Flipping the Script in the Team Test
No matter how you sliced it, the group exam was a shocker—but in the end, everyone's predictions hit the mark.
"Freshmen, listen up. We're starting the practical exam now: a team test. The scoring is simple. We'll rank the teams by their total scores, and the top ones advance."
"As for the format, it won't be teams against teams. It'll be a battle within each team. Every group has one close-range fighter assigned. The other three must work together to neutralize that one as effectively as possible. That's the main focus of the grading."
"Oh, and one more thing—just in case. Don't even think about slacking off. Try to fake it or cut corners to end it quick, and your whole team gets the lowest score. If you're confident in your acting, go ahead. But good luck fooling the professors."
Did everyone assume a group test meant team-vs-team? Most of the freshmen were scrambling, caught completely off guard. Not everyone, though. A few teams eyed their own members with knowing smirks, as if they'd seen this coming.
Among them, Seria glanced sideways at Irshu and Tarshu standing beside her.
"...Um."
"Irshu."
"Tarshu."
"Call me casually, Seria."
"Casually, Seria."
Hearing two identical girls speak in perfect unison made her head spin. Even after spending time face-to-face with them, Seria still couldn't tell them apart. She wasn't alone—other students would stammer and freeze until one of the twins spoke first, revealing her identity.
Yet somehow, Abel distinguished them effortlessly, without a hint of confusion.
"Is this really okay?"
"We're teammates."
"Teammates. Name."
"...Got it. Thanks, Irshu. Tarshu."
A subtle rivalry still lingered deep in Seria's heart toward the twins. She'd buried it for now, but it could resurface anytime. Even she had no certainty about it.
What irked her most was that Irshu and Tarshu seemed utterly unbothered. An opponent who didn't see you as a threat was more terrifying than any powerhouse, or so the saying went. Seria had worried they viewed her that way.
For starters, their backgrounds were incomparable. As princesses of the Winter Duchy, their status opened doors everywhere. She? The adopted daughter of a mere barony in a minor kingdom—ambiguous even at home, let alone abroad.
Her academy record was decent post-awakening, but nothing special beyond that. Sure, her new flame butterflies were a game-changer, but to most, she was just a curiosity, not prime recruitment material.
The twins, meanwhile, had earned professors' rave reviews multiple times for their seamless offense-defense synergy, like extensions of one another.
And they're way prettier than me...>
Ack. Gotta be objective here. That's just my insecurity talking. The four of them would laugh it off as nonsense, and Abel would probably tilt his head like, 'Nah, that's not true.'>
Anyway. They were grouped together now—and had to take on Abel, no less. No choice but to cooperate. But one slip-up, and she'd expose her shortcomings right in front of him. Tension was inevitable.
"...So, what's the plan from here?"
"We'll follow."
"Strategy's yours, Seria."
"Huh? Wait, why me all of a sudden?"
It threw her. Objectively, weren't the twins superior in skill? Commanding could boost personal scores later—why hand it over?
"Irshu excels at offense."
"Tarshu at defense."
"Seria sees everything."
"We lack Seria's butterflies."
Lately, Seria had focused less on raw power and more on her butterflies themselves—sharing her senses to wherever they fluttered. She couldn't sustain it long, but it let her scout and eavesdrop remotely. Mastering it had been brutal, thanks entirely to Abel's support. No grand guidance, just constant cheerleading by her side. To her, that was more motivating than any ironclad goal or sweet reward elsewhere.
"So. You're better than us."
"Thus. You lead."
For a split second, Seria felt oddly defeated. She still saw them as rivals, fretting every time Abel glanced their way. Why did they treat her so casually, without a trace of wariness?
"Can I ask one thing?"
She hadn't planned to. No need. But now, with doubts festering, true unity against Abel was impossible. She knew he wouldn't go down easy. Focus was key. Total commitment. Clearing this one question was essential.
"Do you two feel nothing toward me?"
"What do you mean?"
"What're you saying?"
"You know. I see you both as rivals. But you two... seem totally fine."
Like you just pity the poor girl.>
At her unspoken finish, Irshu and Tarshu exchanged glances, as if asking, You?> Both shook their heads—nope. Conclusion: unanimous.
"Not like that."
"Absolutely not."
"Then..."
"Seria's already a strong rival."
"Seria's already worthy."
Unexpected. They'd viewed her as competition all along? Her progress had been incremental lately—hardly a threat. Why the confident smiles?
"So, Seria. Have confidence."
"Know this. Our real enemy isn't each other."
Irshu and Tarshu said it, then eyed Abel ahead, prepping with steely resolve. He looked ready to fight tooth and nail.
Ah. Right. They're spot on. We're rivals, sure. But the one to topple is that guy. Bickering among ourselves means nothing if we can't beat him.>
They must've realized it first, prioritizing teamwork over friction.
"For now."
"Just for now."
Eternal harmony without rivalry? Unlikely. But their words cleared the fog in Seria's mind like mist burning off.
Ahh. Finally, it's clearing up. Now I see my allies beside me... and the mountain we must climb.>
"So. What's the play?"
"Everyone knows. Frontal assault's a no-go."
"Flanks and rear, then?"
"Realistically, you two pack the heaviest punch. Best to let one of you land the finisher."
Problem: Abel knew it too. What an intriguing test—forcing teammates who knew each other inside-out into a one-defends-three scenario. It had daunted her at first, but now excitement edged out nerves.
...Ah. Spending too much time with Abel's rubbing off on me.>
A smile slipped out unbidden. Likeness meant closeness, after all.
"Then Seria and I attack, Tarshu targets?"
"Or Seria and me, tell Irshu to strike?"
"Hmm..."
Seria's eyes narrowed. Something felt off. Defense for one, offense for three. Solid, but was that all? Even Abel had praised the Continental Academy higher than this.
"...Irshu. Tarshu. Quick question."
"Listening."
"Go ahead."
"Was there a rule saying the defender can't attack?"
Ray, the professor who'd handled power measurements before, was now grading Abel's group. A quick peek at other venues showed similar progress—variations in skill, but all one-vs-three, demanding clever improvisation among familiars. Tough for green freshmen low on combat experience, but valuable long-term: data on potential future rivals or foes.
Alright. Our academy's hero, student Abel. Awakening star Seria. And the Winter princesses. How will our underclassmen play this?>
Soon enough, Professor Ray found himself dumbfounded—and amazed.
"...Well, damn."
The exam kicked off with Abel ditching defense for offense. As if anticipating it, Seria, Irshu, and Tarshu snapped into guard. Unprecedented. No one foresaw the defender flipping the script.
But the rules never forbade it. Best defense? Offense. Sharpest strike? The counter.
Abel knew it. Seria knew it. Both prowled for openings.
Definitely a cut above.>
Professor Ray smirked, fiddling with his scoring tablet.