I Don't Feel Like Attending the Birthday Party (4)
"The lady says she has testimony as a mage regarding that match," Lia said.
All eyes turned to the high seat where Elijah was seated.
Elijah descended the stairs with elegant steps. Everyone held their breath, watching her intently. Amid hundreds of gazes, she stood alone, aloof. Her leisurely gait paid no mind to the waiting crowd.
I steadied my breathing slowly, waiting for her. My body ached everywhere. This was the worst beating I'd ever taken in my life—and with such a young, frail body at that. Honestly, I wanted to collapse and rest right then, but I held out.
As Elijah approached, Gawain hurriedly dropped to one knee. I dragged my numb body to show proper respect.
"I saw it," Elijah said bluntly.
"He used mana first."
Gawain looked up. Elijah nodded toward the unconscious Gulliet.
"But I..."
"Are you saying my word is a lie?"
Elijah gazed down at Gawain with bored eyes.
"I didn't know you were more knowledgeable about mana than I, a mage. Sir Gawain."
"No, ma'am. I was rash."
"If you're so curious, check for yourself. The residual mana should still linger."
Gawain probed various parts of the unconscious Gulliet's body. He touched the right fist and nodded.
"The lady speaks the truth. I was incompetent. My apologies."
"Indeed."
Elijah brazenly pointed out Gawain's incompetence. Gawain bit his lip, head bowed. But soon, as if resolved, he shook his head and stood.
"As judge, I correct the result. The winner is..."
He looked down at me.
"... Judas. Thus, the tournament championship goes to Room 13."
The arena should have erupted, yet silence reigned. Thanks to Elijah standing at its center.
Clap, clap, clap.
Elijah struck her palms slowly. Only then did the crowd follow with polite applause. Quite reserved, it was.
"Judas."
Elijah approached me. Just like our first meeting, she grasped my chin and lifted it. Her cheeks flushed from recent rouge, cat-like upturned eyes, the tear mole beneath her right eye. The spitting image of the murderous maniac Elijah I knew.
Why did she seem different today?
"...Yes, my lady."
"That was fun. Congratulations."
"Thank you."
"Who knew you could use mana. How much more are you hiding from me?"
"......"
"But using it so openly like this... it's confusing. Are you hiding from me, or do you want me to notice?"
Neither. If anything, the former. Nothing special to hide, but I certainly didn't crave acknowledgment.
Whatever she made of my silence, Elijah grinned wickedly. The smile on her doll-like face was chilling.
"Anyway."
Her hand still on my face, her gaze sliced past Gulliet and Gawain.
"A candidate who broke the rules by using mana to try killing his opponent, and the judge—who's also the training camp's head—who failed to notice. What punishment suits them?"
Elijah stroked my face gently. Smeared with sweat, blood, dirt, and dust. Yet she caressed it without care, gazing at me. As if asking me.
"What should we do?"
A pure, childlike smile. Minus the part where she held lives in her hands, deciding death or life.
Her small, soft hand stung against my skin. The wounds, probably. I simply bowed my head.
"That's for wiser you to decide, my lady."
"Hmm. Alright."
Elijah left the arena. The stiff applause faded into chaos.
"...I apologize for my misjudgment. I'm sorry, Judas."
Gawain bowed deeply before me. So unexpected, I was flustered.
"To explain: mana-enhanced bodies are hard to detect externally unless the power's released. Near impossible, unless you're an exceptional mage like the lady."
News to me. Important for survival ahead—I noted it.
"That's why Gulliet walked at the end before suddenly sprinting. Holding back max power. Touch the enhanced spot, and you feel the residue. As the lady said, he meant to kill you—with mana in that right hand. Seems he localized it to one hand to hide."
I nearly died. Yet it didn't feel real. Because I won? Or because beating someone to death barehanded felt unreal?
More than that, Gawain was impressive. Facing unknown repercussions from Elijah, yet apologizing sincerely and explaining rationally.
"Matches can kill, but excessive attacks aimed at murder are forbidden."
"Yes. I know."
"Punishment will follow. For Gulliet. Don't take private revenge, even if angry—that's what I mean."
"Understood."
No such intent anyway. Elijah likely had plans already.
"I'll face fitting punishment for my error too. Once more, my apologies."
"No, really... it's fine."
"By the way, when did you learn mana?"
"Today was first."
"...I see. You'll need a separate exam later."
Gawain called knights and had Gulliet carted to the infirmary. As he managed the cleanup, Room 13's bench emptied in a rush.
"Judas-!"
Richard led the charge.
"Dude! What the hell? You okay?"
"On death's door."
"Talking fine, so you're good."
"On death's door, though?"
"Haha, yeah, you're good."
His casualness drew a hollow laugh from me.
Dillon, supported by Argon, arrived late.
"Judas..."
"Told you I'd win."
"You really... ha..."
Dillon trailed off into a deep sigh, soon a chuckle. Richard cackled at the sight.
"You don't know how worried this guy was? Thought he was your dad."
The others chimed in.
"I heard too!"
"Took so much to keep this one from bolting out."
"...And weren't you cursing Gawain sir for not stopping it sooner, Richard senior?"
"You—you! Eavesdropping?!"
Richard glanced at Gawain, scolding Dillon. Luckily, Gawain was busy.
"Thanks for winning, Judas."
"Same. Thought we'd lose."
"Me too."
"Who'd guess you'd drop Gulliet?"
From Dillon and Richard on, the roommates offered words: thanks, congrats, good job. Comforting.
Grateful, but one curiosity nagged. I shattered the touching mood oblivious-like.
"Why not ask how I got mana?"
Silence fell awkwardly. Richard broke it, patting my shoulder.
"Dude. Who here ain't got a backstory?"
His words made me scan their faces. Richard, future Lion Knight. The rest's futures unknown: Dillon, Lindel, Argon, Pelin, Esmo, Dyke. And others I'd memorized but barely knew. Extras, maybe not even side characters in the game.
But they were people too.
"That secret matters less than a roommate bringing us the win. Right?"
"Acting chill now. Weren't you cursing GawainandGulliet earlier..."
"Dillon, shut it. Want another hit?"
Their bickering sparked laughter. Rowdy, chaotic, warm camaraderie. Unbidden, my past life surfaced.
Comrades then too. Training buddies. Rivals challenging.
But...
'Why you acting up?'
'Think you're hot shit 'cause you work out?'
'Dude... fuck, you pissed off the seniors, now our class is screwed. Man, I'm losing it.'
Just mockery. Even initial supporters turned.
I hadn't sought that. Hated seeing injustice: beatings for dumb reasons, exclusions from training, quals stripped for no connections. That was it.
No ass-kissing intent, so I stood alone amid ostracism.
The result...
"Whoa...? Judas. You crying?"
Lindel asked, flustered. Richard laughed beside.
"Huh? Crying? You crying? Yo, tears?!"
"Who said... crying..."
"Hahaha! He's crying, legit tears! Ack!"
"Ugh, seriously!"
Dillon shoved Richard with his foot.
"Ow-!"
"What're you doing to a crying guy?!"
"You punk, that's insubordination!"
"Sue me! Report upstairs! I'll tell Gawain sir too!"
"My magnanimous heart forgives."
Their squabble was absurd. Laughter burst from me unbidden. Real idiots, these guys.
"The MVP today, why cry?"
"...Wasn't crying."
"Sure, sure."
Embarrassment hit late. Old soul like me, tearing up from kids' pity. Kill me now. Someone knock me out.
'Rejuvenation's fault...'
Mind adult, body still 13. Trembled under stares when reporting Kael before. Body reacted against my will.
So, that tear was the kid's. Not mine. For real.
*
The finals were on Saturday. Weekend. No schedule post-tourney.
I hit the infirmary first. My state worse than Gulliet's, probably. He dropped in one; I ate countless hits.
'He's hurting too.'
We'd debated it once, drunk and silly. How bad does a fireman's carry hurt? All serious.
Me and then-friends. Fierce debate ended with my analogy.
'Think swinging a bat full force at the floor. Bat hurts, right? Now swing a person full force at the floor.'
'Dude, bat's tougher than a person—bat hurts more!'
'Bat can't breakfall! With breakfall, less hurt. Imagine no breakfall, concrete slam. Survive unscathed?'
Debate unified in awe.
'Ooh...'
'...Oh!'
'Aha!'
Conclusion: 'Slamming a person full force hurts like hell.'
Still baffling. Drunk talk.
'Anyway, even one hit wrecked Gulliet.'
Lindel and Richard supported me.
"You're tough. Eating that many hits."
"I'd tap."
Lindel agreed.
"Had to. Lose and we're done."
"That's why tough. Real psycho."
"That last move? Not in training."
Lindel asked. The fireman's carry, likely. Training included wrestling-like takedowns.
"Oh, old technique. Came to mind suddenly."
"Teach me later? Wanna learn."
Past flashed. Quit sports, uni on hold—taught at the gym. Nickname: "Elementary School Butcher." Gave kids full effort.
"Anytime you're free."
The doc was a weary middle-aged man. Prodded my bruises, shook head.
"Insane willpower... or insane period."
"Thanks."
"Definitely insane. Cancel all training a week. Rest."
"No exercise at all?"
Body craved more food, movement. Rest?
"Light rehab okay? Avoid fights that risk injury..."
"He always like this?"
Richard nodded.
"Kinda nuts."
"Not average nuts... No bullshit, rest. Rest is training."
True, but... I nodded reluctantly.
*
"Fuuu..."
Shower water pounded like blows. Hurt for real.
'Gotta rest.'
Excitement faded; pain deepened. No minor injury. Training now? Self-harm.
'No muscle loss worry yet.'
A few candidates entered, greeted me warmly. Gulliet downed barehanded—praiseworthy.
Washing, I finally checked the system message.
That power surge...
'Mana Liberation... so that's the power.'
Some moment against Gulliet. Vitality surged. Pain vanished then. Let me slam him stable, full force.
'Handy. Better than expected. Moon attribute? But how?'
Couldn't recall activation. No clue how. Tried recreating—failed. Mana depleted anyway. Later.
Post-shower, back to infirmary. Disinfected, bandaged heavily.
"Remember: no training awhile. Told Gawain sir too."
"Got it."
Stern warning. Teased by Richard, Lindel en route to mess.
Room 13 awaited.
"Judas! Here!"
"What's all this?"
Table piled with fatty meats. Not standard fare.
"Bought outside," Dillon explained.
"Weekend freedom. While you showered, pooled cash, ran to butcher."
Mess had cooking corner. Permitted use rare.
"Wanted to repay your hard work."
Argon rubbed nose sheepishly.
"Without you, no win. Your credit."
"Wasn't just me..."
True humility. No Dillon holding front, maybe no facing Gulliet. Luck helped, but roommates carried. Richard shone pre-finals.
"Not just for you—we all eat. No pressure."
Richard casual. Dillon nodded.
"Money for this? Half your cookie price—sans chocolate."
"...Ah."
Burden gone.
"Then gratefully."
They grilled in turns. Me, Dillon, four fighters sat fed. Others passed envious.
'Rich fat and protein after how long...'
Not prime cuts—tough, greasy, gamey. But delicious.
Sudden thought: "Salt from where?"
Salted. Salt rare here.
"Gawain sir passing by gave."
His apology.
Gorging beast-like, a group entered: Room 15. Grim faces. Gulliet front—startled at my eyes, looked away.
'Scared.'
They sat distant. We stared openly.
"Can't do."
Richard stood abrupt.
"Judas. C'mon."
"Huh?"
Plate heaped, he led. Knew his play. Suppressed laugh.
Thud!
Loud plate slam. On Room 15's table.
"What're you staring at."
Richard sat. I followed.
"Your table? Rule against sitting? Want us gone?"
"...No."
Gulliet mumbled, focused on meal: hard bread, jerky, thin soup. Unappetizing.
Before them, we chomped meat noisily. Juicy, fatty crunches. Intentional.
"This meat's so greasy-good."
"Picked prime. Salt bonus too. Prize money—more?"
"Great idea. My cash this time..."
"Nah, cookie half-price, remember?"
"Then gratefully."
Chatted laughing, devoured nonstop. Deliberate humiliation.
Gulliet's face soured over time. Richard grinned sly.
"What. Wanna kill?"
"......"
"Pulled mana, huh. Try here? Go on."
Gulliet breathed ragged, swallowing rage. Room 15 shifted uncomfortably, silent.
He gnawed jerky hard, glanced me. I met straight. Speak if you dare.
No win-confident now. But he lost ugly. Defeat scars trauma.
As expected, eyes dropped. Even switched seats.
"Punk-ass bitch."
Richard spat at his back. Agreed fully.
***
Elijah returned to her office. Pre-dinner. Piles to handle.
Door opened: desk held two neatly arranged flowers. Anemones. From Judas. Smiled each time. Light chuckle.
'Pathetic.'
She sat; Miguel promptly proffered envelope.
"Info on candidate Judas."
Elijah grinned. Lately, her most intriguing fun: Judas.
"No records, yet where?"
Pulled papers.
"Judecca."
"Judecca? Rings a bell."
"Gladiator pits breeding slave fighters for profit."
"Ah, there."
Elijah visited few times. Colossal arena dwarfing camp's. Worldwide fighters in spectacles: human vs. human baseline, vs. lions/bears, rare demon bouts.
Bored her. Kill-or-be-killed routine—her daily tightrope.
Recalling Judas's today show, she read. Defying unbeatable foe. Unyielding will despite no-win expectations. Burned deep in her mind.
Liked it. Why always pick likeable acts?
"Only record found now."
She skimmed profile, cross-checking knowledge. Spotted oddity.
'Suspected of special past training...?'