It Can't Be Helped
A few hours prior.
Xiel had attempted an infiltration for the first time in quite a while.
His target was the dedicated training hall used by the fourth- and fifth-year classes. The facility was kept locked to bar outsiders, though the security was hardly foolproof. To Xiel, at least, it might as well have been wide open.
Click.
The lock yielded without the slightest resistance. Slipping inside, Xiel concealed himself within the shadows of the upper gallery and peered down at the arena below.
A simulated melee drill, most likely.
The scale of the exercise was impressive. Dozens of students were training together, as if the entire year had been mobilized. Only ten would actually compete, of course; the rest were merely acting as sparring partners to assist the fourth-year squad.
First, second, third, and fifth years… they’ve set up simulated opposition for each grade.
The students were divided into squads of ten, each assigned to mirror the tactics of a specific academic year in a chaotic brawl. The fourth years' overarching strategy was exceedingly simple.
"Take out the first years first! And whoever's playing the first-year role, don't try to stand your ground—run!"
A melee was ultimately a game of reading the room. Tactically, one had to decide which year to crush first and which year to court for a temporary alliance. Conventionally, the fourth and fifth years would form an agreement to sweep the lower grades off the field before settling things between themselves, or the lower years would band together to bring down the fifth years. Deciding what strategy to employ was always the highlight of the annual Exchange Event.
Which was precisely why Xiel was here right now.
He was gathering intelligence.
Reminds me of the old infiltration missions.
An assassin never struck blindly. The act of assassination itself took less than a single second. The vast majority of any operation was spent mapping patrol routes, securing concealment, confirming escape vectors, and gathering meticulous information. In that regard, Xiel's decision was paying dividends. Who would ever imagine an instructor sneaking in like a thief in the night instead of simply walking in to observe?
They’re forging a pact with the fifth years.
Down below, the fourth-year team converged with the students acting as the fifth-year squad. Their primary objective appeared to be a joint offensive to systematically dismantle the first, second, and third years in succession. It might only be one facet of their overall playbook, but deciphering even a single thread of an opponent's strategy was invaluable.
Naturally, not a soul on the floor realized that Xiel was committing every detail to memory.
"First years! Focus on the first years first!" Professor Idel barked at the top of his lungs, his voice echoing across the rafters.
What stood out most was their decision to make the first years their primary target. Considering that conventional doctrine dictated taking down the strongest contenders first, this was highly unusual.
They consider them a genuine threat now.
Before Match 1, nobody had spared a single thought for the freshmen. History dictated as much. The first years were universally cemented in dead last, at best managing a brief tussle with the sophomores on a lucky year. Yet this time, they had leapfrogged the second years and toppled the third years, seizing a historic tie for second place. That alone was more than enough justification for the fourth years to mark them for elimination.
Preparations will be required.
From there, Xiel quietly made the rounds, surveying the fifth-, third-, and second-year training halls before slipping back to his own students.
"Evasion training, sir?"
"Aren't we supposed to be preparing to win a melee?"
The first-year squad looked at Xiel with open skepticism. In a free-for-all brawl, the priority was learning group combat—offensive formations suitable for multi-man clashes, or cooperative maneuvers designed to isolate and bring down high-value targets. They had touched upon some of those principles while preparing for Match 1, but this felt entirely inadequate.
"Instructor, I have a question." Having built considerable trust over the past few weeks, Deleve Kundel spoke up first. He was prepared to follow orders regardless of how strange they seemed, but he wanted to understand.
"Speak, Student Deleve Kundel."
"I know whatever you say must be right, but I'm curious. What is the purpose of dodging?"
"We evade in order to win."
To his still-perplexed students, Xiel delivered a flat, unvarnished assessment.
"You cannot defeat the fourth and fifth years."
He continued to lay out the cold reality without a shred of hesitation.
"Even in a direct clash against the third years, you will lose. It might be close, but you will still lose."
It was a gap in sheer practical experience that no amount of last-minute training could bridge. Raw talent alone—even that of prodigies like Deleve, Celia, and Yurio—could not completely erase years of difference in physical conditioning and battle sense.
"Which is why we are practicing evasion," Xiel stated evenly.
Faced with his dispassionate breakdown, the students nodded one by one in reluctant acceptance.
"Avoid open combat to the best of your ability. Evade the enemy's strikes whenever possible, and keep counterattacks to an absolute minimum."
"So we just endure until the end to win?" Celia asked, raising her hand. Her point was valid. Mere survival would never be enough to claim victory.
"No. While evading, we advance into enemy lines. We do not fight our own melee; we induce a melee among our enemies."
Deleve's eyes widened slightly as the concept clicked in his mind. "You mean… we buy time by dodging their attacks, slip into the formations of other classes, and force them to clash with each other?"
"An accurate analysis, Student Deleve Kundel."
Quantus puffed out his broad chest and nodded along knowingly. "Mhm. Precisely what I had in mind from the start."
"Really?"
"Of course! That's why I'm the leader!"
Except for Anne, who tossed him a perfunctory nod, everyone completely ignored Quantus and refocused on Xiel.
"Today will be entirely devoted to evasion practice."
Xiel stepped over to the weapons rack and drew a sword.
Shring.
A razor-sharp glint rippled down the blade the moment it left the scabbard. It was not a blunted wooden training weapon, but live steel.
"We will conduct this drill under conditions simulating Match 2."
Injuries were practically guaranteed during the Exchange Event, and the second match was notoriously the bloodiest phase of the entire tournament precisely because participants wielded live blades. Even so, using real swords during an internal training session was another matter entirely.
"I-Instructor… what if someone gets cut…?"
"If you fear injury, you have no business stepping into Match 2."
This, too, was an inherent gap between the academic years. Every student in the second year and above had already survived at least one Exchange Event and gone through early-term field tests. They had all experienced real combat where drawn steel scraped against drawn steel. That fundamental exposure was the true reason first years were historically doomed to last place, regardless of their innate potential.
They had sparred against magic puppets, yes, but battling an automaton was fundamentally different from trading blows with a living human. Compounding that was the psychological pressure of crossing swords with upperclassmen inside the martial hierarchy of the Sword School.
Yet, outweighing all of that apprehension was a single question.
"Do you wish to win?"
"Yes!"
They wanted to win. They had taken a joint second place in Match 1, and riding that wave of adrenaline, an overwhelming hunger had taken root within them—a burning desire to produce another unprecedented miracle in Match 2 and leave the entire academy speechless.
"Assume self-defense formation."
They could not win in a head-on collision. But they could certainly dodge. Wear down the enemy's stamina, orchestrate chaos among opposing factions, and wait patiently for the right moment to strike back. That was the core of this training regimen.
"Begin."
With that single word, preparation for the second trial commenced in earnest.
Prior to the first match, not a single faculty member from the upper classes had bothered to spy on the freshmen. Why would they? They were an easy mark, destined to crumble the moment anyone pushed them. No one had cared.
After Match 1, however, everything changed.
Xiel Steelheart! A contract lecturer who was now commanding as much attention from the entire campus as the star students themselves!
Driven by an identical spike of anxiety, the faculty supervisors of the other years had converged on the same spot, almost as if they had agreed upon a clandestine meeting.
"Hmph."
"Well, well."
"Ah… greetings."
"Ahem."
They ran straight into one another just outside the gymnasium where the first years were practicing. By pure coincidence, of course.
"Haha, Professor Idel. What brings you all the way out here…?"
"Khm. Watching the fourth-year drills was growing rather monotonous, so I thought I would take a stroll. But what about you, Professor Marchen…?"
"Oh, I was merely… passing by on my way elsewhere, you see."
"I see. Ahem."
Every single one of them was here to scout.
Imagine being so terrified of freshmen that you come running here to spy. Must be sweating bullets.
Acting all nonchalant when we're doing the exact same thing…
Elkanto looks like he's about to jump out of his skin.
Despite their indifferent facades, tension ran thick among the faculty. The only supervisor absent was the professor overseeing the fifth years. That made sense; just as it was an ironclad tradition for the first years to finish last, it was a given that the fifth years would secure overall victory. Thus, only the professors responsible for the second, third, and fourth years clustered together, peering intently through the viewing partition at the first-year training session.
"What in the world are they doing?"
"Well… it looks like an evasion drill, but…"
"Isn't that just foundational footwork? There doesn't appear to be anything particularly remarkable about it."
Down on the floor, Xiel was swinging his blade, and the students were dodging with everything they had. The trouble was that dodging was literally all they were doing. They ducked, slipped, and scrambled away, again and again.
"Why on earth would they drill only evasion…?"
"Perhaps to prepare for the speed of upperclassmen's attacks?"
"Hmm. It hardly seems practical for a chaotic melee."
Disappointment settled over the professors' faces. They had gone out of their way to sneak a peek, expecting some revolutionary hidden gambit, only to witness the most rudimentary drills imaginable.
Among them, only Elkanto remained lost in deep, agonizing thought.
There's something more to this.
Considering what Xiel had demonstrated up to this point, there had to be a deeper meaning. An evasion drill? What was he truly aiming for? Elkanto's mind spun furiously, turning what should have been a simple scene into a labyrinthine puzzle. Xiel was no ordinary instructor. That meant there was inevitably a hidden masterstroke!
"Ah!"
A sudden gasp slipped past Elkanto's lips, instantly drawing the gaze of the surrounding professors.
"W-What is it?"
"Did you realize something?"
Knowing that Elkanto was relatively close to Xiel compared to the rest of the faculty, Idel and Marchen leaned in with eager curiosity.
Elkanto swallowed hard.
He truly is terrifying.
Overcome once again by sheer admiration for Xiel, Elkanto spoke in a grave whisper. "It is a high-level strategy."
"A high-level strategy?"
"Yes. I happen to know Instructor Xiel quite well, and that is no mere dodging exercise. He is laying the foundation for a profound tactical countermeasure."
A countermeasure!
Idel and Marchen's eyes lit up at the phrase.
"I have witnessed Instructor Xiel's martial prowess with my own eyes. He dispatched arcane magic puppets with laughable ease."
"Oho…!"
"He is teaching them the art of counterattacking at the precise moment of evasion. And not just any counterattack—a decisive, neutralizing strike!"
The other two professors felt a prick of deflation.
Is that really worth getting so worked up over?
Slipping an attack and countering is basic combat sense, isn't it…?
Yet as Elkanto pressed on with unbridled conviction, their skepticism began to waver.
"Instructor Xiel is simply built differently. He operates on another plane."
"So what are you suggesting…?"
"He devises tactics no ordinary mind could conceive! Mark my words, he is drilling them to slip beneath guards and target lethal pressure points, instantly incapacitating opponents so they can't move!"
Elkanto delivered his sermon with fervent intensity. Had he not witnessed Xiel effortlessly disassembling those combat puppets during the obstacle course, he might never have reached such a wild conclusion. But his estimation of Xiel had long since transcended the realm of reason.
Besides, he has the backing of the Imperial Household. There has to be a brilliant scheme behind every breath he takes.
"I cannot divine every single detail," Elkanto murmured, turning a solemn, heavy gaze upon his colleagues. "However, one truth is certain: in Match 2, the opponent we must be most wary of is the first-year class."
"…!"
To hear such a dire warning come straight from Elkanto's mouth left the other professors stunned. Both of them had already heard whispers from Department Head Berhal about the bizarre anomalies surrounding the first match. Xiel Steelheart—the enigmatic elective instructor who had appeared out of nowhere at the start of the semester!
If Elkanto speaks with such certainty, there must truly be something to it!
The first years are the greatest threat…?
Suddenly, the mundane exercise unfolding on the gym floor took on an entirely different light.
"Oof!"
"Your reaction is too slow. Next comes from the left."
"Aaargh! You said it was coming from the left!"
"Student Quantus Hophel. Never take an enemy at their word."
To their freshly biased eyes, even that elementary exchange seemed drenched in profound martial philosophy and psychological warfare.
There really is something there.
Should we truly be treating the freshmen as our primary concern?
The trauma of Match 1 still lingered, especially for the third years. Fourth place instead of third! All because the first years had pulled off an impossible tie with the fourth years. Professor Marchen, who supervised the third-year class, watched the training hall with narrowed, calculating eyes.
The fourth years will almost certainly ally with the fifth years.
It was an obvious, predictable playbook. Clear out the underclassmen swiftly, then fight among themselves to divide first and second place. It was the standard strategy used in nearly every Exchange Event, and historically the safest. But Marchen could not afford to sit back and be chewed up by it again. Her third years had to secure at least third place overall.
Why? Because tournament results directly dictated faculty performance evaluations.
If that's the case…
Her class had already tumbled to fourth in the opening match. There was only one way to claw their way back to a bronze finish: place third or higher in Match 2 while keeping as many surviving combatants on the field as possible, all while scoring points through eliminations.
She had not come here with this intention. But the moment she absorbed Elkanto's dire analysis, a radical thought took root.
Perhaps… things could turn out differently this year.
Instructor Xiel. If Professor Elkanto held him in such terrifyingly high regard, maybe it was worth putting forward a proposition.
A temporary alliance between the first, second, and third years.