Exodus and Rival Spars
They said this was a romance fantasy world, and those who wanted to leave the Continental Academy had already stepped out the door. Those who chose to stay had been decided. And whether driven by vengeance, a sense of justice, or some other reason, the students who stepped up to fight the enemy instead of hiding in safety had been chosen too.
The number was larger than expected.
They had lost seniors, classmates, juniors. And professors. How could they sit idly by as ability users when the culprits behind the catastrophe were still nearby?
"Sorry, Abel. I wanted to join the fight too, but Mom and Dad opposed it, and the church wouldn't let me go."
"No, it's fine. If you'd insisted on going, I would've stopped you myself."
Lumine was a light manipulation ability user. Pure light control, at that. The church had no choice but to covet her. If she stayed with them, she'd be useful in any capacity. It was only natural they'd block her from leaving at all costs.
"But... Mom and Dad stopped you too?"
"Yeah. My abilities aren't really suited for combat anyway. Support, maybe, but not frontline."
"They didn't say a word to me."
It wasn't just Dad or Mom—it was both parents, and he wasn't even a runaway kid. Yet they hadn't said anything to him. When Abel pointed that out, Lumine looked at her little brother like he was the absurd one.
"Abel."
"Yes, sis?"
"If Mom and Dad had tried to stop you, would you have listened?"
"...Probably not?"
"Exactly. They know you'd charge ahead just like when you were little, no matter what. So they figured it was better to just say 'come back safe' and leave it at that."
Hm. Too spot-on. Can't argue with that.
Come to think of it, that's how it had always been since childhood. Everyone warned him it was dangerous, but he did it anyway. By his standards, it was doable. Honestly, passing up an angle where he could survive was a loss in too many ways.
"It won't be easy, Abel. I know you work harder than anyone and have endurance no one can match, but fights to the death with ability users are different."
"I've already fought that guy Jureung, so I have a feel for it."
"...Right. Now that I think about it, you've already gone that far. What am I even saying to the kid who survived against the strongest enemy?"
Lumine ruffled Abel's hair, then adopted a stern tone.
"Still, be careful. If you come back badly hurt again, I won't take your side anymore."
"Uh, well... Injuries happen. Can't you at least let broken bones slide? As long as my limbs are intact, healing takes care of the rest."
"That's why Mom and Dad worry about you one minute and stop the next, Abel..."
He clearly felt the pain, but his tone treated it like nothing. It probably wouldn't change in a lifetime. He was her little brother, admirable in so many ways, but moments like this made him utterly incomprehensible.
After parting with Lumine, Abel returned to his dorm for a final check. Fortunately, the Supremacists' indiscriminate attacks hadn't reached this far. Losing even a place to rest would've been a real hassle, even for him.
Three days remained until the counterattack. The Empire's intelligence agency was hunting them with everything they had. And when those three days passed, the furious ability users of the academy would pour out.
This time, origin, status, and nationality wouldn't matter. They'd only repay those who struck first with even greater vengeance.
The next day.
He headed to the training grounds as usual, only to find an unexpected scene awaiting him.
"Argh, come on. She's the same pyrokinesis type as me, so I should take her!"
"Foolish talk. Sure, the affinity's the same, but her style's nothing like yours, you arsonist. Look at Seria's techniques—they spread out everywhere, then converge, then spread again. It's actually a lot like our hydrokinesis."
What the hell is this? Abel turned to Kalligo for an explanation, but the prince had somehow joined the argument.
"Everyone, stop. Why don't I take Seria? Then neither of you has to fight, she gets to learn from me, and we all win."
"Your Highness, cut the nonsense."
"If Kalligo were a prince of our kingdom, I'd have challenged you to a duel by now."
What are these guys even doing?
As Abel blinked in confusion, someone approached from the side. Rel Carhan, son of the Republic's Prime Minister. He should've been right in the thick of it by position.
"They're arguing over who gets to train Seria's abilities, Abel."
"...And Rel has no interest in taking her on?"
"Our fighting styles are totally different. I'm actually more like you."
In short, he'd get zero say even if he jumped in, so he bailed. Or maybe he figured bonding with Abel was the smarter play. The others clearly thought something was going on between him and Seria anyway.
"I hear the Empire's going all-out tracking them down."
"That's my understanding. It'd be weirder if they could just waltz back to their hideout after that mess."
"Sounds like they've got some breathing room. Care to spar with me?"
"You, huh."
The old Abel would've accepted without a second thought. But things were different now. Like those three guys, Rel was part of this romance fantasy cast too.
Can't train Seria, so he wants to show off by beating me? Typical ropan male lead move.
Rel kept glancing at Seria, which only made it more suspicious. But refusing outright? This guy had body mutation powers—rare stuff. The chance to gain experience against it was tempting.
So, what now? Close my eyes and play along once? Or shut it down cold?
Going for it quenched his thirst for experience. Downside: those three bickering idiots might pull the same stunt on him. Refusing avoided hassle from the rest. But he'd miss out on mutator practice.
If this weren't damn ropan...
Abel smacked his lips in regret. He'd seen it enough times. To these guys, winning the heroine's attention mattered more than life itself—they'd risk death for it gladly. Immediately switching from "heading home" to "joining the fight" was proof enough.
...Wait. Why am I even agonizing over this?
Abel snapped his fingers.
Right. Just win. Gain the experience, and show them all they'd get from challenging him was a humiliating loss.
Look at them—glaring daggers, subtly undermining each other. A loss there was prime ammo. Even if Seria ignored it, among the guys, "I lost" or "you lost" was life-or-death serious. More than life, even.
"Sure. We've got time to kill, and staying in top form matters, so a solid spar helps."
"Thanks, Abel."
"But we'll go all-out on win or lose. No pulling punches or going easy."
No mercy planned—think hard now if you want out. As a politician's son, Rel got the message.
"...Fine."
But once again, that ropan male lead fate. Abel inwardly tsked as Rel glanced at Seria and called the match.
A little later.
Rel quietly conceded defeat and stepped back. The process, though, was anything but quiet.
At first, Rel pressed Abel hard. He swung his arms, hardened to steel-like toughness, overwhelming him. Physical enhancement covered the whole body. Body mutation targeted parts. Enhancement won on area, but mutation excelled in specific strength and utility.
Rel's arms shrugged off Abel's swordsmanship-enhanced strikes without a scratch. Two customizable shields-cum-bludgeons.
But combat sense and instincts favored Abel. He quickly spotted the tradeoff: arms strong, rest vulnerable.
Targeting legs slyly, Abel seized the decisive moment—grabbed Rel and slammed him into the ground with monstrous strength.
"Too predictable, Rel. Enemies won't be that nice."
"Urgh..."
Rel, faceplanted, felt wronged. He wasn't inexperienced. He'd fought Supremacists multiple times—they'd targeted his legs too, and he'd handled it fine. He expected the same here. Abel didn't feel overwhelmingly stronger.
One clear difference, though.
Does that guy have no fear of injury or pain?
Flesh for bone? Easy to say, hell to do. Humans can't ignore pain—bodies flinch reflexively once burned. Not cowardice, just defensive instinct.
This guy denied it head-on. Whatever, he just barreled through.