The Inevitable Rematch
Ludenberg Lavante stared at the quarterfinal bracket that had been finalized yesterday after Nadan Tes and Gawin Greta's defeat at the hands of Eden Asta and Mion Altis. Amid the familiar names, his eyes landed on the opponent he'd face the day after tomorrow.
Eden Asta. Mion Altis.
What a tenacious evil bond.
The two who had plunged him into a swamp of distrust. From the early days at Solemnute Adem, he'd shattered their schemes multiple times and humiliated them. Yet they never gave up easily, leading to this rematch.
Of course, thanks to their actions five years ago, Ludenberg had gritted his teeth and trained relentlessly to reach this point. But even without their tricks, he would have gotten here eventually. So he felt no gratitude toward them.
On the contrary, the fact that he'd nearly lost his closest friend still made his blood boil.
He reined in his emotions. No need for complicated feelings. When they met, he'd crush them. Just as he'd vowed yesterday, he'd block every glorious path laid before Eden and Mion.
As he thought that, Ludenberg felt a hand gently grasp his arm.
"Lots of exciting matches ahead."
It was Ashytara Solenute.
"Yeah."
Her gaze didn't linger only on Eden and Mion. It swept over the other quarterfinalists as well.
"Eve Arcadia. Personally, I'd love to face her."
"...Yeah?"
"Yeah. Time to make her pay for badmouthing our country. You'll help, right?"
"Obviously."
"Thanks."
"By the way, looking at the bracket, Eve Arcadia's match seems to be before ours... Good to scout it out."
"That Meia woman's strong."
"Yeah."
"But you're stronger, Lud. I can gauge Meia's level, but not yours."
"Not that much."
"I already know everything. No use lying."
She already knew he was pulling ahead, but a hint of sulkiness crept into Ashytara's expression anyway.
"You'll get strong soon too."
"I'd rather hear 'work harder' than 'you'll get strong quick.'"
"Then work harder. No—let's train together. I'll help."
Ludenberg actively embraced her request. No, he gave more than she'd hoped for. Knowing that, Ashytara smiled brightly.
"Feels just like old times."
"Like old times?"
"Yeah. Like when I flopped down refusing to train, and you said something similar."
"...You still remember that?"
"Yeah. Unforgettable memory. That's why it's a treasure."
"Treasure... Yeah, for me too. I smiled a lot back then."
"You smile great now too."
"Do I? Feels like my emotions have dulled a bit."
"I like that."
"What? Why?"
"Secret!"
"...?"
Ludenberg looked at her quizzically.
Because your dulled emotions make you oblivious to other girls showing interest...
In short, possessiveness. Ludenberg, ever dense, didn't get it, but lately Ashytara had been glancing around more. Probably because he'd started smiling more despite his obliviousness. Naturally, the friendly gazes from those around him had increased too.
Warding off each one was exhausting. She trusted he wouldn't glance back, but she wasn't magnanimous enough to tolerate eyes coveting what was hers.
Anyway, having checked the bracket, the two headed to the training grounds as always, on good terms. Even if they could beat Eden and Mion, minimal preparation was essential.
The first quarterfinal friendly match drew everyone's attention.
While all matches garnered interest, some inevitably pulled more focus. A battle between Abaran's saintess and her guard knight versus Istaltin's noble royals—noble statuses alone sparked endless topics.
As expected, even before entering the arena, the crowd buzzed with anticipation.
In the waiting room, Eve asked Meia Andem about her condition.
"Meia, how are you feeling?"
"Perfect."
"Good. Let's crush those Istaltin siblings easily."
"Understood."
Meia raised her shield in one hand and morningstar in the other. If fists came, she'd pulverize them. Friendlies allowed some brutality anyway.
She'd memorized the Star Whisper movements of the Istaltin siblings. Her goal: never miss them, ensure Eve's victory.
Eve shared the same aim. She wouldn't let climbers slither toward her.
Denetim Setta and Tradiaan Setta. Their meeting had been memorable, etched clearly in Eve's mind despite few such impressions.
"Reminds me of that summit. The official talks between Istaltin and Abaran."
"..."
Meia stayed silent. She couldn't interject in Eve's reminiscence.
"Fun, right? Seeing those twisted siblings' faces. Don't you think?"
Silence didn't last. Meia had to respond.
"...You're mischievous, Saintess."
"Calling it mischief makes you no saint either."
"Serving at your side shaped me."
"Oh? Throwing it back like that. Anyway, we could have gotten along, but I refused."
Eve recalled the past. Back then, she'd buzzed with excitement heading to Istaltin, imagining the spotlight.
Istaltin welcomed the foreign saintess but didn't shower her with attention. Their minds wandered to documents. Always documents.
A nation obsessed with old book smells, falling ill without devouring every scribble. That was Eve's Istaltin.
Said to be founded by a famed Solemnute hero who left, it mirrored her hobbies perfectly.
Eve found it boring. The royals, forever pushing books, disappointed her thrill-seeking self. She vented fully.
She'd torn apart the worn book Tradiaan offered as "fun," ripping it with both hands.
To Istaltin folk who revered books as sacred, mishandling them was taboo. Tradiaan raged naturally.
It didn't stop there. He began hating her outright. Books were dearer than life to them.
Recommending one was their elegant way of saying "be friends." Eve rejected it.
No wonder Denetim and Tradiaan deemed her the worst. Especially since it was Tradiaan's first book—his treasure—brutally shredded.
Eve had thrilled at his crumpling face. She'd seized his focus. His hate-filled glare filled a void.
For twisted Eve, craving warped attention, it was supreme praise.
Snapping from reverie, Meia chided her.
"That was too much. Istaltin even lodged a formal protest."
"But nothing came of it, right?"
"True, but maintaining bad blood with foreign royals..."
"So what? They wouldn't dare invade Abaran."
"Still, you never know about the future."
"You know Abaran isn't so weak it needs Istaltin's help."
"...True."
"Then it's fine. Got it?"
"Yes, Saintess."
Meia wore a complicated expression. Then, their call came.
"They're summoning us. Time to go. Let's move, Meia."
"Yes!"
Denetim and Tradiaan emerged into the arena, tense, eyeing Eve and Meia opposite. The pair gazed back leisurely.
Their smirks boiled Denetim's blood, but Tradiaan swallowed his fury.
"Long time."
"Sure is."
Denetim's tone was feral, unlike her usual bright laugh or clear voice. Eve's smile deepened.
She felt deep satisfaction each time they raged.
Yes. Thrilling.
Inducing negativity was fun, but facing it directly was more.
"Still sore about that paper scrap I tore?"
"Watch your mouth. Think you'd laugh if I shredded your holy texts?"
"Oh? Absolutely."
"...What?"
"Holy texts are mere strings of words to me—worthless. All divine words are memorized here." She tapped her head. "Such hypotheticals don't faze me."
"Are you really a saintess...?"
"Why else would they call me one? I met Arcada herself."
"...Tch."
Denetim gritted as the referee hastily started the match. Overheating emotions would discomfort the crowd.
Eve inwardly grumbled but masked it with a smile.
Want to toy more, but save it for post-match fun.
"Meia."
"Yes."
"Defend. I'll support."
"As you command."
Meia assumed an ironclad stance. Above her, Denetim and Tradiaan's divine power-infused fists slammed down.