Trent POV:
"D-Damn it..."
’Why does the worst crap always happen to ?’
Trent muttered under his breath, staring at the list of matchups posted on the screen for the upcoming ranking matches.
He scrolled through the nas, hoping—praying—he wouldn’t see that na.
And then there it was.
Rin Evans.
His heart sank like a stone.
To Trent, that na didn’t belong to a fellow cadet. No.
That na was a curse.
A walking disaster.
A devil in human skin.
Only one person scared him more than Rin—and that was Leo Taylor, the party leader of his combat group. And even then, Leo was terrifying in the way a wild beast was. Rin was terrifying in the way madn who smiled during explosions were.
Trent still rembered that mission.
The dungeon raid they went on together.
He rembered it very clearly.
At first, he had thought Rin was just another quiet tagalong—just the type who stood in the back and let the strong ones handle the real work.
But when they faced the dungeon boss—a massive, armored beetle monster that could level buildings with a single charge—everything changed.
Rin didn’t pull out a sword.
He didn’t chant a spell.
He pulled out bombs.
Twenty of them.
Big, round, rune-etched bombs that he casually rolled into the boss room like he was setting up a birthday party.
Everyone—including Trent—had yelled at him. What the hell was he doing?! Bombs? Really? They barely worked on common monsters, let alone dungeon bosses.
But Rin didn’t care.
He just smiled.
And then... BOOM.
The entire chamber lit up with fire and smoke. The shockwave was so strong that Trent thought his eardrums had burst.
The beetle let out a hideous screech.
Not of anger.
But of pain.
Because those weren’t normal bombs. Rin had enhanced them with his talent—he’d imbued each one to the point they practically had personal vendettas against the boss monster.
The beetle died. Eventually.
From that mont on, Trent swore never to team up with him again.
And now, here they were.
Matched up. Again.
"...I’m going to die," Trent whispered, dragging a hand down his face.
No one around him understood.
To them, Rin was just another cadet. Smart. Quiet. A bit odd, maybe.
But Trent had seen things.
He had seen the bombs.
He had heard the screams.
And now, he had to fight the person who smiled through it all.
"...I need a vacation."
But he couldn’t back out.
Not now.
Trent had trained too hard, suffered too much, and pushed himself too far just to throw in the towel because of one na on a list.
Even if that na ca with twenty enchanted bombs and a permanent trauma stamp.
"Pull it together, Trent," he muttered to himself, pacing back and forth in the locker hallway. "You’ve survived worse. That sparring match with Leo, rember? You broke three ribs and still walked out smiling. This... this is just Rin."
Just Rin.
That phrase alone made his stomach twist.
He could already imagine it:
Rin, standing on the arena platform, looking bored. Casual. Harmless.
And then...
Flashbangs. Poison mist. Smoke bombs.
Maybe even another twenty rune-etched balls of doom.
Trent let out a strangled noise—it could’ve been a laugh, or maybe a sob. Honestly, even he wasn’t sure.
It might sound a little full of himself, but Trent genuinely believed he had so talent.
Sure, he didn’t have much in terms of offensive firepower, but when it ca to defense and drawing enemy attention—classic tank duties—he was way ahead of the curve for a first-year. That was his thing. He held the line.
That confidence had carried him here. He wanted to prove sothing. Show off a bit, maybe.
Violet had declined his invitation to co watch, but Ama and Mira? They said they’d co support him. Maybe out of party loyalty. Maybe out of boredom.
But still—they were coming.
That was enough to light a fire in him. He wanted to look cool. Be dependable. Win smoothly and smartly. Make them proud. Maybe even impress them a little.
He didn’t sign up to be thrown into so bloodsport arena to fight a monster.
This wasn’t the kind of "cool" he had in mind.
----
Velcrest Academy – Ranking Arena Prep Room
Trent stood in the prep room, staring at his own reflection in the locker’s small mirror.
"Okay, okay..." he breathed, tapping his cheeks lightly. "This is fine. You’re fine. You’re not gonna die. Probably."
He glanced over at the monitor displaying the fight order again.
Third match of the day: Trent Volt vs Rin Evans.
Gods.
He hoped Rin would just be absent. Maybe skip the match. Maybe he suddenly got sick? Got kidnapped?
No.
Rin was already here.
Trent had seen him.
He walked in half-asleep, sipping sothing from a chipped tal thermos, looking like he hadn’t slept in a week. His hair was a ss. His uniform was rumpled. He was yawning.
And when their eyes t for just a mont across the hallway, Rin had blinked once... then smiled.
That smile.
That creepy, half-distracted grin like he was already envisioning how to blow sothing up.
Trent had almost tripped over his own boots.
"Trent."
A voice snapped Trent out of his thoughts.
It was Leo Taylor.
The one person Trent both admired and feared.
Leo leaned against the locker, arms crossed, looking casual. Like he wasn’t one of the strongest combat cadets in the entire year.
"You look like you’re about to throw up," Leo said bluntly.
"Because I might," Trent muttered. "You saw the list, right? I got Rin. Rin, Leo."
Leo raised an eyebrow, then let out a low chuckle.
"Oh. You’re serious. Sucks to be you."
"Helpful," Trent groaned. "Really helpful."
"Look, man, I’ve fought Rin once too. Long ti ago. Trust ... he’s weird, yeah. But not unbeatable."
Trent stared at him. "Did you win?"
Leo paused. Then looked away.
"...Not important."
Trent slumped against his locker.
"You’re gonna be fine," Leo added. "Just don’t give him any openings. Watch your surroundings. And whatever you do, don’t underestimate the random junk he pulls out of his pockets."
"Noted."
"Good. Now breathe. Your match is up in fifteen minutes. You don’t want to face him while hyperventilating."
"...Too late."
---
Ranking Arena – Spectator Seats
Rachel Evans leaned back in her seat, arms crossed, watching the arena floor with a soft smile.
Her younger brother Rin stood at the far edge, his usual half-drowsy, unbothered expression in place.
To anyone else, he looked disinterested.
To her, it was obvious.
He was calculating.
The way his fingers gently brushed over his belt. The faint glint of tal peeking from the folds of his jacket.
He was prepared.
Rachel exhaled through her nose, watching quietly as Trent entered the opposite side of the arena, nervously waving to his teammates in the stands.
"Poor guy," she muttered.
She didn’t know him personally, but from what she heard, Trent was a decent cadet.
Too bad he had to go up against her brother.
A boy who didn’t know how to hold back.
She leaned in, murmuring to herself.
"Let’s see how bad it gets this ti."
---
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