Tandav and Arthur step into the sparring arena, the air between them charged with unspoken rivalry.
As the two steps into the arena, the battlefield changes, the Simulation Core already recognises the data in their connectors.
A pulse of light ripples across the battlefield. The hard metal floor beneath their feet flickers—before dissolving entirely.
A scorching desert materialises around them.
Arthur rolls his shoulders, his grip tightening as he reaches for a training sword from the weapon rack, the cold steel vibrating with familiarity in his hand.
Opposite him, Tandav smirked, effortlessly plucking two long daggers from his own rack and twirling them between his fingers like an artist would a brush.
In the stands, students murmur, some whispering bets, others watching with anticipation.
"What's the score?" Arthur asks as he brandishes his sword.
"200 wins and 135 losses, in my favour," Tandav replies with a smirk.
"Bullshit," Arthur scoffs, frowning.
"You both are at 0-0! Somehow, you both lost every round. Ever," Giuseppe shouts from the stands with a grin, glad to spread misinformation.
"Don't listen to him. The score is 182-182—you two are completely tied!" Marcus corrects him.
"How did you remember that?" Giuseppe turns to him, raising a brow. He looks at Marcus as if he is an alien.
"Because I'm not a goldfish like you," Marcus shrugs, his tone smug enough to be provoking.
"Tsk. Dickhead,"
Tandav and Arthur stretch their bodies, readying themselves for the spar.
"This is it, your final spar of the year. Hold nothing back—because trust me, after this, you won't have as much free time anymore..." Mavena strokes the flames of their fighting spirits, not that it was needed.
In Giuseppe's vision, the image of a lion and a sphinx face each other, muscles coiled, eyes burning with ancient rivalry.
"Begin!" Mavena shouts.
Arthur wastes no time. The moment Mavena signals the start, he surges forward, sword raised high. His muscles tense, his breath steady. His blade comes down like a guillotine, aiming straight for Tandav's head.
Tandav reacts in an instant, crossing his two daggers in an X to catch the strike. The force of the impact sends a violent tremor through his arms. Arthur is stronger—his sheer weight pressing down, forcing Tandav's knees to a bend.
Sparks fly as steel grinds against steel, the sound echoing through the arena.
Arthur grits his teeth and pushes harder, his knuckles white around the hilt. Tandav's feet slid back against the sand, his boots digging trenches into the ground. Sweat beads on his forehead, his muscles trembling under pressure.
He can't win in terms of raw strength—but he doesn't need to.
He shifts his stance, twisting his body at an angle. In one swift motion, he sacrifices his left dagger, letting Arthur's sword slip past his guard. The moment it veers off-course, Tandav moves like a shadow.
Arthur's balance wavers for half a second. Half a second is all Tandav needs.
Arthur attempts to recover, but Tandav pivots, flipping his remaining dagger into a reverse grip. His now free hand snaps up—pressing against the butt of the hilt to drive his attack with brutal force
Tandav's attack aims straight for Arthur's neck.
But Arthur isn't done.
At the very last moment, he drops his weight, dashing backwards, transforming his stance into the one he practised against the shadow figure in his room this morning.
Tandav is shocked by Arthur's stabbing stance, but he has no time to react.
Arthur's blade stops just before Tandav's throat.
The fight is over.
"…"
"…"
"..Since when did you learn to do that?" Tandav exhales with a slight glare, yet accepts his loss.
"Who knows?" Arthur says with amusement as he smiles like a Cheshire cat.
"The fight is over! Winner—Arthur Rain!" Mavena steps forward as she announces.
The two walk out of the arena, their bodies aching with, their minds still replaying every move.
They sit back into their seats at the spectator stands, ignoring the cheers and murmurs rippling through the crowd.
Without wasting any time, Mavena continues with the duels.
"Daniel Gonzales, Sasha Graves—step forward,"
Daniel stands up, a firm look in his bespectacled eyes as he walks towards the arena.
"You better not lost to some no-name, Danny boy," Giuseppe says to Daniel's passing figure.
To the surprise of none, Daniel ignores him.
"She isn't just some no-name. She is ranked 8 in our year," Marcus clarifies, his arms crossed as he stares at the arena.
"That right? Should be easy enough for him then, since he is rank 5" Giuseppe says, with an unimpressed tone.
"Err, Daniel isn't ranked 5, didn't you know?" Tandav interjects.
"WHAT?!" Giuseppe was shocked and outraged.
"He has never been ranked 5. Though, he was ranked 6. Which is probably what you are thinking about. He's rank 9 now, his rank got pushed down by Rachel, Maya and obviously Sasha—who he is going to be fighting now," Marcus says, clearly the most knowledgeable about this topic.
"Who the fuck are they?" Giuseppe, cluelessly responds.
Marcus simply sighs and mentally gives up on Giuseppe.
"Whatever man. It doesn't even matter. No matter how much they try—they will never reach us,"
Giuseppe grins at Marcus's words.
"That's what I'm talking abou-"
Giuseppe's words get caught in his throat as his attention turns to Daniel's opponent, who is also making her way to the arena.
She is a petite young woman with short brown hair and piercing blue eyes. She's dressed in blue jeans, a plain white shirt, and a black hat—casual, unassuming, almost forgettable.
His brows furrow. That's the new number five?
"Really?" He scoffs, unimpressed.
Giuseppe's gaze sharpens as he scrutinizes her, his eyes darkening slightly. And then—he sees it.
Or rather, he doesn't
His jaw clenches. His teeth grind together. His hands curl into fists.
"Fucking bitch…" he mutters under his breath, his glare cold and cutting.
There was nothing. No fire. No presence. Not a single ounce of fighting spirit.
Nothing like what he had seen in the others.
Seeing his reaction, the others also narrow their eyes, they have seen this reaction in him before.
Though, never this intense.
"How did someone like that get to become rank 5?" Arthur mutters.
Regardless, the group decides to forget about it, since the fight was about to begin anyway.
As the two fighters step into the arena, the scenery changes once more.
The Simulation Core activates, seamlessly reconstructing the battlefield. In an instant, the sterile training grounds are replaced by a sprawling forest landscape—towering trees stretch towards the sky, their thick canopies casting shadows below.
Dense bushes and vibrant green grass cover the terrain, rustling gently with an artificial breeze.
The scent of earth and foliage fills the air, the sounds of distant birds and rustling leaves adding to the illusion.
"Hey, Sasha," Daniels speaks suddenly, his hair covering his eyes, only showing the shadow of his glasses.
"Yes?"
"How about we make this an official duel, eh?" Daniel asks with an uncharacteristic smirk as he takes off his glasses and slicks his hair back.
At his seemingly simple question, silence crashes over the arena. Shock ripples through the crowd—even Giuseppe, usually unfazed, raises a brow. Mavena's expression hardens, but she says nothing.
An official duel.
The weight of those words is suffocatingly heavy. Unlike a regular spar, an official duel carries absolute authority, bound by the ironclad laws of humanity itself. Once declared and accepted, no one—no instructor, no student, no outside force—can interfere until a winner is determined. Even if it means one of them doesn't walk away.
'This is why I like you, Danny boy. You just never fail to surprise me,' Giuseppe grins as he gazes at the arena.
___________
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