying around.
"Give me the second seed for the Ace Match."
"...What?"
"The second seed? All of a sudden, what are you..."
The room dissolved into immediate bedlam. Ever since yesterday, Junon had made it abundantly clear that he had zero interest in the individual duels or the Faction War as a whole, telling everyone to handle things themselves. Yet here he was, suddenly barging into the room and demanding the critical second seed of the premier team event. The sheer whiplash of his attitude left the Shirakh students utterly dumbfounded.
"I'm against this!"
"Me too!"
Voices of vehement protest flared up from every corner.
"There are only five slots in the Ace Match, and only one educator is allowed to participate! It's the most vital position on the roster!"
"The only person qualified to take that mantle for us is Teacher Aris! Why should we hand over such a crucial seed to someone like you?"
The wall of resistance grew taller by the second.
"Teacher Aris is an active member of Team Tembris! How could you possibly think you can replace her?"
"You haven't shown us a single scrap of your combat ability! Isn't that right, everyone? Look at them—none of us have ever seen you fight!"
"If you go out there and get humiliated, our morale will completely tank... and besides..."
"Didn't he snap at the students who went up to the Irov Basin earlier, too?"
A barrage of grievances and doubts swept the room. No matter how one looked at it, Junon's reputation among the Shirakh students could not hold a candle to Aris's glowing prestige. But before the protests could spiral further, the tide shifted with a single sentence.
"Let's do that."
"What?! Teacher Aris!"
"Miss Aris...?"
"Why would you say that all of a sudden!"
It was Aris herself who had spoken up, putting the full weight of her authority behind Junon's demand. Without an ounce of hesitation, she retrieved the official badge designating the second seed and pressed it into his hand.
"Go on," she said softly. "I'll convince the students."
"...Are you sure about this?" Junon asked, searching her eyes.
"I'm sure. Truly."
"..."
Taking the token from her palm, Junon turned on his heel and strode out of the waiting room.
I... I actually managed to talk to him...!
For Aris, who still harbored deep, gnawing guilt and could barely look Junon in the face, even that brief exchange had sent her heart hammering violently against her ribs.
Ah... right.
She snapped back to reality. A lingering problem remained behind her. Naturally, every student left in the room was staring at her with wide, utterly uncomprehending expressions. Cornered by their bewildered gazes, Aris cleared her throat and offered a weak defense.
"To be entirely honest... I'm not feeling particularly well today."
"Your... condition?"
"Wait, you were bursting with energy just this morning!"
"W-Was I? Ahem. Did I really say that?"
"This isn't the time to be clearing your throat...!"
Anyone with eyes could tell her excuse was flimsy at best. Yet despite their skepticism, there was one truth she knew with absolute, unshakable certainty.
"Junon might just go out there and defeat every single one of them."
"...Pardon?"
"I mean it."
Because he is far stronger than I could ever hope to be.
Whispering that conviction in the quiet sanctuary of her heart, Aris let every shred of anxiety regarding the Ace Match melt away.
—Look, it's Professor Muniherr.
—Looks like the duel is finally resuming!
Hearing the excited murmurs rippling through the stands, Erika leaned forward, focusing all her attention on the arena below.
"Cadet Lana has formally conceded her defeat, and Cadet Demian is declared the victor of the first bout," Muniherr's booming voice rang out across the grounds via amplification magic. "Cadet Junon shall enter the ring as the second seed representing the Shirakh faction. That is all."
Junon was entering as Shirakh's second seed.
It was a strange, unexpected ruling, but Erika couldn't have cared less about the technicalities. On the contrary, she had to suppress a triumphant smirk threatening to split her face. The moment when Junon's pathetic, fraudulent reality was laid bare for the entire world to see had arrived at last. What could she possibly complain about?
I was certain Aris would step up. What an unexpected stroke of luck!
If Demian crushed him here, she wouldn't even need to bother inflating rumors behind the scenes. Everyone would witness Junon groveling in humiliating defeat with their own two eyes.
Tweet—!
The shrill whistle cut through the air, signaling the resumption of the duel.
The outcome is already set in stone.
Erika leaned back, eagerly anticipating the sight of Junon being battered into a laughingstock. But then...
—W-Whoa... Did you catch that? That movement just now...
—He dodged that heavy swing using nothing but pure footwork...?!
In a matter of mere seconds, the smug smile on Erika's face froze solid.
What?
—Is that really the same guy from earlier? What's going on?
—He's not even casting magic, is he? Tell me I'm not crazy!
What is this? What the hell is happening down there?!
The Mirpark headmaster had bragged incessantly that a single combatant would be more than enough to sweep the entire Ace Match. And the trump card he had boasted about with such supreme confidence was none other than Demian. Demian hadn't claimed the championship in the individual duels by sheer luck; every opponent who had stood before his overwhelming might had been forced to their knees.
Yet right now, that very same Demian was being relentlessly, mercilessly driven into a corner.
And his assailant was none other than Junon.
Just what the hell is going on?!
Erika's fists clenched so violently that her fingernails bit deep into her palms, carving white, bloodless crescents into her flesh.