A Battle Without Help -4-

Shouts echoed beneath the arena. Ruin clenched his fists, staring up at it anxiously.

"Why does it look so damn high?"

The round arena had a grayish hue. The spot ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠where he'd always claimed victory and basked in everyone's envy now loomed impossibly tall. He didn't want to climb up there. It felt like a guillotine built just for him.

Ruin, utterly unprepared, dreaded even stepping onto it. It had been like this ever since his match with Olivia—the first time he'd felt this crushing weight on his shoulders. Everyone's gazes pressed down on him. His ragged breaths refused to settle.

"Hah... hah... Get it together. It's not like my fucking life's on the line."

A booming announcer's voice rang out over Ruin's tense head.

"Alright then, Ruin senior's first opponent from the Magic Department is...!?"

Ruin balled his fists. 'Please...'

Cold sweat beaded on his palms as he prayed the name of a strong foe wouldn't come up. Please, just give me someone I can beat.

Ruin prayed desperately, but the heavens didn't side with him. The announcer pulled a slip from a box full of names and brought the mic—enchanted with amplification magic—to his lips with a startled voice.

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

At the announcer's trembling voice, Ruin's face crumpled like the world had ended. He let his clenched fist drop limply and bowed his head, muttering softly.

"Fuck."

Nothing was going right. Ruin dragged his unwilling feet forward. Mikhail was no match for him now—not even close. Even before he'd lost his power, they'd been evenly matched. Honestly, Mikhail ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠had the edge. Facing him early meant he'd be knocked out without a fight.

Ruin couldn't muster a single positive thought. Hiding his dark expression poorly, he trudged up to the arena.

"Hah... fucking hell."

Mikhail was already there, loosening his waist while touching the sword at his hip. As always, he approached the fight with serious resolve. No mercy in sight.

Ruin hung his head and slowly began gathering mana. At least if he put on a show before losing, he could salvage some honor. No matter how weak he'd become, he had an ace up his sleeve. So he built his mana steadily, waiting for the signal.

'The old man said that spell's unstable and not to use it... Whatever, it'll work out.'

Losing to Mikhail might not be so bad. Better than falling to some nobody—defeat by the universally respected Mikhail looked better on paper.

To cling to his fragile pride, Ruin awaited the announcer's cue. After a brief pause, the booming voice erupted, and Ruin drew a deep breath.

'Let's do this...'

The words barely left the announcer's mouth before Ruin unleashed magic from his hands. The unique spell taught by the Tower Lord. Passed down through generations from the first lord to talented disciples.

[Green Generation]

The moment pale green waves spread out—

Mikhail was right in front of him.

"Snap out of it."

Mikhail dismantled Ruin's painstaking spell effortlessly and closed in. He stood before Ruin as lightly as a breeze brushing past, sword raised.

Ruin stared blankly at him, thinking, 'What the...'

He couldn't comprehend it. His best shot, a spell straight from the old man, had been seen through. Even if it wasn't fully mastered, Mikhail shattered it and advanced like it was nothing.

He couldn't pull himself together.

Mikhail said coldly, "Fight properly."

Ruin's world began crumbling bit by bit.

*

Mikhail showed no mercy, pressing Ruin hard.

Clang!

"Damn it...!"

Mikhail had returned a monster. Ruin wondered if the guy was even human as he got utterly dominated. The swordplay that once had openings was now flawless, and Mikhail's defense-focused style was aggressive no more.

Ruin felt wronged. So wronged his breath came in gasps, words failing him.

"What the hell are you?!"

Even at full strength, he doubted he could win now. They'd trained the same amount of time—or so he'd thought. He'd put in effort too, but Mikhail had grown several times stronger. Being pushed back like this made him feel pathetic.

Crack...!

Mikhail kicked Ruin's unguarded gut and said lowly, "Ruin. Don't answer—just nod."

"What...?"

"What did Hans do to you that day?"

"..."

"That's why you can't use your power now."

Mikhail spoke softly. "You're not usually this weak."

"..."

"So tell me. Then I can go easy on you."

"Fuck..."

Watching Ruin claw the ground in unbearable shame, Mikhail asked seriously, "Even going easy has limits, Ruin."

"...What?"

"As your friend, I was gonna throw it, but honestly? It's tough. That last attack, I held back—and you still went down."

Mikhail muttered with deep regret, "I thought I'd gotten stronger... guess not."

Ruin clenched his fists. Shame burned through him. Hearing that made him want to die. What pissed him off more was feeling grateful for it—furious at himself.

'Shut your bullshit.'

'Don't spout crap—where do you get off calling me weak? You're already a fucking monster!'

Ruin collapsed inwardly.

'Then what am I...!'

'Fuck, then what the hell am I...? Even with power, I couldn't beat you—winless no matter what!'

'I was gonna dip into black magic...! Fuck, then what? What am I...!'

Ruin reached one conclusion. The pride that let him hold his head high and look down on others—it was flawed.

'I've got no talent?'

He rose and fired off spells.

"Shut up!"

"Ruin!"

"I said shut it! Go easy? Pity me!? Bullshit! Be straight with me!"

Mikhail let out a forced "Urk!" and stepped back from Ruin's rage-fueled barrage. They'd bickered, but as friends who'd respected each other's pride, he knew him. Victims of Olivia and Ricardo's schemes too. So Mikhail understood: sky-high pride, obsessed with appearances.

That's why he'd pretended to struggle. Ruin poured out magic.

"How's this? Different now, huh?!"

"..."

"No more pity, right?!"

Ruin yelled at Mikhail, who was faking strain. "Fuck! Cut it out! Don't look at me like that!"

Seeing proud Ruin's pitiful state, Mikhail tilted his sword halfway, taking hits he could've dodged. He muttered softly, "Let's stop."

"..."

"I'll throw it."

"What?"

"Ranking drops can recover mid-semester, so I'll—"

"...Fuck."

Ruin let out a hollow laugh. "I'm done."

"Ruin."

"This shit's disgusting. Can't stomach more."

Ruin shoved Mikhail's close shoulder and shook his sweat-matted hair. He loathed himself. The pity. The students' awed "Whoa...!" at Mikhail's act. Unbearable.

He raised his hand and walked off slowly. "I surrender."

Better to quit than win like this. Too humiliating to continue.

*

Schulia smiled.

"Hmm... Too many sprouts growing."

Mikhail, Yuria, even the crown prince—irritating growth. Left alone, they'd threaten their cause. Especially one.

She grated on Schulia most. Erase her if exposed. Or keep her—wanted that much.

"Eh... she'll die today anyway. Should be fine."

Schulia chuckled softly, eyeing Hanna on the arena. And Hanna stared back.