Ten Seconds
Under the brilliant glare of the auditorium lights, the shattered fragments of the sword gleamed in a kaleidoscope of colors.
I had played the Flame Butterfly Chapter countless times. In that story, Van was always a crucial figure, Lucas's steadfast friend who stood by his side. Could someone like me truly be ignorant of Van's existence? Not a chance.
Leading up to this mock battle, I had studied relentlessly. While some of that effort was admittedly to keep up with the academy's curriculum, my primary focus had been analyzing the weaknesses of my opponents. I am no genius. But I knew every minor character's habits, behaviors, unique traits, strengths, and weaknesses inside out.
The Flame Butterfly Chapter was my absolute favorite game, the one I loved more than any other. I remembered every single character, even the minor ones, with crystal clarity. And that was precisely why I wanted to see a happy ending, not a tragic one. I wanted this game, which I cherished so deeply, to always end in happiness.
Amidst the shower of shattered blade fragments, my hand shot upward. Shaped into the likeness of a blade, my hand became a literal sword in this split second, thanks to my Steel Skin. A living, breathing weapon. I, the sword, lunged straight at Van.
Slash!
My thrusting hand-blade grazed past the side of Van's head. What kind of monstrous reflexes did this guy have? Even in the shocking instant his sword shattered, Van had managed to react.
Tsk.
I used to be an athlete before my injury, but my past athletic training meant next to nothing against monsters who had long since transcended the limits of humanity. But that was fine.
If the first strike fails...
I would simply follow up with a second.
Here it comes.
My gaze locked onto Van. He stared back at me with a dazed expression, but beneath his shock, a quiet ember began to kindle in his eyes. Having his sword shattered was an unprecedented disaster. For Van, it was the first time in his life his weapon had ever been broken.
"You're completely out of your mind," he muttered.
And with those words, the spark of his competitive drive flared to life.
Van had always possessed that competitive fire. However, for certain reasons, that flame had once been extinguished. There was only one other time his fire had ever blazed anew—when he clashed with Lucas, the embodiment of the Flame of Fighting Spirit. It was a flame that should have burned fiercely alongside Lucas's. But when Lucas died, Van's fire had withered away with him. Yet now, that dormant competitive spark in him was catching fire once more—ignited by the feeble ember of my own resolve.
Van pulled his hand back, gripping the hilt. Only a hollow hilt remained in his grasp. But he was a genius.
Cr-cracklet!
Brilliant blue sparks erupted. Van's gray hair whipped wildly in the sudden discharge of energy. The surrounding air vibrated, and a silent, roaring pressure echoed in my ears. My Steel Skin prickled. Every nerve in my body screamed a warning: This is lethal.
Atop the empty hilt, despite the lack of a physical blade, a phantom sword of pure blue light bared its fangs and roared savagely. Grrr, growl...
They say that when you face a swordsman capable of wielding sword qi, you can hear the growl of a wild beast. Though the reason for this phenomenon—caused by the friction between the sword qi and the atmosphere—remained a mystery, it drove home one undeniable truth: the swordsman standing before you was far more dangerous than any wild beast.
A blade of pure sword qi materialized from Van's empty hilt. Watching from the sidelines, the students gasped in a mixture of shock and awe. Even wrapping a physical blade in sword qi was a rare feat in this world. But to manifest an entire blade out of pure sword qi? That was a realm of mastery that could easily earn him a spot among the prestigious knights of the Highsirion Empire's Imperial Palace.
A genius. Van was demonstrating exactly what that word meant, right here and now.
The surging blue sword qi gleamed with a terrifying radiance. But I knew his limits. At his current level, Van couldn't maintain a blade of pure sword qi without a physical medium for very long. He had ten seconds, at most.
For the first time today, Van's eyes burned with a fierce, ignited passion. If he couldn't settle this within ten seconds, he would lose. Van knew this all too well. Yet, if it was Van...
He fully intends to win within those ten seconds.
And the lazy genius, Van, was more than capable of pulling it off.
In the next heartbeat, Van vanished from right in front of me. My muscles tensed. Gimmicks using my Steel Skin wouldn't save me now. A single scratch from that blade meant death. For the next ten seconds, I had to dodge every single strike.
"Van!" the assistant instructor bellowed, finally realizing that Van had drawn an incredibly dangerous card. But even the assistant instructor couldn't stop Van now that he had manifested his sword qi. Locked in a state of hyper-focus, Van was deaf to the world. His vision held nothing but me.
Yeah, that's the kind of guy you are.
I stared back at him, a grim smile tugging at my lips. Van was lazy despite his genius, but his laziness didn't mean he lacked a competitive drive. If anything, his desire to win was far too intense. That overwhelming obsession with victory had ruined countless things in his life. It had even ruined his relationship with his own family.
Van's talent was towering, and his competitive drive demanded nothing less than absolute triumph. As a result, his eldest brother—who loved the sword more than anyone—was utterly crushed before Van's blade. Afterward, his brother locked himself in his room. He abandoned the sword he loved and avoided Van entirely. Van had been devastated. He grew disgusted with his own competitive nature, loathing the toxic obsession that drove him. If winning meant destroying those he cared about, he decided he would never let that fire burn again. He cast aside his drive and chose to be lazy. It was a bitter, childish coping mechanism, born of a young boy's grief.
But now, for the first time since Lucas's death, Van's competitive fire had been rekindled. The raw desire he had suppressed so deeply within his heart swallowed him whole in an instant.
His first strike will target my head.
I knew his habits inside out, and they hadn't changed. The sword qi, which had seemed poised to cleave my waist, suddenly surged upward, aiming straight for my head.
I threw my head back so violently I nearly lost my balance. The incoming sword qi grazed the bridge of my nose, slicing the skin. Blood splattered, but it wasn't a fatal wound. One second.
Lacking a physical blade, the weightless sword qi bent at an impossible angle, driving into my shoulder. Flesh tore near my armpit, but this, too, was non-lethal. Two seconds.
The twisting sword qi swept downward to strike my legs. At that exact moment, I flung a shard of the broken sword I had secretly palmed. Van instinctively dodged the flying fragment. Seizing the brief disruption that kept his blade from completing its sweep, I threw myself into a roll. Three seconds.
Rolling across the floor, I kicked a shattered half of my shield toward him. Van's sword qi slashed downward, cleaving the wooden scrap in two once more. Four seconds.
As I scrambled to my feet, Van's merciless blade pursued me, tearing through the arena floor. Digging my fingers into the seams of the stone tiles, I ripped one up and flipped it. Van's sword qi sheared right through the stone. Five seconds.
Through the split tile, his blade thrust upward toward my chest. My stance was broken, and my body faltered from the accumulation of minor wounds. I realized it then: in my current state, I could no longer dodge his next strike.
Victory and defeat. At the exact moment the two paths crossed, our eyes met. Van caught the faint, knowing smile playing on my lips. The fact that I was smiling in the face of death made his eyes widen in sudden realization.
Ten seconds of Van's full power. That had been his miscalculation. This duel would never be allowed to drag on for ten long seconds. Five seconds—that was the exact window I had calculated for my victory.
Boom!
A figure stormed into the arena, grabbing Van and slamming him into the stone floor. The impact shattered his concentration, and the empty hilt clattered away, its sword qi dispersing into nothingness. Van's hand was scorched white, the price of manifesting pure sword qi.
Van looked up, dazed. Standing over him was Beganor, the professor in charge of the second-year martial arts department. She looked down at him with an irritated scowl.
"Were you planning to murder your classmate with your own hands, Van?" Beganor asked.
Van flinched at her words. Slowly, his gaze drifted over to me. He took in my battered, bloodied state. His final strike had been aimed squarely at my vitals. Van realized, with a jolt of horror, that his toxic competitive drive had consumed him once again.
"Ah..."
A soft, hollow gasp escaped Van's lips as self-loathing washed over him. It was the first time his competitive fire had burned since Lucas. Lucas had been strong enough to casually invite Van to fight again, a rival against whom Van could unleash his full competitive drive without fear. But I was no Lucas. Lucas was the protagonist. I was merely a third-rate villain destined to exit the stage. I couldn't trade blows with Van on equal terms like Lucas had.
"...I'm sorry," Van muttered.
Beganor didn't scold him further. Instead, she turned her sharp gaze to where I sat slumped on the floor.
"Hanon, you are warned as well."
As expected of the professor. She had realized that I had factored her intervention into my plans from the very beginning.
"And Van," Beganor called out as the boy stood up with a dejected expression. "Look at him closely. Even if this mock battle had continued, it wouldn't have been your victory."
Van slowly raised his head.
"This is your defeat, for failing to realize that your opponent kept his final card hidden until the very end."
Van's eyes widened. His gaze locked onto my arm, where a faint, fading light was flickering out.
Beganor's intervention. And the backup plan in case she failed to intervene. My next move. Magic Engraving. Only now did Van realize that I had calculated both possibilities from the start. I had kept one final trump card hidden until the very end. Had the battle continued, there was no telling what would have happened to Van, completely oblivious as he was.
"Do not be arrogant. I acknowledge your skill with the sword, but do not assume those around you have no strengths of their own."
Beganor's bone-chilling advice left Van staring blankly.
"Ha... haha."
A hollow chuckle escaped Van's lips. He stared at me for a long moment before slowly bowing his head.
"I'm sorry. It seems I was the one who was completely blind." Van lifted his head, a faint trace of relief washing over his features. "I lost."
Hearing his admission, I let out a soft snort. "You're stating the obvious." Who else did he think won?
Van chuckled in disbelief. As I watched him, my body began to tilt sideways. It didn't take long for me to realize why. I had pushed myself to the limit while losing a massive amount of blood. With the battle over, the rush of adrenaline faded, replaced by overwhelming relief and exhaustion. The outcome was decided from the start. Hang on, bed, I'm coming for you.
Through my fading consciousness, I caught sight of Isabel in the distance, her eyes wide with shock. Isabel, who had been eagerly anticipating a duel with me... I felt a bit sorry for her, but she'd have to wait until next time. Once again, I had left her hanging.
Thud.