Before all of that, let’s rewind a little. Just a bit. Back to the mont right before the round began.
Right now, we’re standing face to face.
Not taphorically. Not in so dramatic, overblown sense. Literally. Close enough that I can see the subtle rise and fall of her chest as she breathes, close enough to notice the way her grip tightens ever so slightly around her weapon. The air between us feels heavier than it should, like it’s been stretched thin and doesn’t quite know whether to snap or hold.
After all this ti, we’ve never actually fought each other.
We’ve seen each other constantly. I an, we shared training grounds, crossed paths in corridors, as well as exchanged words with each other. We existed in each other’s orbit for so long that it almost felt normal. Familiar. And yet, despite all of that, we never once raised our blades against one another.
It’s funny how that works.
Calling us friends feels... off. Like wearing shoes that are just a size too small. You can do it, sure, but it never feels right. Still, calling us re acquaintances feels like a lie too. That undersells whatever this is.
So maybe sothing in between fits best.
Right now, though, none of that seems to matter.
She isn’t saying anything.
Not a word, not a sound, not even a casual remark to break the silence. That alone tells everything I need to know. She’s locked in. Completely focused. No distractions as well as no wasted thoughts.
Dead serious.
And honestly? That makes sense.
This isn’t so sparring match or friendly test of skill. This is a tournant. A real one. The kind where mistakes don’t just sting, they actually cost you everything. Reputation. Standing. Or even pride.
Maybe more.
That’s why we don’t talk, even though we could. Even though it might feel natural to say sothing—anything—to acknowledge what we’ve been to each other up until now.
Instead, we stay silent.
The umpire steps forward and begins explaining the rules. Again.
He’s been doing this since the tournant started, and by now his voice has taken on this oddly hypnotic, monotone rhythm. The words blur together, familiar enough that I could probably recite them myself if I wanted to.
I don’t.
I stop listening sowhere around the first sentence.
Judging by the way she hasn’t even blinked, I’m pretty sure she’s doing the sa. Her eyes never leave . Not even for a second.
That’s... unsettling. In a way.
Finally, the umpire finishes and tells us to get ready.
The mont stretches.
Just a single beat. One heartbeat too long. The kind that makes your muscles tense without you even realizing it.
Then his hand cos down.
The duel begins.
***
Shredica’s POV
The instant the umpire’s hand drops, I move.
There was no hesitation and no second-guessing. My body reacts before my mind even has the chance to catch up, honed by training and instinct. This is what I’m good at. This is where I don’t need to think.
Leon didn’t move.
At all.
He just stood there.
Looking at .
For half a second, I almost wonder if he froze. If the pressure finally got to him. But no—that doesn’t feel right. There’s sothing too calm about him. Too composed.
I don’t give him the benefit of the doubt.
I slipped behind him in one smooth motion, closing the distance instantly, and attack.
I’m not trying to kill him. I never planned to. That’s why I don’t release any killing intent. Still, I let my aura flare—just enough to announce my presence. A warning. A courtesy.
I’m behind you.
He doesn’t turn.
He doesn’t flinch.
He doesn’t react.
For a split second, a thought flashes through my mind.
This is it.
Even though I’ve always felt that Leon was hiding sothing, I don’t wait for him to show it. Waiting gets you killed. Overthinking gets you killed. And I don’t plan on losing because I got sentintal.
But the mont I commit to the strike, sothing feels... wrong.
It’s like hitting an invisible wall.
No—worse.
It’s not sothing external.
It was inside .
My movent slowed. Just barely. So little that anyone watching might not even notice.
But I feel it.
A hesitation.
Why?
Why now?
My teeth grit together as questions flooded my mind against my will. Is it because Leon is soone I know? Soone familiar? Soone I’ve talked to, trained alongside, talked with—even if only a little?
Is it because, sowhere along the line, I started seeing him as sothing closer than just another competitor?
A friend?
That’s stupid.
I barely understand what that word even ans.
We’re acquainted. That’s it. And even that feels generous.
Whatever this feeling is, it doesn’t matter. It shouldn’t matter.
I force it down and strengthen my resolve.
And then—
Sothing hits .
Hard.
My vision flips, and the world spins violently before slamming to a stop.
"Huh?"
That’s all I manage to think before I realize I’m on my back, staring up at the sky. The clouds drift lazily above , completely indifferent to what just happened. For a mont, everything feels distant and muffled. It was like I’m underwater.
Leon was already there.
His sword is pressed against my neck.
That was enough.
I’ve lost.
I could still fight. My body isn’t broken. My limbs still respond. But with his blade resting against such a vulnerable spot, with pinned in a position where even a slight movent could an death, the outco is undeniable.
The match is over.
"Winner!" the umpire announces, pointing at Leon.
Leon said nothing.
He didn’t gloat. He didn’t smirk. He didn’t even look relieved.
He just stared at .
With cold, empty eyes.
And that’s what unsettled the most.
I’ve never seen him like this. Not once. There’s no trace of the Leon I thought I knew. There was no warmth. There was no familiarity. Just a distant, unreadable expression.
It feels like I’m looking at a stranger.
Maybe... I always was.
Maybe I only thought I knew him because he was the first person I talked to here. The first one I managed to connect with, even slightly. Our start wasn’t perfect—far from it—but it was sothing. Or at least, I believed it was.
I push myself up, forcing my body to move despite the lingering shock, and stand. I didn’t look back at him as I walk away.
There’s a break before the next round. Before our second fight.
That gives ti to think.
And I hate it.
How did he defeat ?
I replay the mont over and over in my head. I wasn’t careless. I know I wasn’t. My timing was right. My positioning was perfect.
And yet, I lost without even understanding how.
It was like I’d been forced into submission before I even realized what was happening.
"Was he hiding what he was truly capable of this whole ti?" I muttered under my breath.
I always knew he was strong. I knew he was hiding sothing. But was it really this much?
Stronger than ?
Stronger than I thought?
It doesn’t matter. Not right now.
I lost this round. That’s the reality.
But I won’t lose again.
Next ti, I won’t hesitate. I won’t let familiarity cloud my judgnt. I’ll be cautious. Careful. Prepared.
At least... that’s what I tell myself.
I didn’t yet realize how foolish that confidence truly is.
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