Morning sunlight stretched across the academy courtyard as the six students gathered, tension hanging in the air like static before a storm. The arena platforms were being prepared, instructors setting new barriers and safety seals. Lloyd, Hanzo, Alice, Kana, Ren, Jiro, sato, and Mina stood waiting as the instructor stepped forward. “Quarter finals begin today,” he announced. “First match: Alice vs. Kana.” A few students whispered—some excited, some nervous. Kana just smirked, cracking her knuckles like she had been waiting for this. Alice took a deep breath, adjusting the leather strap of her training sword. Despite her calm posture, Lloyd noticed the tiny tremor in her hand. He walked up beside her. “Hey… you ready?” Alice looked up, surprised—then smiled softly. “Yeah… I think so. Kinda.” She sighed. “Kana’s strong fighter. Lloyd leaned against the wall next to her. “So are you.” Her eyes widened slightly, a light blush on her cheeks. “You’re rooting for me?” “Of course I am,” Lloyd said without hesitation. “You worked hard for this. You earned your spot.” Alice looked down at her hands. “…I’m really glad you said that.” Lloyd blinked. “Why?” Alice hesitated, searching for the right words. “Because…” She exhaled slowly. “When I watch you fight, when I see how hard you push yourself… it makes me want to be like that too. Strong. Focused. Brave.” Lloyd scratched the back of his head, a little embarrassed. “I’m not that impressive.” “Lloyd, yes you are,” she said firmly. Her tone softened. “Even when things are scary… even when people judge you… you keep moving. That’s something I admire.” Lloyd froze for a moment, not expecting that. He opened his mouth to reply, but Kana suddenly walked past them, resting her sword on her shoulder. “Don’t get too cozy,” she said, giving Alice a teasing grin. “I’m still taking you down.” Alice stood taller. “We’ll see about that.” Kana winked. “Hope you’re watching, Lloyd.” Alice walked toward the arena platform, her steps steady and sure. The crowd began gathering. The instructor raised his hand. “Prepare for the first quarter-final match!” The air grew tense. Alice stepped onto the arena platform, tightening her grip on her sword. Across from her, Kana rolled her shoulders, a lazy grin on her face as the crowd settled in. The instructor raised his hand. The instructor looked between them, sensing the tension. “Both fighters—ready.” Alice steadied her breathing. Kana’s grin sharpened. The crowd leaned forward. “Begin!”

  Kana exploded forward, blade cutting through the air. Alice met her head-on. Steel clashed—

  Sparks flew—The crowd roared—And neither of them held back. The moment the match began, Alice lunged in with a burst of speed sharper than anyone expected. Her footwork cut across the arena floor in perfect diagonal steps—clean, efficient. Kana blocked the first slash with one hand, blade tilted at the perfect angle to deflect.

  CLANG—! Alice didn’t hesitate. She stepped back half a foot and parried all three blows with frightening precision. CLANG—CLANG—TCHK!

  Lloyd leaned forward in the stands, surprised. “Alice is… faster than I thought…” Hanzo nodded, watching intensely. But Kana wasn’t behind. She countered with a sudden burst of movement—no wasted steps, slicing in from Alice’s blind angle with a curved blade motion. Intercepting Fang. Alice barely ducked in time, Kana’s slash brushing her hair as she spun. Lloyd exhaled sharply. “…And Kana—her reaction time is crazy…” The arena echoed with rapid steel-on-steel. Kana advanced again, blade tight and relentless. Her strikes weren’t flashy—they were surgical. Every thrust forced Alice to retreat a step, tilt her sword, shift her stance. Alice’s boots slid across the floor. CLANG—TCHK—CLANG—! Alice gritted her teeth, focusing. She dropped her center of gravity and launched forward—Kana, blade sweeping wide. Kana’s eyes widened in the first moment of real surprise. SHING! Kana blocked again—but this time, Alice’s force sent her skidding back. The crowd erupted. Kana’s smile returned, sharper now. She flipped her blade into a reverse grip and began a spinning advance, chaining slash after slash. Alice braced parrying each hit, sparks bursting at every contact.

  CLANG—CLASH—FLARE—! Alice spotted an opening—tiny, but there— She twisted her hips and struck upward. Kana pivoted at the last instant, redirecting the hit with the back of her blade and turning it into an immediate counter. A reversal—fluid and deadly. Alice staggered—

  Kana pressed forward—But Alice caught herself, sliding back, sword raised just in time. For the first time in the match, both fighters stood still, chests rising with controlled breaths, eyes locked. The tension between them was electric—competitive, fierce, personal. Alice tightened her stance. They launched at the same time. And neither intended to lose. Alice stumbled back a few steps, chest heaving, sweat running down her jawline as Kana slid into a low stance—blade angled, eyes razor-sharp. The arena’s roar faded beneath the pounding of Alice’s heartbeat. For a moment, everything slowed… and her mind drifted back. Lloyd’s voice echoed in her memory “I want to… I want to make this world live in peace. Without fear. I’m gonna fight for that future.” Back then, he said it so quietly—almost embarrassed, almost unsure—but it hit her harder than any attack today. Alice clenched her fists. Her legs trembled from the last exchange. “If I want to stand beside him… if I want to reach the same height… if I want to share that future—” Her grip tightened on the hilt. “—then I HAVE to win!” She pushed forward with a sharp exhale, her movement suddenly sharper, cleaner—Not reckless, not emotional—but focused. Kana’s eyes widened, just a fraction. “Finally getting serious, huh?” she muttered under her breath, adjusting her footing. Alice didn’t answer. She didn’t need to. Because everything she felt—her resolve, her fear, her hope—poured into her steps. Lloyd, watching from the stands, leaned forward. His eyes widened. “Alice… your fighting style changed.” He could feel it. Her resolve. Her drive. Her footwork tightened, her blade angle refined Every movement suddenly efficient, sharp, disciplined. Kana felt it instantly. Her pupils narrowed. “Tch—she changed her rhythm.” Alice pressed forward again. Then again. And again. A constant rising tempo that Kana struggled to read. Steel clashed—CLANG! Kana parried. Alice was already gone. CLANG! Kana blocked low. Alice twisted high. CLANG! Kana slid back—gritting her teeth now—because every time she set her stance, Alice was already striking from another angle. Up in the stands, Lloyd stood without realizing it. “…She’s getting faster mid-fight… her timing too… She’s reading Kana.” Kana flipped her grip and tried to push forward—her usual aggressive rhythm—but Alice cut it off cleanly, slipping past her guard and forcing Kana into the very thing she hated was defense. Kana’s jaw tightened. She swung with a sharp diagonal cut—fast enough that most students would’ve panicked. Alice didn’t. She stepped in Turned her body. Let the blade slide past with inches to spare. Then—THWAP!

  The blunt edge of Alice’s practice sword struck Kana’s ribs. The crowd roared. Kana’s eyes widened—not from pain, but disbelief. “…You really… pushed me this far?” she muttered.Alice stood quiet She adjusted her stance again.Focused and Determined.

  Lloyd whispered, “She’s in full momentum now… If Kana slips even once—”Kana rushed in for a final gamble, but her footing was off—and Alice caught it One perfect parry One clean sidestep One precise strike to the chest—THWACK! Kana’s sword flew from her hands. She dropped to one knee, breath gone. The arena fell silent—then erupted. “Winner—ALICE!” Alice exhaled shakily as the adrenaline faded. She looked up instinctively—toward the seats—and found Lloyd already smiling at her. Kana stood, clicking her tongue, but she didn’t look angry. If anything… she smirked. “Tch. You beat me. Fair and square.” Alice closed her eyes for a moment, whispering to herself: “I advanced… Lloyd… I’m getting stronger.” The arena lights dimmed, then flared again as the announcer’s voice rang out: “Next match—LLOYD UZUGAYA vs JIRO TANMA!” A buzz spread through the crowd—Lloyd was a favorite to win the entire tournament, but Jiro was known for one thing: He studies every opponent Every habit Every step. Lloyd walked calmly onto the stage, sword resting on his shoulder. Jiro stood opposite him—with sharp eyes that tracked every movement Lloyd made. Alice whispered from the stands, “Lloyd… you got this.” Hanzo grinned. “Let’s see how much you improved The bell rang. “BEGIN!” Lloyd moved first—a clean, explosive dash forward, blade coming in with a sharp diagonal cut. Jiro blocked barely—feet sliding back on the arena floor. Lloyd didn’t let up. His footwork had evolved—small hops, sharp pivots, smooth transitions Every strike flowed into the next like a river turning into a storm. CLANG! Jiro parried. CLANG! Lloyd switched direction mid-swing. CLANG! Jiro’s guard was forced higher. The crowd gasped as Lloyd spun lightly on his heel, slipping behind Jiro and tapping the back of his shoulder with the wooden blade—a clean scoring strike. Hanzo whistled. “Damn, he’s reading Jiro like a book.”

  From the referee stand, several teachers murmured too. “His footwork is refined.” “He’s controlling the pace.” “Jiro can’t counter if he can’t plant his feet.” Jiro exhaled sharply, eyes narrowing. He rushed again—faster this time. His blade cut low—then fainted high—then slid diagonally across Jiro’s side for another clean strike. Jiro staggered back, breathing deeper now. Lloyd didn’t look winded at all. Alice leaned forward, stunned. “His control… he’s dominating the tempo.” Lloyd pressed again—precise steps, sharper than in any earlier exam. Every attack forced Jiro to retreat, to adjust, to survive. But Lloyd wasn’t reckless Every move was calculated Measured Focused. And the entire arena could feel it—Lloyd had the upper hand.

  Complete control of the fight from the first exchange. Jiro tightened his grip, shaking out his arms. A faint smile formed. “…Then I’ll have to use what I prepared just for you.” Lloyd’s eyes narrowed. “Oh? Let’s see it.” And Jiro finally stepped forward—for the first time in the match.

  Jiro exhaled once, steady and controlled— then vanished forward. Lloyd’s eyes widened.

  He changed his footwork…? Jiro’s steps were sharper now, compact and unreadable.

  He angled his body just enough to hide his sword’s trajectory—a technique meant for one thing creating blind spots. Lloyd raised his guard—but Jiro slipped past the edge of his blade and—SWIPE—! A sharp sting touched Lloyd’s cheek. A thin red line formed The entire arena froze. Alice stood up “He… cut Lloyd?” Hanzo clenched his jaw. “That was no lucky hit. Jiro planned that.” Lloyd touched the faint mark with two fingers, eyes narrowing. Jiro straightened his stance, breathing evenly. He tightened his grip. The crowd murmured, tension rising. Lloyd lowered his hand from his cheek, expression calm. “That was clean,” Lloyd said.

  “No wasted movement. No extra steps. You aimed for the opening I left on purpose.”

  Jiro blinked. “…You left that on purpose?” Lloyd smirked, settling into stance again.

  “I wanted to see how fast you really were.” Jiro’s jaw tightened. “Don’t underestimate me.” “I’m not,” Lloyd said. “You just showed me your best move. Now it’s my turn.” The air between them thickened—silence cutting deeper than any blade. The next exchange was going to be ferocious. Jiro reset his stance, breath steady—but Lloyd’s foot slid back just an inch. Enough for Hanzo and Alice to tense up immediately. “…He’s getting serious,” Alice whispered. The instructor raised his hand. “Continue!” Jiro dashed first—fast, precise, aiming for Lloyd’s shoulder—But Lloyd was already gone. Jiro’s eyes widened. Where—? CLINK—! Lloyd’s blade tapped Jiro’s from the side so fast it rang like glass, throwing his balance off. Jiro staggered, but Lloyd didn’t let him recover. A low slide across the arena floor—and suddenly Lloyd was behind him. Jiro barely spun in time to guard—CLANG!

  The impact forced Jiro back three steps, boots scraping. “H… how did you—?” He moved again. This time, even the instructor leaned forward. Every motion was clean Jiro tried to counter with a diagonal strike—but Lloyd tilted just out of range and tapped the flat of Jiro’s blade upward— disarming his angle… Then— CRACK! A clean strike to Jiro’s wrist guard. His sword flew. The arena went silent. Jiro’s weapon skidded across the floor, stopping at the instructor’s feet. The match was over. Lloyd exhaled softly, lowering his blade. “That was good, Jiro. You pushed me.” Jiro stared at his empty hand, then let out a frustrated sigh—but there was respect in his eyes. “…Guess you really were holding back,” he muttered. Lloyd shook his head. “I wasn’t holding back. I just hadn’t shown you everything yet.” Jiro smirked despite himself.

  “Tch… Then make sure you win this whole thing. I’m not losing to someone who stops halfway.” Lloyd nodded. The instructor raised his arm. “Winner—Lloyd Uzugaya!” The remaining matches finished one after another—clean wins, hard-fought battles, a few upsets—and soon the instructor stepped onto the center platform with the results in hand.

  “All participants,” he called out, “the semifinal brackets have been decided.” Everyone quieted.

  Lloyd, Alice, Hanzo, Ren who made it this far stood ready. The instructor cleared his throat.

  “First match: Lloyd Uzugaya vs. Alice Kisaragi.” “Second match: Hanzo Takeda vs. Ren Maruyama.” A wave of murmurs filled the arena. Hanzo clenched his fists. Alice stepped close, her expression calm but her eyes sharp with determination. “So it’s us.” She smiled slightly. “I was hoping it would be you that I wound be fighting.” Lloyd blinked. “You were?”

  “Yes,” she said plainly. “Because I want to fight you at your absolute best. She stepped in front of him, looking him straight in the eyes. “I want the Lloyd who charged ahead today without hesitating. The one who fought Jiro like he’d already decided he wouldn’t lose.”

  Lloyd looked down for a moment, rubbing the side of his neck. “I won’t take it easy… but I don’t want to hurt you, Alice.” “Don’t,” she said immediately. “No excuses. No holding back. You told me once you want a world without fear—Then show me the kind of strength that can make that happen.” Lloyd’s eyes widened a little. Alice crossed her arms. “And besides… if I can’t beat you here, how am I supposed to stand beside you in anything bigger?” Lloyd stared at her, surprised by her honesty. “…Alice.” She took a step back, giving him space.

  “I’m looking forward to our match,” she said softly. “And I mean it. Don’t hold back on me.”

  Lloyd nodded slowly, his expression tightening with resolve. “Alright. Then you better not hold back either.” Alice smirked. “Wouldn’t dream of it.” Meanwhile Hanzo slapped Lloyd’s shoulder. “Yo, focus up! After I wipe the floor with Ren, I’m coming for you in the finals!” The instructor raised a hand for silence again. “Matches begin tomorrow morning. Rest well—because the semifinals will be far more intense than the last rounds.” Lloyd looked at the bracket, then at Alice beside him, This was it. The path forward was getting narrower—and the stakes were getting higher. That night, long after the academy doors closed and the murmurs of the semifinals faded into silence, Lloyd returned to the temple. The moonlight reflected off the stone courtyard. A faint breeze carried the quiet hum of power—Raiden had already sensed him coming. Lloyd stepped onto the training floor, exhaled, and let sparks gather beneath his skin. Crackle… The lightning snapped across his entire body This time, the flicker wasn’t wild—it was sharper, cleaner, responding to his movements instead of fighting them. He took his stance “Let’s see how much faster I can get…” Lloyd kicked off the ground and vanished in a burst of blue light. SHHHT! He reappeared on the opposite side of the courtyard. each time the dash was quicker, the trail of lightning thinner and tighter. Raiden watched from the temple steps, arms folded, expression unreadable. Lloyd slid to a stop, panting lightly but in control. “The speed’s… different now,” he muttered to himself. “I can push farther… faster… It’s not overwhelming me anymore.” He grit his teeth, let more power surge through him—and the lightning roared to life around his entire body, flaring brighter than it ever had. He shot forward again, slicing through the air with a flash that echoed across the mountain. BOOM—! He landed hard, feet digging into stone, bits of lightning scattering off him like shattered glass.

  Raiden finally spoke. “Your movement has sharpened. Your body is adjusting to the flow.”

  He walked closer, examining Lloyd with a calculating look. “You are reaching the threshold where lightning no longer strains you… but strengthens you.” Lloyd steadied his breathing.

  “So… I’m getting close?” Raiden nodded once. “Yes. But do not mistake progress for mastery.”

  His eyes narrowed slightly, though there was unmistakable pride in them. “You must keep refining your speed. Your control. Your reactions. even a moment of hesitation will cost you.” Lloyd clenched his fists, “I know.” He looked toward the temple gates, the academy far beyond them. The courtyard was still glowing faintly from Lloyd’s last dash when Raiden raised a hand.

  “That’s enough for now.” Lloyd slowed, electricity fading from his body as he caught his breath.

  Raiden stepped closer, his expression shifting—more serious than before, almost grave. “There is… another technique,” Raiden began. “One far more advanced than the basic lightning reinforcement you’re using now.” Lloyd straightened, sensing the weight behind his grandfather’s tone. Raiden continued, “This technique channels lightning not just across your body… but through your muscles, nerves, and veins. It merges your physical strength with raw elemental lighting.” Lloyd’s eyes widened. “You mean—running lightning inside the body?” Raiden nodded slowly. “Yes. And with it, you would gain speed and power beyond anything you’ve shown so far. Your movements would blur past the eye. Your strikes would carry enough impact to shatter steel.” Lloyd swallowed, both excited and cautious.

  “So what’s the catch…?” Raiden’s eyes sharpened. “The strain.” He tapped his own arm.

  “Your veins will burn. Your muscles will tear. Your heart will be forced to pump faster just to survive the energy coursing through you.” He paused. “If your body isn’t prepared… the lightning will rip you apart from the inside.” Lloyd felt a chill crawl down his spine. Even with his progress, the thought of lightning tearing through his veins made him tense. Raiden looked up at the moonlit sky. “I attempted to master it once,” he admitted. “And I failed. My body could not withstand the output. It is a technique I sealed away—because I could never use it safely.” Lloyd stared at him, shocked. “You? You couldn’t master it?” Raiden turned toward him again, eyes steady. “But you, Lloyd… your lineage, your natural talent, your lightning affinity—You may be able to reach it. Not now. Not soon. But one day.” Lloyd clenched his fists.

  “What do I need to do?” Raiden pointed at his chest. “Strengthen your body. Strengthen your mind. And strengthen your connection to your lightning.” He stepped back, giving Lloyd space.

  “For now, practice the smallest step— apply your lightning deeper onto your body. Lloyd nodded immediately. “Got it.” Raiden added firmly

  “But listen carefully—do not force it. If you try to rush this technique, even for a moment… it will destroy you.” Lloyd inhaled sharply. “…I understand.” Raiden watched him with a rare, soft confidence. “One day, when your body is ready, you will master what I could not. This world will need that power—and I believe you will be the one to wield it.” “Then I’ll train until I can handle it,” he said quietly. “I’ll get strong enough. No matter what it takes.”

  Raiden nodded. “Good. That is the path of a true Uzugaya.” The temple lights flickered as Lloyd resumed training—each movement fueled by the knowledge of what waited for him in the future. The arena felt different today. The air itself seemed tighter, heavier, like it was holding its breath. The platform at the center gleamed under the morning light, still scarred from the quarterfinal matches. Students, instructors, legion observers, and even a few military officials filled the stands. Whispers rippled through the crowd—this was the match everyone had been waiting for. Lloyd stood at one end of the platform, sword in hand, shoulders relaxed but mind razor-sharp. He could feel his heartbeat—steady, controlled. The lightning inside him was quiet, restrained, exactly how Raiden had taught him. Across from him, Alice adjusted her stance. Her posture was clean, confident, The instructor stepped forward. “This is the semifinal match. The signal dropped. Alice moved first. Her blade flashed forward in a straight thrust aimed at Lloyd’s centerline. Lloyd reacted instantly, sliding back and angling his sword just enough to redirect the strike. The impact rang sharp and clean. Alice didn’t pause. She pivoted on her heel, flowing into a horizontal slash that forced Lloyd to duck low. The wind from her blade cut through the air above his head. Lloyd stepped back again. The crowd murmured. Alice pressed forward relentlessly—one strike after another, her footwork crisp, her transitions seamless. She was controlling the tempo, forcing Lloyd to react instead of act. Steel clashed Again And again Lloyd blocked high. Alice shifted low. Lloyd barely caught the next strike, his arms absorbing the impact as he slid another step backward. Hanzo leaned forward from the stands, eyes narrowed.

  “She’s not letting him breathe…” Alice advanced, her movements fluid, aggressive, but disciplined. Each attack flowed into the next, denying Lloyd any chance to reset his stance fully. Lloyd’s feet moved constantly—small adjustments, pivots, retreats. He wasn’t panicking, but he wasn’t in control of the fight either. She feinted left, then snapped a quick upward strike that clipped Lloyd’s guard and forced his blade wide. Lloyd twisted his torso, narrowly avoiding a follow-up slash that would’ve caught his shoulder. He landed hard on his back foot, skidding slightly. Alice closed the distance again Their swords collided in a rapid exchange—short, sharp movements. Alice’s blade struck from unpredictable angles, forcing Lloyd to block rather than counter. Lloyd felt it clearly now. She’s faster than before… Not just physically—mentally. Her timing was sharper, her reads more precise. She wasn’t just attacking; she was anticipating him. Alice stepped in close and drove her shoulder forward, disrupting Lloyd’s balance. He staggered half a step, just enough for her blade to cut down toward his arm.

  Lloyd twisted and raised his sword at the last second. The impact jolted through his arms. He slid back again The crowd grew louder. Her breathing was steady, controlled. Every step forward carried intent. She was pushing Lloyd toward the edge of the platform, boxing him in with pressure rather than brute force. Lloyd’s back foot nearly reached the boundary line Lloyd whispered I’m completely on defense… Alice rushed again, unleashing a rapid three-strike combination—high, low, diagonal. Lloyd blocked the first, barely redirected the second, and jumped back to avoid the third entirely. He landed near the edge Alice followed immediately Their blades locked for a split second, faces inches apart. She broke the lock and spun, delivering a sweeping strike aimed at his legs. Lloyd leapt backward, barely clearing it, landing just inside the platform boundary. The instructor watched closely but said nothing.

  Alice adjusted her stance, sword raised, shoulders squared. She didn’t hesitate She lunged again. Lloyd raised his guard, absorbing the blow, but the impact pushed him further back. He could feel the pressure building—not just from Alice, but from the expectations surrounding this match. He exhaled slowly, grounding himself. Alice’s blade struck again, sliding along his guard and snapping toward his wrist. Lloyd twisted his grip just in time, narrowly avoiding being disarmed. Alice stepped past him, pivoted sharply, and drove her sword back toward his side. Lloyd turned, blocking at the last possible moment The sound of steel echoed across the arena. From the stands, Kana crossed her arms, eyes narrowed. “She’s dominating the flow… Lloyd hasn’t landed a single clean hit.” Alice continued her assault, never overextending, never pausing long enough for Lloyd to exploit an opening. She forced him to retreat again and again, her pressure unrelenting. Lloyd felt sweat bead along his brow. Alice dashed in close once more, striking downward with force. Lloyd caught it, but the impact rattled his arms. She followed with a quick knee feint that made him shift his weight—then immediately slashed upward. Lloyd barely parried. He jumped back, landing awkwardly, but kept his balance. The crowd was on edge now. She stepped forward, blade humming through the air as she launched another precise sequence of strikes. Lloyd blocked, retreated, blocked again—his movements efficient but reactive. Alice was pushing him to his limits without giving him space to respond. She dashed forward, closing the gap, her sword flashing toward his shoulder—And Lloyd felt it.

  The pressure and the pace of the fight. Lloyd whispered If I keep retreating… I’ll lose. He planted his foot hard, stopping his backward movement for the first time since the match began. Alice’s blade came down. Lloyd raised his sword and held. Steel rang out, louder than before. The momentum stalled—just for an instant. Alice’s eyes widened slightly. Lloyd’s grip tightened. The match wasn’t turning yet—but the ground beneath it had shifted. The crowd leaned forward as both fighters remained locked in that moment, neither speaking, neither blinking. The clash held for only a heartbeat. Steel pressed against steel, Lloyd’s feet planted for the first time since the match began. The vibration from Alice’s blade ran up his arms, into his shoulders. His breath was steady, his muscles burned—Her eyes narrowed, then widened just slightly. He stopped retreating The moment stretched, then broke. Lloyd twisted his wrists and slid his blade sideways, redirecting Alice’s strike instead of blocking it head-on. Sparks snapped as steel scraped steel. Alice stepped back instinctively—just half a step—but that was all Lloyd needed. Lloyd closed the distance and swung in a tight arc aimed at Alice’s midsection. Alice snapped her guard down and blocked, boots skidding across stone. Lloyd followed immediately with a second strike, then a third—short, efficient movements, each one testing her defense. The crowd murmured. Hanzo’s eyes widened. “He’s pushing back…”

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  Alice adjusted quickly, parrying and pivoting, but the rhythm had changed. Lloyd wasn’t chasing—he was claiming space. Every step forward forced Alice to give ground or commit harder. Their blades rang again and again, faster now, sharper. Alice ducked under a horizontal cut and countered with a thrust toward Lloyd’s shoulder. Lloyd twisted his torso, letting it graze past, and answered with a downward strike that Alice barely deflected. They separated briefly, circling. Alice’s chest rose and fell a little faster now.

  Lloyd stepped in again, feinting high before snapping low. Alice reacted instantly, but Lloyd was already shifting, rotating his hips into a clean diagonal slash that caught her guard at an awkward angle. The impact jolted her arms.

  She slid back a step. Alice frowned—not in frustration, but realization. Alice whispered He’s reading me now. Lloyd pressed again, blade flashing in controlled sequences. His footwork was tighter than before—shorter steps, better balance. Every movement was grounded, deliberate, the result of training without lightning, without shortcuts. Alice parried, spun, countered—but now she was reacting. The roles had reversed. Alice leapt back to create distance, then dashed in with a sharp, fast strike aimed at Lloyd’s wrist. Lloyd anticipated it, shifting his grip and knocking the blade aside before stepping inside her guard. Alice felt his presence immediately—steady, focused, overwhelming in its calm. She disengaged with a quick retreat, resetting her stance. The crowd was silent now, every eye fixed on the platform.

  Alice inhaled deeply. This feeling… Her heart was pounding—not just from exertion, but from something else. Something she had been pushing aside since the quarterfinals. Since the forest. Since the moment Lloyd had shielded her without hesitation. She blocked another strike, then another, her body moving on instinct as her mind drifted. Why do I care this much? Lloyd advanced, blade angled, testing her defense again. Alice parried, stepped to the side, countered with a clean slash that Lloyd narrowly avoided. Their movements were fast now—too fast for casual spectators to follow cleanly. Blades blurred, footsteps echoed, the sound of steel filled the air. Alice felt her breath catch. She remembered Lloyd’s voice—quiet, honest.

  I don’t want to be a hero. I just want to stop the evil in this world. Her grip tightened. I want to stand next to him. The realization hit her harder than any strike. These feelings… they’re real.

  Her pulse spiked—not with hesitation, but resolve. Alice’s eyes sharpened. She stepped forward again, this time meeting Lloyd’s advance instead of yielding. Their blades collided head-on, sparks flying as they pushed against each other. Lloyd felt the change immediately. Her pressure increased. Her movements sharpened. Alice broke the clash and surged forward, unleashing a rapid sequence—low cut, high feint, spinning strike. Lloyd blocked the first two, but the third forced him to pivot sharply, barely keeping his balance. Alice followed relentlessly, her footwork accelerating, her attacks flowing more aggressively than before.

  Hanzo leaned forward. “She’s putting more pressure on him…” Lloyd retreated one step, then another, reassessing. Alice pressed him, blade snapping toward his shoulder, then his leg, then his side. Lloyd parried, but each impact carried more force than before. She wasn’t reckless—she was committed. Alice felt it clearly now.

  If I want to be beside him… if I want to walk the same path… then I have to go all out. She drove forward again, forcing Lloyd toward the center of the platform, denying him room to breathe. Lloyd blocked, then countered with a sharp upward cut. Alice twisted aside, letting it pass inches from her ribs, and responded with a downward strike that Lloyd caught just in time.

  Their blades locked again. Alice’s eyes met his.

  Determination in her eyes and his. She broke the lock with a sudden shove and spun away, creating space, then dashed back in with explosive speed. Lloyd barely raised his guard in time. The impact rang out, louder than before. Alice’s momentum carried her forward, her strikes faster, heavier, driven by clarity rather than emotion. I won’t hold back. Lloyd was forced to retreat again—not because he was weaker, but because Alice was no longer holding anything back either. The match surged into a new phase. Steel clashed in rapid succession, neither fighter speaking, neither giving ground easily. Lloyd countered, Alice adapted. Alice pressed, Lloyd resisted. The crowd could barely follow the exchange now. Sweat dripped from Lloyd’s jaw as he pivoted and blocked another strike. His breathing was controlled but strained.

  Alice felt it too—the burn in her arms, the ache in her legs—but she didn’t slow. Every step forward was fueled by resolve. She launched another flurry, forcing Lloyd into a tight defensive pattern. Lloyd absorbed it, parried, then suddenly shifted—stepping inside her guard again and attempting to disarm her with a sharp twist of his blade. Alice reacted instantly, releasing pressure and spinning out, her sword scraping free just in time. They separated again, both breathing harder now. The instructor watched closely, eyes narrowed. “This match…” one of the legion observers murmured, “…is far above academy level.” Alice steadied herself, blade raised. Lloyd mirrored her stance. Thin lines etched into stone marked every clash, every step, every moment where neither of them had yielded. The air felt heavier, as if the match itself had weight. Lloyd and Alice stood several meters apart. Both breathing hard Both steady

  For a moment, nothing moved. Then Alice broke the silence. “…You know,” she said quietly, eyes still locked on him, “if this were a real battle, neither of us would be standing like this.”

  Lloyd nodded once. “Yeah. Someone would’ve already made a mistake.” Alice adjusted her grip on the sword. Her arms ached, her legs burned—but her resolve was clear. “I’m not stopping. Not now.” “I didn’t expect you to,” Lloyd replied. His voice was calm, but firm. “If you did… I’d be disappointed.” A faint smile touched Alice’s lips. “Good.” She shifted her stance, lowering her center of gravity. “So,” she said, exhaling, “no holding back.” Lloyd raised his blade. “None.” They moved at the same time. Alice surged forward first, pouring everything she had left into speed and power. Her foot slammed into the stone as she closed the distance in a blink, her blade rising high above her head. Lloyd’s eyes sharpened. Alice swung. A full-force downward strike—clean, heavy, decisive. The kind meant to end a fight. For a split second, it looked unstoppable. Then Lloyd moved. He didn’t step back. At the exact moment her blade descended, Lloyd twisted his body and snapped his sword upward—not to block, but to redirect. Steel screamed as he caught her strike at an angle, turning its momentum sideways instead of meeting it head-on. The force tore past him instead of through him. Alice’s eyes widened.

  Before she could recover, Lloyd continued the motion in one fluid instant—his wrist rotating, his blade sliding along hers, knocking it off line.

  Lloyd stepped into her space and struck her hilt with the flat of his blade. The impact jarred her fingers. Her sword slipped free. It hit the stone with a sharp, final clang Silence. Alice froze, staring at her empty hand Lloyd stopped immediately, blade lowered, breathing heavy but controlled. The instructor raised his hand. “…Match over.” The crowd erupted, but the sound felt distant. Alice let out a slow breath, shoulders dropping. She laughed softly under her breath. “Wow…” She looked up at Lloyd. “That counter—when did you even see the opening?” Lloyd exhaled and relaxed his stance. “I didn’t. I trusted the timing.” Alice nodded, accepting it without bitterness. “Figures.” She stepped closer and bent down, picking up her sword. “Guess that’s it.” They stood facing each other, the tension finally gone. “You pushed me harder than anyone,” Lloyd said honestly. “If I hesitated for even a second… I would’ve lost.”

  Alice met his eyes. “Same. If you hadn’t stepped in, that strike would’ve landed.” A short pause.

  Then she smiled—soft, real. “I’m glad it was you.” Lloyd blinked, then gave a small smile in return. “Me too.” They turned toward the instructor together. As they walked off the platform,

  The platform was being reset when Hanzo and Ren stepped forward from opposite sides. The air shifted immediately. Ren walked with confidence—almost impatience—his shoulders loose, his gaze sharp and cold. Hanzo followed more quietly, rolling his shoulders once, steadying his breathing. He didn’t look away, but he didn’t rush either. In the stands, Lloyd sat beside Alice. Alice’s hands were clasped together without her realizing it. Her eyes stayed fixed on the platform. “…Lloyd,” she said softly, “I’m nervous for Hanzo.” Lloyd glanced at her, then back at the two figures below. “I figured.” “Ren has more strength,” Alice continued. “If Hanzo tries to match him head-on, he’ll lose. The only way he wins is if he turns that strength against him… with speed.” Lloyd nodded. “You’re right.” She swallowed. “I know Hanzo’s good, but Ren—he doesn’t fight like the others. He doesn’t care about rules.” Lloyd’s voice stayed calm. “Don’t worry. Hanzo’s better than you think.” Alice looked at him. “You really believe that?”

  “I do,” Lloyd said without hesitation. “This isn’t going to be an easy fight for Ren. Win or lose, Hanzo’s not going to let him walk away cleanv.” Alice exhaled slowly. “I know… I just—Ren will do whatever it takes to win.” Lloyd’s eyes narrowed slightly as Ren stepped onto the platform. “That’s exactly why Hanzo’s ready.” Alice turned to him. “What do you mean?” Lloyd didn’t look away from the arena. “Trust me. Hanzo knows how Ren fights. I helped him prepare for this.” Below them, the instructor raised his hand. Hanzo and Ren locked eyes. The match was about to begin. Hanzo stood at the edge of the platform, his grip tightening around the hilt of his sword. Across from him, Ren stared back—expression unreadable, posture relaxed, like he was already confident in the outcome. That look alone made Hanzo’s chest tighten Focus. The noise of the arena faded, replaced by a memory?Steel clashed. Hanzo stumbled back as Lloyd’s training sword slammed into his guard, the force rattling his arms. Lloyd didn’t slow down—another strike came immediately after, sharper, more aggressive. Hanzo barely raised his blade in time. The next hit slipped through. Pain flared in Hanzo’s ribs as he grunted and stepped back. Lloyd lowered his sword slightly, eyes serious. “If you were faster, you could’ve blocked that.” Hanzo exhaled hard, clutching his side. “Look, Lloyd… I’m not fast like you are.” He straightened, frustration creeping into his voice. “I don’t know if I can beat Ren.” For a moment, Lloyd just looked at him. Then he stepped closer. “Hanzo,” Lloyd said, calm but firm, “win or lose—make Ren earn your respect.” Hanzo blinked. Lloyd continued, “Get up. Training isn’t over.” Something in his tone cut through the doubt. Hanzo pushed himself upright, pain still there, but his eyes sharper now?“Begin!” The instructor’s voice snapped Hanzo back to the present. His eyes opened fully. Ren moved at the same instant he did. Both of them exploded forward, feet tearing across the platform, blades flashing. They collided at the center with a heavy clang, swords locking together. Steel screamed under pressure. Hanzo and Ren leaned in, faces inches apart, neither giving ground. The lock broke with a sharp scrape of metal.

  Ren twisted his wrists and shoved forward, forcing Hanzo back half a step. The moment the blades separated, Ren surged in—fast, violent, relentless. Hanzo barely had time to breathe.

  Ren’s sword came down in a heavy diagonal slash. Hanzo raised his blade just in time, steel crashing against steel. The force ran through his arms, numbing his fingers. Ren didn’t stop. Another strike followed immediately, then another, each one meant to overwhelm, to crush defense through sheer pressure. Hanzo retreated, boots scraping against the platform as he blocked, parried, redirected. On the sidelines, Lloyd leaned forward without realizing it, hands clenched. Come on, Hanzo… you can do this,” he whispered under his breath. “This is exactly how we trained.” Ren stepped in close, twisting his body and throwing a low slash meant to cut across Hanzo’s legs. Hanzo reacted instantly, dropping his stance and knocking the blade away. Ren followed with a sharp elbow feint and then a thrust toward Hanzo’s shoulder. Hanzo pivoted, the tip grazing past him instead of through him The crowd murmured. Ren’s attacks were fast—but Hanzo wasn’t falling apart. Alice’s eyes widened slightly. “Lloyd… he’s keeping up with Ren.”

  Lloyd nodded, eyes never leaving the fight. “I told you. We trained for a long time that day. His defense—this is what we built it for. Everything is at play here.” Ren clicked his tongue and pressed harder. He swung with more power now, putting his weight into every strike. Each blow landed like a hammer, meant to force Hanzo’s guard open. Hanzo’s arms burned, his shoulders screamed, but he held. Ren lunged again, overextending just slightly. Hanzo saw it.

  He shifted his footing and pushed Ren’s sword off-line, using Ren’s own momentum to spin him a fraction to the side. Hanzo countered immediately—not with speed, but with strength—slamming his shoulder into Ren’s chest and following with a sharp horizontal strike. Ren barely managed to block, skidding backward. For the first time, Ren’s expression changed.

  The crowd grew louder. Ren steadied himself and smirked. “So that’s it? You’re just gonna stay on defense the whole time?” He stepped forward again, eyes sharp, voice cutting.

  “What’s the point of being here if that’s all you can do?” Their swords clashed again, sparks flashing as Ren leaned in. “You don’t deserve to be in the finals,” Ren continued, voice low and venomous. “Same goes for your buddy Lloyd.” Hanzo’s grip tightened. The words hit—but they didn’t break him. Instead, something settled inside his chest. Hanzo pushed back, locking blades again, his voice steady despite the strain. “You talk too much.” Ren’s eyes narrowed.

  Ren tried to overpower him, muscles tensing as he attempted to force Hanzo’s blade down. Hanzo didn’t fight it head-on. Instead, he shifted his stance, let the pressure slide, and suddenly twisted—using Ren’s strength against him. Ren stumbled forward Hanzo struck. A clean, controlled slash aimed at Ren’s side—blocked at the last second, but hard enough to send Ren back again. Now it was Ren retreating. Ren’s smile vanished. He attacked again, faster this time, chaining strikes together in rapid succession. Hanzo gave ground, but each step back was measured, deliberate. He wasn’t panicking. He was reading. Ren slashed high.

  Hanzo blocked. Ren slashed low. Hanzo parried. Ren thrust straight toward the chest.

  Hanzo knocked it aside and countered with a short, powerful swing that rattled Ren’s guard.

  Blow for blow. Steel screamed with every collision. Sweat ran down Hanzo’s face, his breathing heavy, but his movements stayed sharp. This wasn’t luck. This was repetition. Pain. Failure. Getting back up again. Lloyd clenched his jaw. He’s doing it. Ren leapt back and exhaled sharply, irritation flashing across his face. “You’re annoying,” he muttered. Then Ren smiled again—but this time, it was cold. “Fine,” Ren said. “If defense is all you’ve got… let’s see how long it lasts.” Ren exploded forward. The pressure doubled. Hanzo braced himself, sword raised, eyes focused. Ren didn’t give him a second. The moment the previous exchange ended, Ren surged forward again, faster and heavier than before. His sword came down in a brutal arc, then another, then another—each strike stacked on the last, relentless, suffocating. Hanzo’s arms shook as he blocked. Clang. Clang. Clang. Ren pressed close, denying Hanzo space, denying him air. Hanzo’s boots scraped against the platform as he was forced back step by step. Every parry sent a jolt through his wrists, every block chipped away at his stamina. Hanzo gritted his teeth. I’m barely holding on… I have to change something. Ren twisted his body and unleashed a wide, full-powered swing, putting everything into it. For a split second—just a heartbeat—Hanzo saw it. Ren’s footing was off. Too much force Too much commitment Hanzo didn’t block. He dodged. Ren’s blade tore through empty air as Hanzo slipped to the side. Ren couldn’t stop the momentum. His foot slid, balance gone, and his sword slammed into the floor with a loud crack. Ren’s eyes widened. Hanzo moved instantly. He grabbed Ren’s arm, twisted, and drove him down hard. Ren hit the platform chest-first, breath knocked from his lungs. Hanzo followed him to the ground, locking Ren’s right arm behind his back while pressing his weight down. Ren snarled, struggling. Hanzo tightened his grip—not enough to break anything, but enough to make the message clear. On the sidelines, Alice stood up slightly. “Lloyd… the way he’s holding him… you don’t think he’s going to break his arm, right?” Lloyd shook his head without hesitation. “Not a chance. He’s trying to get him to surrender.” Hanzo leaned closer, his voice low but firm. “Ren. This is your chance. Surrender. This fight is over.” Ren trembled beneath him. Then Ren laughed. “Never,” Ren spat. “I won’t lose to a loser like you.” Before Hanzo could react, Ren slammed his elbow backward with raw force. It connected with Hanzo’s face. Pain exploded. Hanzo’s grip loosened just enough. Ren twisted violently, ripping his arm free, and rolled. He sprang up and drove a punch straight into Hanzo’s jaw. Hanzo staggered Ren didn’t stop. He grabbed Hanzo’s arm, twisted his body, and slammed Hanzo down hard onto the platform. The impact rattled through Hanzo’s bones. His sword flew from his hand, skidding across the ground. Hanzo tried to push himself up—But Ren was already standing over him. The instructor stepped forward, voice sharp and final. “Enough! The fight is over!” The crowd went silent. Ren stood breathing heavily, chest rising and falling, while Hanzo lay on the ground, stunned, staring up at the sky. “The winner—Ren.” Lloyd clenched his fists. Hanzo had lost.

  The noise of the arena faded as Lloyd pushed open the door to the waiting room. Inside, Hanzo sat on one of the benches, elbows resting on his knees, head slightly lowered. His breathing was steady now, but the exhaustion still showed—in his shoulders, in the way his hands loosely clasped together. A faint mark was already forming along his jaw. Lloyd walked over and stopped in front of him. For a moment, neither of them spoke. Hanzo broke the silence first.

  “I tried,” he said quietly. “He’s just… way stronger than me.” He let out a breath, frustrated but not bitter. “I did everything we trained for. The defense, the timing, using his aggression against him. None of it was enough.” Lloyd shook his head slowly. “Don’t say that like it was nothing. You pushed him harder than anyone else has.” Hanzo looked up, eyes sharp despite the loss. “Still didn’t beat him.” Lloyd sat down beside him. “This exam was about getting closer to the Legion Knight ranks, yeah. But there’s always next year. We’re just first-years. We’ve got time.”

  Hanzo was quiet for a second. Then he turned toward Lloyd, his expression serious in a way Lloyd rarely saw. “When your match with Ren starts… go all out.” Lloyd met his gaze.

  “Don’t hold back on this guy,” Hanzo continued. “Beat him. For all of us. And for yourself.”

  He clenched his fist. “He’s been giving you hell since day one. Make him respect you.”

  Lloyd stood up. “I won’t hold back,” he said. His voice was calm, but there was steel behind it. “I plan to beat him.” Hanzo gave a small, tired smile. That was all he needed to hear. Lloyd adjusted his grip on his sword as he started toward the platform. Each step felt heavier than the last—not from fear, but from everything that had led to this moment. Hanzo’s loss. Ren’s words. The weight of what this fight meant. “Lloyd—wait up!” He stopped and turned. Alice jogged toward him, her expression worried but determined. When she reached him, she slowed, taking a breath. “How are you holding up?” she asked. Lloyd exhaled. “Hanzo’s pretty down after losing to Ren. But… he’ll be okay. He fought hard.” Alice nodded, relief softening her face. “Okay. That’s good. I was worried.” She hesitated, then reached into her pocket. “Here,” she said, holding something out. Lloyd looked down. “What is it?” She opened her hand. A simple bracelet rested in her palm—dark cord, small metal charm tied neatly at the center. “It’s a good-luck bracelet,” Alice said. “I was planning on giving it to you earlier, but you were too focused on your match with Jiro. It didn’t feel like the right time.” She met his eyes. “Now that you’re heading into the finals… I want you to have it.” Lloyd took the bracelet carefully, like it was something fragile. “Thanks,” he said sincerely. He slipped it onto his wrist and tightened it. “I’ll keep it on forever.” Alice froze. Forever? Her face went completely red.

  In her head, one word echoed—FOREVER?! Lloyd, completely unaware, gave her a small nod and turned back toward the platform. As he stepped out into the open, the roar of the audience washed over him. “LLOYD! YOU GOT THIS!” “BEAT THIS GUY!” “REN! REN! REN!”

  Two names clashing in the air. Lloyd kept walking, eyes forward. The finals had begun. The platform fell silent as the instructor stepped forward, his presence alone enough to calm the crowd. Lloyd stood on one side of the platform, sword resting at his side. Across from him, Ren rolled his shoulders once, eyes locked forward, completely focused. The instructor’s voice carried clearly. “This final match will be different from the previous rounds.” An assistant stepped forward, handing each fighter a training sword—lightweight, reinforced, designed for speed and precision rather than brute force. The instructor continued, “You will fight with these.” He raised three fingers. “The match will consist of three rounds, each lasting three minutes.” The crowd murmured, anticipation building. “To win,” the instructor said, “you must score as many points as possible across all rounds.” He pointed to his own body as he spoke. “Legal hits are to the ribs, shoulders, and face. Clean strikes only. Any illegal move will result in a penalty.” His gaze shifted between Lloyd and Ren. “This is not a battle of strength alone,” he finished. “It is a test of control, awareness, and skill.” The instructor stepped back. “Prepare yourselves.” Lloyd tightened his grip on the training sword, the bracelet on his wrist catching the light for just a moment. Across from him, Ren’s eyes narrowed. The finals were about to begin.

  “Begin!” Ren vanished the instant the word left the instructor’s mouth. He burst forward in a straight line, speed-dashing across the platform, his training sword slicing through the air—inches from Lloyd’s face. Lloyd moved on instinct. He twisted his head aside at the last possible moment, feeling the wind of the blade skim past his cheek. Before Ren could recover, Lloyd stepped inside his range and snapped his sword upward. Crack. The training blade struck Ren across the face. Ren dropped low to avoid a follow-up, but Lloyd didn’t hesitate. He shifted his weight and drove a clean strike into Ren’s stomach. A sharp tone echoed Point. Lloyd.

  The scoreboard lit up. Ren’s expression twisted. “Tch.” He came again—harder this time. No feints. No patience. Ren poured his strength into every swing, trying to overwhelm Lloyd with raw power. Lloyd read it immediately. He planted his feet, blade up, shoulders relaxed. Each heavy strike crashed into his guard, Lloyd absorbing the impact, sliding back just enough to stay balanced. He waited—watching Ren’s shoulders, his hips, the slight delay after each overcommitted swing. Then he saw it. Ren overextended. Lloyd stepped in and snapped his blade forward. Crack. A clean hit to Ren’s face. The scoreboard chimed again.

  By the time the first round ended, the crowd was roaring. Lloyd stood calm at the center of the platform as the numbers locked in. End of Round One. LLOYD: 5 | REN: 0 Ren clenched his jaw, breathing hard. Lloyd didn’t say a word The bell rang. Round two began with a sharp crack of sound that echoed across the platform and this time, Ren didn’t hesitate for even a fraction of a second. He exploded forward. Ren’s speed was sharper now, his movements tighter. He wasn’t just swinging anymore—he was cutting angles, forcing Lloyd back, denying him space. Lloyd raised his blade just in time. Clang—clang—clang. Ren chained his attacks together, one after another, not giving Lloyd a moment to reset his stance. Each strike came from a different direction—shoulder, ribs, face—testing Lloyd’s guard relentlessly. Ren landed the first clean hit to Lloyd’s ribs. The scoreboard chimed. Then another—this time to the shoulder.

  Lloyd tried to counter, but Ren was already gone, circling, reappearing at his flank and striking again. Ren was smiling now. “That all you got?” Ren muttered under his breath as he pressed forward. “You had one good round. This is where you fall.” Lloyd blocked, stepped back, blocked again—but Ren’s pressure never stopped. He mixed strength with speed, forcing Lloyd to absorb blow after blow. A sharp sting burned across Lloyd’s face. Ren’s blade grazed the side of his eyebrow. Blood trickled down, warm and distracting. The crowd gasped. “Alice—!” someone shouted. Alice’s hands clenched together. “Lloyd’s hurt!” Hanzo didn’t take his eyes off the platform. “Don’t worry,” he said calmly. “He’s fine. It’s just a cut.” But even he could see it—Ren was dominating the round. Lloyd tried to create distance, but Ren chased him down, landing hit after hit. Nine points rang out for Ren before the bell finally sounded.

  End of Round Two. Lloyd stepped back, breathing hard, sweat and blood mixing as it dripped from his brow. The scoreboard updated. LLOYD: 5 | REN: 9 He was behind. By four points. Lloyd moved to the sidelines, resting his hands on his knees. His chest rose and fell as he stared at the numbers. “I didn’t manage to land a single point on him that round…” he whispered.

  He closed his eyes for a brief moment.I have to win this. The instructor raised his hand. “Final round. Prepare.” Lloyd lifted his head and stepped back onto the platform. Ren was already there. The two of them began circling each other slowly, blades raised, eyes locked.

  The noise of the crowd faded into the background. Ren spoke first. “This is it, Lloyd,” he said evenly. “Make the best man win.” Lloyd nodded once. “Yeah.” The bell rang.

  They moved at the same time. Both speed-dashed forward, blades colliding in a burst of sparks. The clash sent a shock through Lloyd’s arms, but he held firm, twisting his wrist and slipping past Ren’s guard. Ren countered instantly. They traded blows in rapid succession—strike, block, counter, evade—neither giving an inch. The fight became a blur of motion, footwork, and steel. Lloyd adapted. He stopped reacting and started anticipating. Ren swung hard—Lloyd stepped inside the arc and struck his ribs. Point. Lloyd. Ren answered with a shoulder hit. Point. Ren. The gap closed. Lloyd pushed harder, his movements sharper, cleaner. He forced Ren to defend for the first time in the match, cutting off his angles, denying him momentum. Ren overcommitted on a heavy strike. Lloyd pivoted. Crack. A clean hit to the face. The scoreboard chimed. The crowd erupted. Ren growled and charged again, but Lloyd was ready now. He met Ren’s aggression head-on—block, counter, strike—each movement precise, controlled. Another hit. Then another. The scoreboard shifted again. With seconds left on the clock, Ren lunged desperately, swinging with everything he had. Lloyd saw it. He sidestepped, brought his blade up in a smooth, decisive arc, and struck Ren clean across the ribs. The final tone sounded.

  Silence. Then—Match Over. The scoreboard flashed. LLOYD: 11 | REN: 9 For a moment, no one moved. Then the arena exploded with cheers. Lloyd stood there, chest heaving, blood still running down his face—but he was smiling. He had won. The finals were over. The arena fell quiet for a single heartbeat. Then the announcer’s voice thundered across the platform. “This year’s exam winner…” A pause—long enough to make the moment burn. “LLOYD UZUGAYA!” The crowd erupted. Cheers crashed over the platform like a wave, voices shouting his name from every direction. Lloyd stood there for a moment, stunned, breathing hard, blood still drying at the corner of his eyebrow. The instructor stepped forward, holding a small emblem in his hand—a star, polished and shining. “You have earned this,” the instructor said as he placed it into Lloyd’s palm. “Lloyd Uzugaya.” Lloyd straightened and bowed slightly. “Thank you, sir.” Before he could say anything else, two familiar figures rushed toward him. Hanzo grabbed him first, laughing. “You actually did it! I told you—no way you were losing!” Alice followed right after, her eyes bright with excitement. “That was amazing, Lloyd! You were incredible out there!” Lloyd smiled, still catching his breath. Then a voice cut through the noise. “Lloyd!” Ren walked toward him. Ren stopped in front of Lloyd and exhaled. “I just want to say… great match.” He met Lloyd’s eyes. “I’ve never fought anyone who could keep up with my pace.” Ren bowed deeply. “I’m sorry for how I acted toward you,” he said honestly. “You belong here—no question about it.” He straightened, a small grin forming. “I hope we get another match in the future.” Lloyd nodded. “Yeah. Me too.”