Departmental Showdown (2) - And Now, the 107th Teleos Academy Inter-Department Competition Begins!
The announcer's booming declaration echoed thunderously through the magic orbs mounted around the arena.
"And now, the 107th Teleos Academy Inter-Department Competition officially begins!"
"Waaaaah!"
The students' cheers poured out like a roaring torrent. Not just the freshmen, but second- and third-years had shown up to spectate too, packing the seats and cranking up the volume.
Man, that announcer's got some pipes. Delivery and projection on point. It reminded me of those game tournament openings from my past life.
"With that, we'll kick off with a quick rules rundown!"
Each of the three departments fields a team of five, dueling pre-matched opponents from the rival squads.
Match Schedule
"The first team to three wins claims a point, and the squad with two points takes the crown! If all departments snag one point each, the team with the superior tiebreaker wins. If that's tied too, the top two face off in a final bout!"
Huh, straightforward rules. Keeps things snappy—no drawn-out marathons.
[Match 1: Knight Class vs Magic Class]
[Match 2: Knight Class vs Spirit Class]
[Match 3: Magic Class vs Spirit Class]
The words lit up on the wall-sized display board.
So Magic Class skips a back-to-back and gets a breather match. Looks like a solid edge to me, but the announcer didn't call it out.
Was I the only one noticing? Then...
"Tch, Magic Class dodges the double again."
"Tell me about it. Seniors said it happened last year too."
"They bitch about Spirit Class losing talent and Knight Class short on bodies, but they're too busy hogging the easy path."
Griping erupted from the other Knight Class reps nearby. Made sense—one team always draws the short straw.
But Magic Class getting the pass seemed like tradition.
"Everyone, calm down. Complaining about the schedule changes nothing."
The grand duchess, who'd been silently watching the murmurs, finally spoke. Her icy expression and stern tone snapped the three underclassmen to attention—they forgot they were peers.
"Even if it's favoritism, we crush them with skill. That's why we're here."
"Y-Yes!"
"Time to stomp 'em flat!"
"Spirit Class aside, those Magic Class bookworms are toast! Always looking down their noses in joint classes—the smug bastards...!"
Her pep talk lit a fire under them in seconds. No surprise from a battlefield vet—boosting morale like a pro.
"You seem unfazed by this."
As I inwardly admired her, she singled me out, sounding surprised.
Figured she'd expect me to flip a table over "unfairness" like this.
I just shot her a grin without meeting her eyes, brimming with confidence.
"We're winning anyway. Order doesn't matter."
"...Heh, true enough. I underestimated you."
She turned away with a satisfied smile.
"Now for the inter-department showdown's grand opener! Knight Class and Magic Class reps, take your positions!"
The transparent barrier split open with a hiss.
A-Class's Dorna Astrel grabbed the massive flag as standard-bearer. He took far right, the top-seeded Bronheim duchess center, forming a straight line as we advanced.
......
Five shadows approached from the opposite side.
But my eyes locked on just one—the center narcissist purple-hair.
"...Class rep! Neriel Marit!"
"Woooo!"
Cheers exploded for their intro, but whatever.
"Hoh, you actually crawled out instead of running. Ape."
"You too—thought you'd chicken out from stage fright after rotting in your book cave. Good on ya."
We traded barbs from two meters apart, ignoring the noise.
"Hey, Narcissist Purple-Hair."
"I told you not to call me that."
"Whatever. Straight fight's boring. Wanna bet?"
"A bet? You still think you can beat me?"
"Would I be here otherwise?"
I growled back, and she hummed smugly, nodding.
"Sounds fun. Fine, name it. No way I'm losing to an ape like you."
"Hoh."
I'd considered going easy if she bailed now, but no dice. Let's push it.
"Loser plays slave to the winner till semester's end. Deal?"
"Wha...?!"
A shocked gasp rang out somewhere.
Not from Neriel Marit, though—from right beside me?
"...Why are you surprised, Duchess?"
"N-No. Just... as a man, tossing 'slave' around lightly is... You never know what might happen."
"Eh, whatever. I win, problem solved."
Like I told her—no point showing if I didn't plan to win.
I glared at Neriel challengingly, and she grinned like she'd hoped for it.
"I'd never take a useless slave like you... but for fun? Sure."
She accepted, turned, and sauntered back.
"Now for the opener! Vanguard clash—Resila Kopen vs Tara Lunel, begin!"
Our first up, Resila, stepped forward.
"Resila, you got this!"
"Sweep the first three so Duchess doesn't even play!"
The other two hyped her up. She glanced back with a smile.
＊
Resila took the vanguard win, but second-slot Dorna fell short.
Third, B-Class's Kali could clinch match point—but...
"Ice Blossom!"
"Kuh...!"
She couldn't dodge the blooming ice flowers; her legs froze solid.
"Ice Rain!"
Shrrrr—!
Seizing the gap, sharp ice shards rained down on Kali's head.
Not top-tier spells—mid-2nd to low-3rd circle. But her fast casts and ice specialization let her chain and dominate unilaterally.
"Winner! Magic Class B-Class, Juliet Payren!"
"Waaaaah!"
Kali crumpled without landing a hit.
"Ugh, sorry, guys. My apologies, Duchess...!"
"No matter. She was optimized for swordsmen. Not your fault."
The grand duchess soothed the ragged Kali and rose.
"Knight Class cornered! But their captain, Silvena Bronheim, steps up!"
"Ducheeeess!"
"Win this!"
Mostly Knight Class voices cheered her ascent. Her foe was a solid A-Class mage.
Our loss here meant I wouldn't even face the narcissist.
But I wasn't tense. I knew her skills better than anyone.
"Fourth set—begin!"
The referee's flag fluttered up.
That instant, I knew: it's over.
Shwick—!
Bronheim duchess vanished from the line.
A cold, razor edge whispered through the hushed arena.
Her long black hair fluttered lightly behind the enemy.
Thud!
The foe toppled three seconds later, limp on stage.
Flat of the blade. Real strike would've killed silently.
"W-Winner! Knight Class A-Class, Silvena Bronheim!"
"Uwaaaaaah!"
She descended without a glance, straight to us.
"Ducheeeess!"
"How'd you do that?!"
"Couldn't even track it!"
Praise poured, but she just nodded coolly.
"You."
"Yes."
She stopped before me.
"Stage is set. Win clean."
Her lips twitched faintly upward as she offered her hand.
I didn't clasp—touched it baton-style and brushed past.
"Wouldn't waste your setup. I'll win."
Climbing stage, a massive witch hat rose slowly below.
She reached the line smirking openly.
"I'll make you beg for death, ape."
"Don't cry when you lose, Narcissist Purple-Hair bitch."
I fired back, stepping half forward.
"Fighters, positions. Match... begin!"
The referee's small flag snapped up.