If it hadn't been for Michael severely holding back his punch, Ryn would have been sent flying, along with anyone standing nearby, to the other side of the road.
Even so, the restrained blow carried enough force to shock everyone around.
Michael Norman.
The na alone carried weight. Anyone who knew even fragnts of what he had done during the unified exams would understand that he wasn't an ordinary being. Yet, since most hadn't seen it firsthand, they attributed his feats to his undead. It wasn't entirely wrong-but it wasn't exactly right either.
Ryn, of course, wasn't a fool. His arrogant confidence wasn't entirely baseless bravado. He had approached Michael not just to intimidate him, but to gauge his reaction-to be close enough to counter if Michael decided to summon one of his undead.
From Ryn's perspective, this was even better.
He didn't fear dying; the academy's safety barriers and surveillance ensured no one could actually kill another student. But if Michael lost his temper, if he even slightly broke the academy's behavioral rules, that would be leverage. Ryn could use that to suppress him publicly- to tarnish the reputation of the "famous Michael Norman" before the sester even began.
At least, that had been the plan.
Unfortunately for him, things hadn't gone according to plan. Michael didn't lose his composure, nor did he summon an undead to fight in his stead. He simply acted and used his own fist.
The result was devastating.
The air cracked with a dull thud that echoed, followed by stunned
silence. Ryn staggered backward several steps, boots grinding against the paved floor as he barely kept his footing. His face twisted, not from pain but from disbelief.
Lira and the nearby students stood frozen, their mouths slightly open. None of them had even seen Michael move. One mont he had been standing calmly, the next, Ryn was reeling.
Had that punch landed on them instead, it wouldn't have rely
pushed them back-it would have sent them flying.
And yet, the fact that Ryn had only been forced back several steps was already shocking.
This wasn't so regular student.
Ryn was a Magic Swordsman -and not a low-tier one either.
The hierarchy of the academy was clear. The top-ranked students of each year weren't ordinary, but even among them, there were limits. A first-year's top student, no matter how talented, couldn't usually compare to the elites of the upper years.
In most cases, a fifth-year's top student could crush a first-year's without even needing to use their full strength. Even if rare exceptions existed, those were few and far between.
That was why the onlookers couldn't process what they were seeing.
Ryn's face turned red with embarrassnt and sha. His jaw ached, and a faint line of blood trickled down the side of his mouth.
For a mont, the humiliation burned hotter than the pain. The murmurs of his goons behind him and people around-half-stifled gasps and whispers-only fueled the fire roaring in his chest.
His fingers twitched. His pride, the discipline he'd cultivated over years, all teetered on the edge of snapping. A re first-year had struck him.
Also, what was this strength?! Wasn't he a necromancer?!
Necromancers were never known for physical strength. Even among mages, they ranked near the bottom in terms of direct combat power. He caught off guard, Ryn thought bitterly, jaw tightening. That's all. A sneak attack.
He inhaled deeply, suppressing the tremor in his shoulders. The crimson glow flickered across his knuckles as mana surged through his veins. "You think that's funny?" he muttered, his tone cold. "Good. Then let's make it fair."
Without another word, he stepped forward and threw a straight punch of his own, mana flaring across his arm like faint lightning. The ground beneath his boots cracked slightly from the force of his
stance, the air rippling as he swung.
But before the blow could land, Michael moved-almost lazily.
He raised a hand and caught Ryn's punch in midair.
The impact made a sharp, heavy thump, and the ground beneath Michael's feet quivered from the pressure. Yet, he didn't budge. His expression remained calm, even indifferent, as if he were holding a training dummy instead of the fist of a fifth-year Magic Swordsman.
The veins on Ryn's arm bulged. He tried to pull back, but Michael's grip was steady and immovable, as though his hand were made of
steel.
The silence that followed was deafening.
"You're... kidding ," Ryn breathed, his eyes widening in disbelief.
He pushed harder, pouring more mana into his arm, but Michael
didn't flinch.
Lira's eyes were wide, her breath caught in her throat. He caught Ryn's strike? she thought in disbelief. Just like that?
She had seen many powerful students in her two years here but this
was sothing else.
Michael exhaled slowly and released Ryn's fist.
Ryn stumbled back half a step, his pride bruised even more. His mind scread for him to attack again, to redeem himself sohow.
Michael's eyes were calm.
Michael turned slightly, glancing at the stunned Lira beside him. "Everything's fine as long as I don't cripple or kill anyone, right?" His tone was calm, but there was a quiet edge to it that made the words linger like a warning.
Lira blinked, stunned for a mont, before nodding quickly. "R-right...
I think so."
A faint smile, one that didn't reach his eyes, tugged at Michael's lips.
"Good."
He turned back to Ryn, his hand still hanging loosely by his side. "Then I'll take that as permission."
The air between them shifted instantly.
Ryn's instincts scread again. His mind shouted at him to retreat,
but his pride wouldn't allow it. With a sharp breath, he flared his mana once more, his sword materializing in his grip in a burst of red
light.
The onlookers froze.
"Ryn!" Lira said sharply, stepping forward. "You'll get suspended if="
But her words were drowned out by the sudden gust of mana that surged from the fifth-year's body. The paved stones cracked beneath his boots as he lunged forward, blade cutting through the air in a blazing arc of crimson light.
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