The Taste of Defeat

"Ngh..."

The bitter, biting chill battered against me, dressed lightly as I was as usual. Circulating mana from my fingertips—throbbing with a pain that went far beyond mere numbness—I kept my gaze locked firmly onto Yelena.

A murderous blizzard straight out of the Northern Continent raged across the ring, and ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠my field of view shrank with every passing second. A pure white hell had unfolded across the dueling grounds.

Yelena watched my visibly sluggish movements. Though we had exchanged only a handful of blows, in her mind, I was already far from an ordinary student. If she didn't finish this decisively, she would be the one brought down. How long had it been since a peer had made her feel that way? Spurred by the anxiety creeping into the corner of her heart, her longsword plunged into the fresh drift of snow.

With a dull thud, the snow exploded outward. Through the white veil, Yelena vanished from sight. My amethyst eyes narrowed.

"Phew..."

A sigh escaped my lips, scattering into a pale wisp of breath. Slowly closing my eyes, I surrendered sight altogether, entrusting my body to my remaining senses as I adjusted my grip on my blade.

Heightened senses swept through the artificial tempest. The flow of the wind was sharp yet rhythmic, and amidst it, an unnatural current stirred. In that very instant, a flash of steel lanced through the snowstorm. I raised my sword almost simultaneously.

Clang!

It was unmistakably a collision of blades, yet the sound that rang out was heavy, like an iron anvil. Deflecting Yelena's piercing thrust, I surged boldly forward.

At the same time, the Stigma revealed through my torn glove flared. The celestial blessing bestowed upon mortals gleamed with an ink-black radiance. At a distance where our breaths practically mingled, I smiled softly and activated my power.

"A Stigma... us... er...?!"

Yelena's shocked outcry stretched out like pulled taffy, and a strange sensation of weightlessness enveloped my body. In a fraction of a second carved into dozens of imperceptible instants, dark particles scattered where I had just stood. Yelena's silver eyes trembled faintly.

"Damn it...!"

Staring blankly at the empty space I had vacated, it was pure, unadulterated instinct that allowed Yelena to dodge the strike launched from behind her. I had clearly been standing right in front of her, yet another version of me was now swinging a blade at her back. Before she even had the leisure to question reality, my form vanished from her sight once more.

"Ah?"

Having spent her entire life fighting monsters, Yelena had zero experience dealing with Stigma users. Caught completely off guard by the ambush, her footwork began to tangle. At this rate, she was guaranteed to lose. Her mind grasped that reality with crystal clarity, but she couldn't conjure a single solution to break through the predicament. Her longsword sliced only through my phantom afterimage, scattering ink-black motes into the air.

Clang!

With a crisp metallic ring, Yelena's longsword flew into the air.

"...Ah?"

Amidst the frozen silence, only Yelena's dazed, bewildered murmur echoed. Watching the barrier dissolve, I slid my blade smoothly back into its scabbard.

A beat late, the referee's flabbergasted voice broke through the stillness.

"...Winner: Temporary Class A, Student Number 13, Sian!"

My stats are higher than I thought. That was the first thought that crossed my mind as I examined the status window.

The standard level for an academy graduate was around 40. A knight serving in the Empire's elite Imperial Knight Order hovered around level 55. And at this current point in time, Yelena Frost was level 50.

Loosening my muscles, which had grown taut with tension, I closed the window. Fortunately, it seemed I had navigated past the major hurdle. Harbouring that naive assumption, I stepped down from the dueling platform with a light heart.

"I... I lost?"

I left Yelena Frost behind on the ring, feebly murmuring to herself in a small, stunned voice, quietly hoping that I could finally enjoy a normal academy life from here on out.

The day after winning the duel, I made my way to the training grounds at the crack of dawn, just as I always did. Winning against Yelena Frost was one thing, but my actual skill was far too lacking to indulge in arrogance. Yesterday's victory had only been possible because I already knew her patterns inside out; had we met as complete strangers, I would have been overwhelmingly crushed.

"This isn't nearly enough."

I had no intention of resting on my laurels. Arcana Academy was by no means a hopeful, forgiving world, and reality didn't come with a convenient revive function. On the bright side, thanks to our duel, I could now project Yelena into my mindscape training. I was just starting to get sick of fighting that baron anyway, so this worked out great.

"Has Teacher Elin not arrived yet?"

Sorting through my stray thoughts, I leaned my back against the massive entrance of the training hall. The moment I did, the heavy doors swung inward with a prolonged creak.

"...Huh?"

No student visited the training grounds at five in the morning besides me. Under normal circumstances, the place should have been locked tight, and I had taken it for granted that it was. With the doors yielding effortlessly, my body tumbled backward into the opening. Just before I could hit the floor, the Stigma etched into my left hand flared, dissolving my form into dark motes.

Regaining my balance with Blink, I peered into the training hall through the ajar door.

"Looks like you missed out on first place today, Sian."

"Ah, Teacher Elin?"

Elin pushed the door open wider, murmuring under her breath, "Still, that girl really is something else. Or should I call it stubborn foolishness?"

Her gaze was directed toward a practice room in the corner of the hall. In the dim dawn light filtering through the windows, a girl with silver hair tied into a high ponytail was swinging her sword. As if replaying yesterday's duel move by move, she repeated ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the same sequence over and over, refining her posture with every repetition.

Only a single day had passed, yet Yelena's swordplay was noticeably sharper than it had been yesterday. As expected of a main character from the third-year storyline. But to me, the sight of her looked precariously fragile for some reason. She swung her blade past her limits, almost as if she were punishing herself.

"She told me she wanted to clear her head of lingering regrets and stray thoughts, asking if ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠she could use the hall a little longer."

"Wait, don't tell me... has she been doing that since yesterday?"

At Elin's words, an involuntary shiver ran down my spine. In the game's third-year duel event, when Yelena Frost was defeated by the protagonist, she merely showed a bit more interest in them. She had never driven herself to this extent. Was this another consequence of entangling with her as a first-year? Having transmigrated after only playing Part 1 of Arcana Academy, I couldn't possibly know. I didn't even know Yelena's full backstory.

"Yeah. It seems yesterday's defeat was quite a shock to her. I'm getting worried, though. Skipping meals like that will ruin her body. But seeing her on the verge of an epiphany makes it hard to just interrupt her training."

Elin spoke with a complicated sigh, resting a hand gently on top of my head.

"Eh?"

"And I'm sorry. A few days ago, I think I underestimated you far too much. You fight a lot better than I gave you credit for."

"N-No need to apologize. Honestly, it was a fight I should have lost."

Had Yelena known about my Stigma beforehand, I wouldn't have gained the upper hand so easily. And as I had reminded myself earlier, had I not encountered her in the game, I would have been beaten before I could even activate it.

"You're quite humble, aren't you, Sian?"

"Ahaha..."

Letting out an awkward laugh, I turned my attention back toward Yelena. Watching her swing her sword felt agonizingly precarious. Part of me wanted to understand why she was pushing herself so hard, and another part was genuinely concerned about her skipping sleep just to swing steel. Driven by both, I quietly approached her.

"Haa... haah... hup...!"

In contrast to the flawless vertical arc cutting through the air, Yelena looked thoroughly exhausted to anyone with eyes. She looked ready to collapse at any moment.

"Hah, ah... ngh?!"

Sure enough, her center of gravity wavered as she forced her exhausted body beyond its limit. Her foot slipped, and her frame tilted precariously.

"Yelena?"

Yelena's startled gasp crossed with Elin's alarmed shout. The moment her sword slipped from her grasp and she began to fall, the Stigma on the back of my hand flared black, scattering my body into particles.

The space between us compressed. Appearing before her eyes in an instant, I saw panic flood Yelena's silver irises.

"Watch out!"

Fortunately, I managed to snatch the hand she flailed in the air before she could crash against the floor. A Strength stat far exceeding that of an ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠ordinary girl allowed me to support Yelena, who stood nearly ten centimeters taller than me. Catching her wrist with my right hand and bracing her waist with my left, I pulled her close until our bodies met, separated only by thin layers of fabric. The sweet, faint scent of her skin rushed over me.

"...Ah?"

Yelena's face flushed crimson, turning as red as a ripe persimmon. Her cool, ever-composed silver eyes trembled violently. Was she embarrassed that I had seen her in such a pathetic state? Had I meddled where I shouldn't have?

Unfortunately, I wasn't given the luxury of dwelling on those worries for long.

All the tension drained from Yelena's body, and right there in my arms, she fainted dead away.