The After-Party (1)
"Uncle... Sunbae won, didn't he? Right?"
"Of course he did! That's a textbook knockout!"
"Sunbae... He really did it...!"
"Hahaha! I had a feeling he'd stir up trouble sooner or later, but to pull off something this massive?"
Watching Junon's triumph unfold, Renias looked happier than she had ever been in her life. Jake, standing right beside her, beamed with the exact same pride. After all, the boy down in the arena had once been his student.
Good grief... How is that even possible?
Who knew they had a monster like that tucked away?
It was an upset of historic proportions. Demian, who had battered every contender in the individual matches to seize the championship, had suffered a crushing defeat. And to whom? To a man who had forfeited every single contest except his very first, a man whom no one was even sure would bother stepping onto the stage.
The meager betting slips that spectators had tossed around as passing amusement suddenly yielded staggering dividends, returning monstrous windfalls to the few who had dared to wager on him. To the spectators filling the stands and the competitors waiting in the wings, no word other than upset could begin to describe what had just transpired.
Not that the crowd was entirely free of doubters. A murmuring minority argued that Lana, Shirakh's vanguard, had simply drained most of Demian's stamina before the duel began.
Yet even that petty rationalization was instantly pulverized. Following their top seed Demian, Mirpark's second seed Miki and third seed Leon were thrown into the ring—and both were summarily wiped out. Junon's signature style had already carved itself into the arena's memory: a relentless blend of close-quarters hand-to-hand combat and enigmatic strikes, quietly gnawing away at his opponents until their every response was sealed tight, methodically locking down victory.
What followed surprised no one. Left with no other recourse, Mirpark played their educator ticket to field a veteran sorcerer, but the outcome remained unchanged. Decades of unembellished, battle-hardened training and razor-sharp, zero-waste movements reduced the opposing spellcaster to nothing more than a glorified straw scarecrow. Junon had stepped out as Shirakh's second seed and single-handedly wiped out Mirpark's entire roster.
The stadium erupted. A shiver ran down the spectators' spines as they bore witness to the arrival of a true master. Whenever an opponent backed away to establish distance, he erased the gap with sheer technique. Whenever close-range spells threatened to overpower him, he turned the physical superiority of martial arts into a decisive lever, sabotaging their casting tempos and jamming their trajectories before the spells could even form.
He dismantled their magic with insulting ease, transcending the supposed vulnerabilities of a frontline fighter through sheer mechanical mastery and tactical depth. It was breathtaking. Beyond the rigid limitations of his role, he embodied the absolute ideal of what a vanguard should be.
A solitary man had dismantled five elite combatants from the tournament's favorite contender. In the entire arena, there was no longer a single soul who did not know the name Junon.
"In the Ace Match between Mirpark and Shirakh, victory goes to Shirakh!"
A deafening cheer tore through the rafters.
Riding high on that glorious first triumph, Shirakh gathered their focus for the final stretch. And what happened next defied all expectations. Though their showing on the first day's individual matches had been modest at best, Shirakh carried an entirely transformed aura on day two, as though a sleeping beast within them had roared to life.
On paper, their raw firepower couldn't compare to the other factions. Teams boasting lavish backings and rigorous year-round training ought to have shoved them aside effortlessly. Yet the quality of Shirakh's experience was anything but humble. They had braved life-and-death crucibles that the pampered students of other factions had never tasted, forging a bond so tight that the resulting synergy blew past everyone's projected ceilings. What should have been a rout became a masterclass in overcoming power disparities through shared hardship and unshakable unity.
"Phenomenal work, everyone!"
Rallying behind Aris, the Shirakh combatants seized a decisive victory in the tournament's final event, the team battle. With that, Shirakh had amassed the highest tally of victory points across all of the day's disciplines.
When the final tallies flickered onto the main display, jaws dropped across the pavilion.
"W-What is going on with the leaderboard?"
"Wait... I rubbed my eyes three times and it didn't change. Is this for real?"
Shirakh stood alone at the very top of the overall standings. Scheat, whose formidable strength had survived recent perils; Algenib, who had clung stubbornly to second place while waiting to usurp the throne; and Mirpark, whose immense aristocratic capital had long anchored them firmly at the pinnacle—all of them yielded their crowns before Shirakh's unexpected resurgence. The Faction War, paused for two weeks before resuming, had sprinted to its grand conclusion across two dizzying days. In every sense of the word, this tournament would go down as the Year of Anomalies.
As the dust settled, Professor Muniherr stepped up onto the ceremonial podium for the closing ceremony.
"First and foremost, you all deserve praise for your efforts. Having overseen Revrant rather than Hardia this term, I have witnessed countless twists, turns, and unforeseen wonders." Following customary pleasantries, he offered congratulations to the victors and encouraging nods to the defeated. "However, keep in mind that victory and defeat do not dictate everything. Whether you poured your whole heart into these contests, or walked away harboring regret over the inadequacies you failed to overcome—you yourselves must understand that best."
He offered them stern, fatherly counsel, urging them to etch whatever they had learned over the past fortnight deep into their souls. Just as he observed, each student carried away something profound from the crucible.
"Yet some truths cannot be discovered alone. To that end, I have prepared something."
Whispers rippled through the ranks as students exchanged puzzled glances. As the barrier surrounding the arena dissolved amidst rhythmic applause, Muniherr revealed his grand finale.
"Realize the rest out there. That is all."
The moment the students caught sight of the vouchers—complete with fully mobilized escorts and uniformed guides awaiting them—the stadium shook with jubilant roars. Exclusive passes to a world-renowned beach resort, all expenses paid. The prize awaiting the bruised, exhausted contenders of the Faction War was an extravagant after-party retreat.
Inside a high-end boutique, a young noblewoman parted the dressing room curtains and stepped out with trembling, hesitant steps. Her lips quivered as though she had a thousand protests to air, but the spectators in the parlor had no intention of letting her speak.
"Oh, my goodness! Milady, you look utterly breathtaking!"
"Good heavens. It suits you so wonderfully!"
"You could march straight out to the seashore like that, and it would be perfection."
"Though I do foresee one tiny complication. The second you step foot onto the sand, every eye on the coast will be glued to you."
"Oh, surely that hardly counts as a problem, ho-ho!"
"Indeed, being blessed with beauty is no sin. And having a figure like that is certainly nothing to apologize for!"
Both her personal maid and the boutique's proprietress burst into breathless chorus. The subject of their praise, however, looked ready to melt into the floorboards. Shivering with mortification, Renias instinctively crossed her arms, desperately trying to shield her exposed curves.
"H-How could I possibly wear this...?! Maria, you swore this place had tasteful selections...!"
Feeling thoroughly betrayed, Renias collapsed into a humiliated crouch. But Maria was far too seasoned to let her slip away so easily.
"Come now, Milady! You look gorgeous, so why are you hiding? Up on your feet this instant!"
"You're a liar! This isn't just pretty, it's—it's practically parading my bare shoulders, my chest, and my entire waist out in the open!"
Maria merely shrugged with breezy unconcern. "What of it? It's tailor-made for a lady blessed with curves in all the right places."
"Urrrgh...! Madam Proprietress, please say something! This isn't really swimwear, is it? Tell me there's been some kind of terrible mistake!"
Scrambling for an ally, Renias swiveled toward the shopkeeper. Unfortunately for her, the opposition stood completely united.
"Well, I suppose Maria is to blame after all."
"You see, Maria?! How could anyone wear—"
"She is guilty of keeping such a radiant beauty hidden from me until now," the shopkeeper declared, her eyes gleaming with artistic fervor. "If she had only brought Lady Renias to my parlor sooner, I could have custom-crafted pieces far more daring than a simple bikini...!"
"...Excuse me?"
The proprietress had completely lost her composure. The entire room had gone mad. Renias had agreed to try it on only because they insisted, but no matter how generously she looked at the garment, it bore zero resemblance to functional swimwear.
Leaving aside how dangerously deep the neckline dips, practically my entire torso is bare! How is this swimwear?!
Calling it lingerie felt far more accurate. Even as lingerie, the sheer degree of brazen exposure would make any proper maiden hesitate to wear it behind closed doors. In short, Renias's honest appraisal was that the piece was far too scandalous to ever see the light of day.
"S-Something else, please! Anything that covers as much skin as humanly possible!"
"What?! Heavens, Milady!"
"This piece is perfection! Though a bespoke design would be even more magnificent, this off-the-rack gem will do splendidly for now...!"
"I can't... I just can't! It feels like everyone can see right through me, and it's far too embarrassing!"
Confronted by Renias's vehement refusal, the two conspirators dropped all pretense.
"Our young lady can be quite stubborn, you know. We'll simply have to make sure she leaves dressed like that."
"Is that so? Then I suppose we have no choice but to ensure she keeps it on."
"Madam Proprietress...?!"
Before Renias could process the shift, the two women were speaking to each other like old confederates. The ambush had been planned from the very beginning—all to force Renias into this scandalous attire.
"Oh dear, my hand slipped!"
"Splendid catch~. Unless you purchase that swimsuit, Milady, you won't be getting your original garments back."
With practiced ease, Maria whisked Renias's street clothes into the shopkeeper's waiting arms. Renias gasped in horror and lunged forward to retrieve them, only for Maria to deftly block her path. Renias couldn't very well use physical force against the maid who had looked after her since childhood. And the boutique owner was just as culpable!
"T-This is extortion!"
"Extortion? Whatever do you mean, Milady? You're the one currently wearing the merchandise without paying."
"As a humble merchant, my heart aches," the proprietress chimed in with theatrical sorrow. "To think someone would walk off with my wares... Sob. Though, of course, if you intend to wear it right out the door, you have my fullest blessing!"
Their banter flowed with terrifying harmony. The more Renias watched them, the clearer it became that they weren't mere business acquaintances; they were thick as thieves, like lifelong friends sharing an inside joke.
I've been set up...!
The realization dawned far too late. Flashing sinister smiles, the maid and the merchant closed in on the cornered young lady like wolves circling a petrified rabbit.
"Shall you wear it out?"
"Or would you prefer to settle the bill before wearing it out?"
"Uuuuugh..."
Renias wanted nothing more than to scream in refusal, but with her clothes held hostage, she had no choice but to swallow her tears and purchase the skimpy swimsuit.
Teeth ground relentlessly against fingernails.
Biting obsessively at her raw, gnawed thumbnail, Erika clamped down just a fraction too hard. The tooth broke skin, and a crimson bead of blood welled to the surface.
"Ah."
A sharp jolt of pain pulled a faint wince from her lips. Throughout the entirety of the Faction War, a tempest of fury had been churning inside her chest.
I couldn't care less about the tournament results. But this... this is unacceptable!
Everything had gone wrong—catastrophically wrong. Aris commanding the spotlight was only natural, but Junon basking in that kind of adoration was a reality Erika refused to accept. Driven by that seething frustration, she hurried along the secluded path once more, intent on meeting the client she had covertly hired.
"Where are you going?"
A figure with a crimson ponytail stepped out from the shadows, barring her way.
"M-Michel...? Why are you..."
"Why? Am I not allowed to be here?"
"...It's not that, but..."
No. Deep within her chest, Erika's conscience screamed that Michel had no business being here right now.
"You know anyone looking at you can tell you're flustered, right? That face doesn't look like someone who thinks 'it's not that,' Erika."
Erika's jaw tightened. With Michel standing directly in her path, pursuing her inquiries with the headmaster was out of the question.
"What is this really about? What are you hiding?"
"It's nothing you need to meddle in. I was just out taking a stroll, that's all."
"Erika!"
Michel raised her voice, urging her comrade to come clean, but Erika reacted like a cornered thief, lashing out with sharp irritation.
"Why are you shouting at me?! Did I commit some heinous crime?"
"..."
"I have no desire to fight with you, so I'm leaving. I'll just make sure never to stroll through this path again, alright?"
Spinning on her heel, Erika stormed back the way she had come. Michel did not reach out to stop her. Though questions burned in her throat, she did not give chase. She simply stood beneath the dim lamplight, her eyes tracking Erika's retreating silhouette until the girl's shadow melted entirely into the darkness.
"...What do you think?"
The moment Michel murmured the question into the quiet alley, another presence stepped forward from the shadows beside her. Shoulder-length brown hair caught the golden amber of the streetlamp.
"Her stride, her tempo—everything was off."
"Which means..."
"The exact reaction of someone caught red-handed trying to hide something," Senia remarked, having observed the exchange from start to finish. "Just as you suspected, Michel, it seems Erika really is scheming something behind our backs."
Senia folded her arms, her brow furrowing slightly.
"Judging by her route, she was heading straight toward Mirpark's quarters, though I can't fathom why. How was she acting when you were beside her earlier today?"
"Hmm. I remember she abruptly slipped away in the middle of the match, but after that, I'm not entirely sure..."
"Even while the tournament was underway. Was there anything out of the ordinary?"
At the mention of the arena, Michel searched her memories. During the bouts, Erika's gaze had remained locked onto a single figure with unnerving intensity.
"I can't say for certain... but it felt like she was glaring holes right through Junon."