Today Is the Day the Power Outage Happens
[Training Facility]
[Arena #3]
A dense crowd packed the spectator stands of the sparring arena. Apprentice knight maidens from Group A showed off their legs in dolphin shorts, while their Group B counterparts stood wrapped in sleek pantyhose. It was the very first clash between the two factions, who until now had observed an unspoken truce, warily eyeing one another without crossing the line.
“Did Orknodi really tell you not to call us?”
“Yeah. She was crystal clear about it.”
“That little shrimp…” Son Ocheon growled, glaring fiercely toward the ring. “Didn’t want us to watch her beat an Imperial noble to a pulp, huh?”
“…Isn’t it the other way around?” Isabelle asked, staring at him in disbelief. “Her opponent is an Imperial noble who has mastered both the Mana Cultivation Technique and the Mana Body Refining Method. On top of that, it’s Lotto—the Martial Noble Daughter herself, who took private martial arts tutoring from real pugilists.”
Unlike the bewildered Isabelle, Giselle sided with Son Ocheon’s assessment.
“I suppose you wouldn't know, Miss Isabelle. Lady Orknodi is far stronger than any of us could imagine. She earned a Platinum Ticket by dueling a high-ranking examiner in pure swordsmanship.”
“A Platinum Ticket?”
“It allows the bearer to automatically advance to the next stage of the entrance exam even if they fail once. And hers was a double-digit ticket, no less.”
“Admissions are already over, so what does that matter now? Nobody ever mentioned ticket numbers during the entrance exams anyway.”
Giselle had received a triple-digit Platinum Ticket from the high examiner, Mihael. Because of that, he had developed a keen interest in the numbering system and spent considerable effort digging for information from the instructors until he finally uncovered the truth.
“There are exactly 9,999 Platinum Tickets in existence, numbered 1 through 9999.”
“There are only two thousand incoming freshmen, and there are nearly ten thousand tickets? That doesn't sound very rare at all.”
“Once a ticket is issued, it is never reissued until the student holding that number dies. It is no exaggeration to say that this ticket serves as an absolute guarantee of raw talent.”
“—!”
“Do you understand now? What it means to hold a double-digit Platinum Ticket? Orknodi’s talent has been acknowledged as ranking in the top double digits across the entire history of this academy.”
In fact, the tickets Mihael carried were numbers 15 and 143. Orknodi had been awarded #15—a double-digit number sitting on the very precipice of the single digits, recognizing her as the fifteenth greatest prodigy in the academy’s history. Lotto’s petty reputation as a 'Martial Noble Daughter' was utterly worthless before such a shining certificate of genius.
“Now, reconsider what Brother Son Ocheon said about her not wanting us to watch her beat an Imperial noble. You will see what it truly means.”
Only after hearing Giselle’s explanation did Isabelle grasp the hidden meaning, like a martial artist suddenly reaching enlightenment.
“She was afraid… Afraid that if we saw such unnatural strength in a child, we wouldn't want to stay by her side anymore.”
“For a child raised as an assassination weapon by a noble house, seeing adults grow terrified of her despite her tender age is likely a very familiar experience,” Giselle murmured darkly. “She may even have real-world experience with it.”
Fearing she would be hated for possessing strength unbefitting a child. Not wanting her companions to witness her fight. Both possibilities ached in Isabelle’s heart—the horrific past Orknodi must have endured, and the mindset forged from painful experiences where she could never trust an adult.
“…Hey, Giselle. Is the reason the noble house stands by and lets us stay beside Orknodi also…”
“Keep the rest of that thought to yourself,” Giselle warned in a hushed tone. “That is not something to be spoken aloud so carelessly. There is no telling where eyes and ears might be planted within this academy.”
The darkness surrounding Orknodi ran far deeper than they had imagined. Yet before fear could take hold, a searing rage welled up within Isabelle.
Trust no one except your masters.
The weak die quickly.
Reveal even a fraction of your strength, and they will fear you.
They will feel estranged by a child who does not act like one.
And then, they will betray your heart.
Crush all hope for human connection through cold, brutal reality. Rule over Orknodi’s body and soul through isolation. The sheer malice of the high nobility was terrifying, and the thought of the masterminds lurking behind the curtain sent chills down Isabelle’s spine. But alongside that dread flared stubborn defiance.
‘They’re looking down on us.’
Did they think people couldn't accept her as a comrade just because she wasn't an ordinary child? Did they assume no one could stay by her side without hurting her?
Furious indignation surged against the faceless, nameless mastermind.
‘We stayed by her side to repay a debt of gratitude. As if we’d ever turn our backs on her!’
Isabelle clenched her fists. Don't underestimate us. The adventurers of the Esonia Adventurer Party were the kind of people who saw through whatever they set their minds to. And right now, alongside repaying her debt to Orknodi, she forged a new resolve.
‘If the day ever comes when I come face-to-face with the bastards pulling Orknodi’s strings, I’m going to bury my fist in their faces.’
Amid her silent vow, the clamor in the spectator stands gradually settled. Orknodi and Lotto—the two Upper Class freshmen—stepped onto the ring, and the duel began.
The instructor serving as referee manipulated his Mana Board and announced the rules.
“The moment the Safety Guard activates, the match is terminated immediately. The winner will be decided by decision.”
“Okaay~”
“You’re lucky,” Lotto sneered from across the ring, her eyes gleaming with sadistic malice. “At least your bones won’t end up broken. Still, I’m going to torment you until you wish they had.”
A chime signaled the start of the match.
Rather than rushing in immediately as expected, Lotto cocked a finger in a dismissive, beckoning gesture, as though granting a handicap.
‘How clumsy,’ I thought.
One look into her eyes told me everything. She wasn't acting this way out of true composure; she was overly conscious of the audience. Since she had agreed to a rather disgraceful duel against a young child, she felt she had to offer this much leeway to save face. After all, losing to a kid would be humiliating, but beating one would still draw criticism. She was desperately trying to salvage her dignity.
“Hey, Miss Lotto. Did you know?”
“Know what? Getting scared now that it’s time to fight? Looking to beg for mercy?”
“On the sixth day of dormitory move-in, there’s a scheduled power outage in the training facility. And whenever the power goes out, the Safety Guard stops working.”
Lotto’s brow furrowed. “Playing cheap mind games, are we? Did Group A cower before wordplay like that and hand the top seat to a toddler?”
Well, it was hard to believe. Predicting an accident before it even happened sounded ridiculous. If I were in her shoes without meta-knowledge, I wouldn't have bought it either. But still, it leaves a bad taste in your mouth, doesn't it?
Normally, no matter what went wrong, the Safety Guard would kick in and keep injuries light. But the thought that her safety net might suddenly vanish was enough to strip away whatever leisure she had to worry about honor or reputation. Lotto shifted her footing and charged.
Swish—!
Her movements were remarkably light and nimble. Her kicks carried heavy, focused weight, packing genuine destructive force. Those private lessons had clearly paid off—Lotto was legitimately skilled. Unfortunately for her, my weapon was a sword. The reach of a blade is naturally longer than bare limbs. The initiative and tactical advantage were firmly mine.
CLANG!
A sharp, metallic screech rang out, far louder than anything a clash between a sword and a bare leg ought to produce. While the crowd gasped in astonishment at Lotto’s raw physical resilience, Lotto herself wore an increasingly grim expression.
“Hurts more than you expected, doesn't it?”
“You… where did you get that kind of strength? Don’t tell me…”
Oh? Did you finally figure it out?
“Are you really a half-orc, just like your name…?”
“I learned the Mana Body Refining Method, okay?!”
Whoops. In that split second where my temper flared, Lotto’s foot whipped past my cheek with fierce momentum. Her kicks were decent, but her trash talk was top-tier.
“I had a feeling,” Lotto murmured, analyzing me as she circled. “Strong as you are, you don’t have mountains of muscle like that mercenary, Hestia.” She paused, eyeing me warily. “Did you learn a Mana Cultivation Technique as well?”
“Who knows? Maybe, maybe not.”
The Mana Body Refining Method compressed muscles using mana, preserving a slender, aesthetic physique while generating explosive physical strength. The Mana Cultivation Technique vastly increased the speed and volume of mana gathering. Neither technique was exclusive to high nobility. Frontline combat nobles, veteran high-ranking mercenaries, scions of prestigious martial houses with ancestral secret arts, and hidden masters passing down solitary legacies—all sorts of variations existed throughout the world.
And Gift Academy gathered and taught these very arts to its students.
As a veteran player who had run through the academy thousands of times, I naturally had them all memorized. Techniques I used frequently in past builds could easily be reverse-engineered and mastered through sheer muscle memory and know-how. Some were far too advanced for a mere freshman to possess, of course, but that was why having a fake noble papa was so convenient. If the academy ever questioned where I picked up such high-tier cultivation arts, I could just pin it all on Papa Waihiemhai.
And if Papa asked? I could just blame it on the academy. Flawless logic.
Still, not getting caught in the first place was always the best route. Up until now, I had held back under the watchful gaze of the butler, only circulating it in small, discreet bursts when no one was looking. Sure, Lotto felt it because she was clashing against me directly, but as long as the spectators couldn't tell, what did it matter?
“Isn’t your leg starting to go numb?”
“I’ve barely even broken a sweat!”
“That’s good to hear. Because if your legs suddenly gave out right when the power outage hit, disabling the Safety Guard… chop. Off it goes, right?”
Perhaps painting that vivid picture in her head was a mistake. Lotto’s face instantly drained of all color.
“D-Do you really think the academy would let you off the hook after pulling something like that?!”
“I’d get disciplined, sure. But how bad could it be? I’m just an incoming freshman who hasn’t even memorized the student handbook yet. It’d just be an unfortunate ‘accident’ caused by a sudden blackout during a duel.”
Panic caused Lotto to tense her legs far too rigidly. I didn't miss the stiff opening in her footwork, pressing the offensive and driving her onto the back foot in an instant.
“Don’t worry too much. Even if it gets cut clean off, they can always sew it back on! The academy has world-class medical facilities and top-tier resident healers, after all.”
Granted, it would leave severe psychological trauma. The lingering hesitation to extend a kick during critical moments would effectively end her career as a martial artist. But hey, play stupid games, win stupid prizes. If she hadn't picked a fight with Hestia in the first place, she wouldn't be in this ring facing me.
BZZZT—!
Right on cue, the long-awaited blackout plunged the facility into pitch-black darkness.
Through the shadows, I heard a tiny, terrified shriek from Lotto. For someone who acted so tough while running around with her haughty clique, she squeaked like a frightened mouse. Not that I intended to go easy on her. She was the one who threatened to torment me, wasn't she?
Shhhk.
Time to slice. I swung my blade through the dark, fully intending to take off one of her legs.
CLANG!
A heavy, unexpected resistance violently deflected my sword.
Wait, how did she block that? Did she hide her real strength? Shocked, I altered my blade’s trajectory and unleashed three rapid follow-up strikes, but every single one was cleanly parried. Then, a foot laden with immense, crushing weight thudded against my guard, shoving me backward.
Th-th-thud!
I spun 720 degrees midair to diffuse the kinetic energy, but the sheer momentum forced me to drop low into a sweeping stance the moment my boots touched the ground, barely bleeding off the remaining impact into the stone floor. My forearms buzzed with a dull, throbbing numbness. A sudden prickle of cold sweat ran down my neck.
If an attack followed up immediately while I was locked in this recovery posture… could I actually deflect it?
Just as my nerves strung taut, anticipating another strike from the dark, the enchanted lighting magic flickered back to life, illuminating the sparring arena.
‘…Huh?’
I blinked in sheer confusion. The powerhouse who had effortlessly repelled my onslaught in the dark wasn't Lotto at all. Standing in the center of the ring was Hestia, who had vaulted over the barriers to intervene.
“That’s enough,” Hestia said firmly, lowering her guard. “I won’t stand by and let a child who stepped up to protect me commit a terrible mistake.”
“Haaah… What a buzzkill. If it were me, I would’ve looked the other way.”
Behind Hestia, Lotto collapsed to her knees, trembling uncontrollably as the realization washed over her that she had genuinely been inches away from losing a leg.
“Match halted!” the referee instructor bellowed, waving his arms frantically. “Due to a blackout and Safety Guard malfunction, this duel is declared void!”
With the instructor’s shout, the fight came to an abrupt, fizzling end.