The Duel with Expulsion at Stake
Midterm evaluation day. The morning air was unusually clear, and that only made things worse. The world carried on as if nothing were wrong, yet today could be the end for me. For most students, the stakes were grades. Excel and rise. Fall short and face remedial work. A little embarrassing, a little tedious, but there was always a next time. For me it was different. Lose here and it meant expulsion. That single word changed everything.
The corridor to the training hall was quieter than usual. Students had gathered since morning, and teachers moved about directing the flow. Someone laughed and asked, “Nervous?” Another gulped water without answering. I stayed silent. Not because words would change nothing, but because I lacked the composure to steady myself with speech.
When I pushed open the training hall doors, a wave of murmurs crashed over me.
“Whoa, this is crazy.”
“Midterms are midterms, all right.”
High ceilings. Tiered spectator stands. Shock-absorbing magic patterns covered the floor, and a thin protective barrier ringed the edges. The facilities were top class. The reputation was well earned. Today, however, even that perfection felt unsettling. As though I might shatter completely inside this flawless space.
Eyes followed me into the waiting area. Some stares were open, others furtive.
“That’s the unawakened kid…”
“Today’s really his last, right?”
“Opponent’s Min Jae-hoon.”
“Who’s that nobody?”
I pretended not to hear. I was used to it. The stares didn’t matter. Timing did.
Duels ran in order. First. Second. Third. Names called, gear checked, signal given, winners and losers decided. Cheers erupted sometimes; other times came the low sighs of “Oh—”. I was last. Being saved for last felt cruel. The longer the crowd waited, the sharper their focus became. Boredom only made them hungrier for spectacle. And today the biggest spectacle would be my defeat.
I kept my gaze away from the stands. In one corner of the waiting area I turned the sword hilt in my hands. Once. That single word filled my mind. Seizing that one opening was all that mattered today.
“Do-yoon.”
A low voice. I turned to find Tae-geon. Academy jacket draped over his Class A gym uniform, arms crossed, expression unusually grave.
“Breathe deep. Your breathing’s too shallow.”
I pressed a hand to my chest without thinking. My solar plexus still throbbed; my body kept trying to curl inward.
“Thanks.”
“We did everything we could.”
Tae-geon kept it short. He offered no false certainty, no promise of victory. He simply tapped my shoulder, as if he knew exactly what I needed to do.
“Go do what you saw.”
That helped more than anything.
“Right.”
Tae-geon’s mouth curved, just a fraction.
“And if you can.”
“Yeah.”
“Land one clean hit on him.”
A short laugh slipped out.
Park Eun-seo caught my sleeve from the side. Her fingertips were cold.
“Do-yoon.”
She spoke softly.
“I won’t tell you not to push yourself.”
I turned. Eun-seo lowered her eyes for a moment, then met mine again.
“I was afraid those words would hold you back.”
She had chosen them carefully.
“So just… do what you prepared.”
She gave my sleeve the lightest squeeze before letting go.
“I’ll be watching.”
The words struck something deep in my chest. I nodded instead of answering.
“Yeah.”
Eun-seo said nothing more. That brief touch had become an unexpected support.
“Next.”
The instructor’s voice rang out.
“Han Do-yoon.”
“…”
“Min Jae-hoon.”
The air in the hall shifted. Low laughter rose from the Class D stands; a stunned silence settled over Class A.
I walked slowly into the arena.
The practice sword felt familiar in my hand.
Across from me, Min Jae-hoon stepped in wearing knuckles. The practice version protected the backs of the hands and fingers; the metallic scrape was gratingly loud.
Jae-hoon swept his gaze across the stands once. He enjoyed the attention. Then he turned to me.
“Finally the last match, huh.”
He smiled.
“Fits perfectly.”
I didn’t answer. That seemed to irritate him. Jae-hoon twisted his lips.
“Hey, I’ll send you off right today.”
His laugh was low.
“So you won’t be able to open those eyes again.”
Send off. Expulsion or the floor—probably both.
The instructor moved to the center.
“Duel rules. Practice equipment only. No fatal injuries. Match ends immediately if the barrier threshold is exceeded.”
The words were firm, but I knew the truth. This was a practical exam. A certain amount of impact was allowed.
The instructor raised both hands.
“Ready.”
I lowered the sword tip, feet shoulder-width, center of gravity dropped. Inhaled. Exhaled.
Jae-hoon rolled his shoulders, tapping his knuckles together, smiling. No tension at all.
“Begin.”
Jae-hoon came first—faster and straighter than I expected. A distance-closing step. His upper body leaned in, knuckles rising toward my face.
Going all out from the start.
I didn’t retreat. Backing up would only end one way. Instead I slid sideways. Half a step. I didn’t thrust the sword; I simply drew a line.
Thud!
Knuckles struck empty air. Wind brushed my cheek. In that rush I heard Jae-hoon’s breathing—rough, excited, uneven.
Good. Take it slow.
Feet. Knees. Hips. Shoulders. Hands.
Jae-hoon favored his right. Left foot forward. He drew a big breath before attacking. The moment I noticed, my mind eased. Far easier to read than the Hero Step I had practiced with Tae-geon.
Jae-hoon fought with personality before skill.
He came again. Twice. Three times. I didn’t dodge so much as give ground, keeping just enough distance that the knuckles couldn’t reach.
Someone muttered from the stands.
“Why does he keep running?”
“Scared, probably.”
They were right. I was scared. That was why I stayed calm. Fear made me calculate.
Jae-hoon’s heat rose. Attacks grew wilder, his waist lifted, steps widened, balance wavered.
Skill’s not yet.
I felt his mana stir—rising, then dropping. The faint tingle before activation. Jae-hoon clenched his teeth.
“Haah—!”
He exhaled and yanked his mana upward.
Parts Break.
Power flooded his right arm and shoulder. The limb hardened, grew heavy.
Here it comes.
Jae-hoon drove in. The air tore differently this time—speed and pressure both changed. I didn’t raise my sword. Blocking would snap my wrist. I had to dodge. And read.
When the right arm rose, the left foot twisted first. Breathing cut for an instant.
Thud!
Knuckles grazed my side. Not a clean hit, but the impact landed. Ribs rang.
It’s fine.
I swallowed the pain.
Focus.
Jae-hoon couldn’t chain skills. He wasn’t practiced enough. After one big burst his breathing scattered again. I waited for that moment.
He charged once more, left hand flicking out like a jab before the right swung wide. The skill sat in the right. The left was bait.
I ignored it. Twisted away from the right-hand arc.
“Ooh?” slipped from the stands.
Jae-hoon’s eyes sharpened.
“You little shit.”
Teeth ground together.
“Just gonna keep running?”
Running. The word almost made me laugh.
I drew a short breath and let it out.
Don’t react.
Jae-hoon started talking between attacks, either unaware or uncaring that his breathing was breaking apart.
“Couldn’t even awaken, yet you’re putting on quite the show.”
With the words, Parts Break flared again—this time the right leg. Steps quickened; he drove me toward the corner. I slipped back, then sideways, until the barrier loomed close. Floor patterns glowed faintly beneath my feet.
Can’t get cornered.
I dropped my center and cut the other way. Jae-hoon’s charge overshot; his foot slipped for a fraction of a second. I saw the opening. Not yet. Moving now would meet the skill.
Jae-hoon laughed.
“Hey. You’re actually funny.”
His tone lifted.
“Comfortable just running away like that?”
Then, deliberately clear:
“Must be in the blood, huh?”
The stands fell silent.
“Your dad died in a dungeon the same way, didn’t he? Running away?”
Someone muttered, “Hey…”
Jae-hoon didn’t stop.
“Learned it from watching him, so you keep running too?”
My mind went white for a heartbeat.
Don’t react.
But my body flinched first. Breathing skipped. Jae-hoon’s eyes lit up.
He loaded the skill.
Parts Break. Right arm.
And drove it down.
Thud!
This time it connected. Shoulder rang; arm went numb. The sword wavered.
“See?”
Jae-hoon’s laugh was low.
“That’s all you are.”
I clenched my teeth. Didn’t drop my head. Regripped the sword.
It was fine. Taking hits was fine. As long as I didn’t waver.
Keep the dodging rhythm. Keep analyzing.
The more Jae-hoon used skills, the more his breathing fractured. The more he talked, the worse it became.
Once. Just once.
The exchange continued.