The hall was silent, except for the two figures standing at the center and three girls sitting on a bench nearby, quietly chatting among themselves.
At a distance, another boy sat alone, sipping water from a bottle, making sure to keep a safe gap between himself and the girls.
Seraphine stood at the center of the hall, facing Jake, whose sword trailed lazily on the ground like he barely cared.
How had it come to this? She had only meant to watch him train.
Sure, she had been the one to throw out the challenge — but it was instinct, pride clawing at her. She couldn't stand being looked down on, being treated like some fragile little girl.
Still, she couldn't shake the lingering feeling that somehow, she'd been maneuvered into this situation by someone else's plan.
Still — backing down wasn't an option. Not when she had something to prove.
Honestly, a part of her had always wanted to punch a hole through Jake's reputation anyway.
Truth be told, she'd wanted to fight Jake for a long time — to see if the rumors about him were true, to prove whether her father's constant praise was justified.
Every time her father applauded Jake in front of her, irritation simmered.
Jake or whatever — she was going to wipe that smug grin off his face.
"Aren't you gonna wear any safety gear?" Jake's voice cut through her thoughts, casual but sharp.
Seraphine gave a small, fearless smile. "I won't need it."
Jake raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching into a smirk. "Getting a little full of yourself, aren't you?"
The teasing tone stung more than she'd admit.
Seraphine shot back, voice clipped, "And you're not? Maybe you're just too full of yourself to realize it."
Jake only smiled wider, folding his arms behind his back like he hadn't a care in the world. "That's not arrogance, girl. That's absolute confidence. Know the difference before you talk big."
Seraphine gritted her teeth, glaring at the arrogant figure standing before her.
Taking a sharp breath, she muttered, "Here I come," and pushed off the ground with a powerful step.
Within moments, she closed the distance, her speed startlingly quick.
Jake's eyes widened in surprise as Seraphine raised her sword and brought it down in a vertical slash.
Reacting swiftly, he deflected the blow, though the force pushed him back a few steps.
A faint, amused smile tugged at his lips as a low "Ohh!" escaped him.
But Seraphine didn't let up.
With a short hop, she twisted her stance, swinging low toward his legs.
Jake shifted his footing, his sword dropping to meet hers with a metallic crack, the vibrations humming up both their arms.
For a moment, they were locked — blade against blade, eyes meeting — and Jake saw it: that fierce spark of determination burning behind her gaze.
A sharp pivot from Seraphine broke the deadlock; she spun lightly on her heel and came at him from the side, her movements fluid and relentless.
A low whistle escaped him as he narrowly parried a sudden side slash, the impact vibrating down his arms.
"You're really not holding back, huh?" he muttered under his breath, more amused than worried.
Seraphine didn't answer.
Her expression was locked in fierce concentration, her breath steady, her sword a blur as she drove him across the hall, step by step.
Jake ducked under a high swing, feeling the wind of the blade whip past his ear, and countered with a sharp jab toward her side — only for Seraphine to twist at the last moment, deflecting and returning with a diagonal slash that forced him back again.
He grunted softly, his boots skidding against the floor.
From the benches at the side, the girls watched in stunned silence, the tension thick in the air.
It was hard to tell who had the upper hand now — but to anyone watching, it looked like Jake was starting to falter.
Seraphine seized the momentum.
She lunged forward, her sword arcing upward in a vicious swing aimed at Jake's shoulder.
Jake crossed his sword up just in time, blocking the hit — but the force behind it was undeniable.
He staggered a step back, his back brushing against the cold stone pillar behind him.
Nowhere left to go.
Jake watched as Seraphine rushed him, her blade slicing through the air with a fierce determination.
He raised his sword halfway — and then, with a heavy sigh, let the tip of his blade fall to the ground with a dull clatter.
"I give up," he said casually, flashing a lazy smile.
The hall went deathly silent.
The girls on the bench blinked, stunned.
Seraphine froze mid-strike, her sword trembling slightly in her hands.
For a heartbeat, she simply stared at him, trying to process what had just happened.
Then a spark of rage lit up in her eyes.
Was this really it? Was this the boy everyone wouldn't shut up about? Her father's golden example, the one who could do no wrong.
Every time she had tried her best, fought her hardest, pushed herself until her body screamed — it was always Jake's name she heard afterward. "Jake would have done it faster." "Jake would have handled it better." "Maybe watch how Jake fights next time." It was like she could never be enough. And now, standing here, clashing blades with him, she could see the truth plain as day — he wasn't even trying.
It burned her, clawed inside her chest like wildfire. He was playing with her, like she was some little sparring partner for his amusement. She didn't want his pity. She didn't want him to act like she was fragile.
She wanted a real fight — she deserved a real fight. If he could crush her, she wanted him to do it honestly. Not mock her efforts by pretending to struggle. Every lazy step he took, every half-hearted block, it was like a slap to the face. She hated it.
She hated that even now, even when she pushed herself to the edge, he still looked at her with those calm, unreadable eyes, like none of this mattered. Was she really that weak in his eyes? Was she that insignificant? A bitter, hot taste filled her mouth.
She would rather lose and fall flat on her face a hundred times than be treated like this. If this was the Jake her father always praised, then maybe her father was wrong. Maybe they all were wrong. And she would prove it — here and now. She would tear that smug calm off his face, rip apart that false respect, and make him fight her like an equal — or not at all.
Seraphine gripped her sword tighter, the leather digging painfully into her fingers. Her breath came in harsh, uneven bursts, and every inch of her body screamed with anger and frustration. Across from her, Jake stood calm, indifferent, sword hanging lazily at his side as if the entire fight meant nothing.
"You—" she spat, her voice quivering with restrained fury, "you're a coward."
Jake blinked slowly, tilting his head slightly like he hadn't heard right. "A coward?" he repeated, casual, almost amused.
Seraphine took a step forward, her sword trembling in her grasp, pointing it squarely at him. "Don't act like you don't know what I'm talking about! You're holding back! You've been holding back since the very beginning!"
Jake raised his hands, a slight shrug in his posture. "It's just a spar. Relax."
"Relax?!" she barked a hollow laugh. "You think I've been breaking my back for the last ten minutes for a damn spar?! You think this was just some casual dance for me?!"
He opened his mouth to say something, but she cut him off sharply, voice rising, barely keeping herself together.
"You think you're being kind by not trying? You think it's mercy?" She stabbed the air with her words. "It's not. It's patronizing! You're looking down on me. You've been looking down on me since the first damn swing!"
Jake's easy-going smile faltered a little, but she didn't give him a chance to respond.
"You stand there, acting so calm, so above it all," she sneered, her eyes burning into him. "You're not noble, Jake. You're cowardly. You don't even have the guts to fight me seriously. Is it because I'm a girl? Is it because you think I'm weak? Or maybe" — she narrowed her eyes — "maybe you just don't have the balls to lose in front of everyone."
Rina, who had been watching quietly from the sidelines, felt a pang of worry in her chest. She could see where this was going — Seraphine was spiraling, her anger growing more uncontrollable by the second. Rina stood up, her palms outstretched in an attempt to calm things down.
"Seraphine... it's okay. Just leave it, alright? You proved yourself. Everyone saw it. There's no need to—"
But Seraphine cut her off sharply, whipping her head around to glare at her friend.
"No!" she snapped, voice shaking with raw emotion. "It's not okay, Rina!" Her eyes shone, a volatile storm brewing in them. "I don't want pity victories! ' I want him—" she pointed the trembling tip of her sword at Jake, "—to actually fight me like I'm worth something!"
Rina stepped back slightly, her brows furrowing in concern. Though she had only met Seraphine today, she had already grown used to the girl's calm and cold demeanor — sharp, distant, but never reckless. Seeing her like this, burning with open rage and frustration, was jarring. She opened her mouth to speak again, but the words caught in her throat as Seraphine's next sentence hit like a slap.
"You don't understand, do you?!" Seraphine's voice was low, almost a growl now, full of frustration. "This isn't just about me anymore. It's about him. The way everyone treats him like some kind of god while I get overlooked, like I'm just lesser. I won't let it stand anymore."
"But Seraphine—" Rina tried again, her voice now desperate. "You've already shown him! You don't need to do this. You're better than this." Her words faltered as Seraphine's fiery gaze snapped back to her.
"I'm not 'better' than this," Seraphine spat. "I'm done being the 'better person.' You think I'll just sit back and accept being overlooked? I won't. I can't." She took a deep breath, her chest heaving as if she were trying to steady herself, but the anger still simmered beneath her skin. "If Jake won't fight me, then maybe he's not the man everyone says he is."
The hall was dead silent, the tension so thick it could be sliced with a blade.
"I've trained my whole damn life!" she snarled. "I bled, I fought, I pushed myself so damn hard just to be recognized! And here you are, treating me like a sparring dummy you're afraid to scratch."
Jake's face was unreadable now, the casual mask he wore gone.
Finally, finally, he was listening.
"So fight me properly, you arrogant bastard!" she shouted, her hands trembling from more than just rage now. "Fight me like I matter. Or else don't ever look down on me again."
Her sword lowered slightly, but her gaze never wavered — fierce, furious, and demanding.
"Holy shit..."
Sitting at a bench a little distance away from the escalating chaos, Rix muttered under his breath. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, eyes locked onto the two figures in the sparring circle. A bead of sweat slipped down the side of his face—not from fear, but from the tension thick enough to choke on.
He mumbled again, barely audible, "Yeah... I think it's time I start inching toward the exit..."
He knew Jake better than anyone else here.
They'd grown up together, sparred more times than he could count. And through all those years, there was one thing Rix never forgot — the moment when Jake decided to stop holding back.
He wouldn't say anything. No warning. No threats.
He'd just look down, calmly, and draw a simple line around his feet — sometimes with a stick, sometimes with the edge of his blade — nothing dramatic, just a line.
And then he'd say it.
> "Make me step out of this."
That was it.
A childish-sounding challenge. But to anyone who had faced him in that state, it meant something far worse.
That's when The Ring of Silence began.
Rix was the one who named it back then. Not because it was flashy or cool — but because of what it did.
It wasn't about brute strength.
It didn't knock people out or throw them across the field.
It emptied them — slowly, steadily.
The opponent would fight harder, faster, angrier, trying everything they had to push him just one step back — and Jake?
He'd stay rooted, balanced, unshaken.
Like he belonged to the earth.
And as the minutes passed, something strange would happen.
The challenger's confidence would start to bleed out.
Their strikes would lose rhythm, thoughts would grow muddy. Every hit that didn't land — every attempt that failed — echoed louder in their chest. It wasn't the physical exhaustion that got them. It was the way they started questioning themselves.
That maybe… they were never strong enough to begin with.
Rix had played that game with Jake more times than he cared to remember. He always lost, of course — but it never cut deep.
Because he never had pride to shatter.
He knew Jake was better. From the beginning, he'd accepted it. Losing was just part of breathing.
But someone like Seraphine?
No, she wouldn't take it the same way.
She was fighting for something bigger — pride, purpose, maybe even something personal.
And if Jake really chose to draw that line…
Rix's expression tightened.
He couldn't watch that. Not again.
He sighed again and mumbled, "Yeah, I'm not sticking around for this."
It wasn't about fear. It was about secondhand embarrassment. He had no beef with Seraphine — hell, he admired her guts. But when Jake decided to end this charade, it was going to be brutal. Not physically, maybe. But emotionally? It would be the kind of humiliation you don't walk away from easily.
And as a classmate, as someone who had to sit in the same room with her for the rest of the year, Rix didn't want that image burned into his head.
"Not my business," he muttered, standing up quietly. I'm getting a soda."
Jake stood still, feeling the heavy weight of Seraphine's glare across the space between them.
She was furious — it practically crackled off her like static.
He exhaled softly, the sound barely rising over the tension.
He hadn't been playing around, not in the way people might assume.
Sure, he had been holding back. But it wasn't to mock her or belittle her.
It was because he respected her.
He saw the discipline in her movements, the countless hours of practice stitched into every strike.
Seraphine wasn't like the others. She was a fighter shaped by sheer will, not natural talent.
And Jake — he valued that more than anyone could know.
Still... maybe he had misjudged how much pride meant to her.
His gaze drifted briefly toward the sideline where a small group of classmates watched, their expressions a mixture of awe and unease.
The three girls who had cheered earlier now looked paralyzed.
He scanned the crowd casually, looking for his so-called backup.
No Rix.
Figures.
Jake rolled his eyes slightly.
Rix probably saw this coming from a mile away
He didn't mind insults. They were just noise. But he hated misunderstandings.
He hated that, despite all his restraint, she thought he looked down on her — when in reality, he admired her fight more than most.
He glanced back at Seraphine, who stood taut and trembling, her pride bleeding into rage.
It wasn't pity he felt.
It was disappointment — that she couldn't see the line he had carefully tried not to cross.
Still, there was no helping it now.
Jake's expression softened, a small, genuine smile touching his lips.
"I'm sorry," he said simply. "I underestimated you."
Seraphine blinked, thrown off by the sincerity in his voice.
The girls behind her seemed just as stunned.
Jake tilted his head slightly, offering no threat, only an open challenge.
"Let's fight for real now."
For a moment, Seraphine hesitated — but then she nodded, her voice a little unsteady.
"Ah… okay."
Seraphine dropped into her stance, tension simmering beneath her skin.
Jake tilted his head, then gave her a casual grin, Then, with casual grace, he began dragging his sword along the stone floor, the metal scraping with a hiss that cut through the silence.
"You know what?" he said, voice calm and steady as his sword traced a circle around his feet. "Let's make this more interesting than a mindless brawl."
Seraphine blinked. "Fight? What do you mean?"
"A game," Jake replied, that sly glint in his eyes sharpening.
He stepped lightly into the circle, the sound of his boots quiet but final.
"Three minutes," he said, clasping his hands behind his back like a monk about to deliver a sermon.
"If you can make me move even an inch outside this circle… you win."
A sneer tugged at his lips now, subtle but cutting.
"So go ahead… try. Push me out of this little ring. My friend named it the 'Ring of Silence' back when we were kids. Funny name, right?"
Seraphine narrowed her eyes. "A game?" she scoffed.
"You drag a circle and ask me to push you out of it like I'm some kid on a playground?"
Her voice rose, edged in disbelief.
"Do you really think I need your charity, Jake?"
Jake tilted his head.
"No," he said slowly, voice sharper now, "I think you need a reality check."
she snapped, storming closer.
"You think standing in a circle makes you invincible?"
Jake's mouth twitched into a smirk.
"No. I make me invincible. The circle is just for your convenience."
"You're looking down on me!" she shouted, rage lighting her eyes.
"You think I can't break you? I'll tear you out of that stupid ring."
At that, something in Jake twitched — a muscle in his cheek, barely visible. And then…
He laughed.
Not a soft chuckle. Not a smirk.
A loud, open, cruel laugh that cut through the air and froze the wind for a moment.
The shift was immediate.
Gone was the composed, distant boy who spoke like he held some vague reverence for her skill. In his place stood something colder, sharper — someone who no longer cared to pretend.
Jake's laughter cracked through the arena like thunder in a funeral hall.
Cold and cruel.
He let it echo — let it settle in the bones of every onlooker. Then slowly, he exhaled through his nose and took a single, deliberate step out of the ring.
Jake just walked. Calmly. Casually. Like he had all the time in the world.
And then, he started circling her.
His voice came low, almost conversational.
But each word sliced cleaner than any blade.
> "You know what your problem is, Seraphine?"
He didn't wait for a response. He didn't need one.
> "You talk big. You walk proud. You throw your sword around like you're some untouchable force.
But deep down? You're just loud.
Not strong. Not sharp.
Just… loud."
> "You've confused noise with strength. You've mistaken your anger for power, your pride for presence."
He circled slightly, arms behind his back, speaking now like a teacher scolding a petulant child.
His tone sharpened.
>"Do you know what I see when I look at you?"
"A little girl, trying to wear a warrior's skin.
Loud enough to get attention, fragile enough to shatter from it.
A storm on the outside, but hollow at the core."
Seraphine's knees twitched. Her hands gripped the hilt of her sword tightly.
He didn't wait for a response. Didn't even look at her directly.
He was speaking to the space between them — as if she barely deserved eye contact.
"You talk like thunder, but hit like rain."
A beat passed. He stopped behind her.
"You walk around with your chin up and your chest out, thinking posture makes power. You shout, you posture, you demand to be seen."
His voice dropped lower.
"But fear doesn't come from volume. It comes from presence. And you…"
He stepped closer. Just enough to be heard only by her.
"You have none."
Seraphine's hand twitched on her hilt. But her breath was shaky.
She tried to meet his eyes, but he was already walking again.
"You think anger is power. That rage will fill the cracks in your foundation."
He scoffed softly.
"It won't. It just leaks through them."
He moved in front of her now. His eyes, calm and pale, locked onto hers.
"Your strikes scream effort, not confidence.
Your stance… all show. No center."
He tilted his head.
"And your eyes, Seraphine..."
His gaze lingered, dissecting.
"...They're still begging to be validated."
Her lips parted — ready to retort, to scream back — but her throat dried before the words made it out.
She twitched — the insult burning across her face. She looked ready to strike, but Jake turned his back on her like she wasn't even worth guarding against.
He stepped back into the ring. Smooth. Effortless.
Then turned, standing at the center — arms again behind his back.
He stood there, perfectly still again, as if nothing had happened, and then glanced at the ground beneath his feet.
"We used to call this the Ring of Silence," he said, smiling faintly. "My friend named it when we were kids. Said it was fitting,"Not because people didn't speak in it — but because by the end… they just didn't have anything left to say."
Jake tilted his head. There was something new in his expression now. Not calm. Not playful.
Contempt.
"You know what you remind me of?"
He let the question hang in the air — then dropped it like a guillotine.
"That smear of filth you scrape off your boots after trudging through a bad path. Desperate to cling. Eager to leave a mark."
He looked down at his own foot, then back up at her, a cruel light in his eyes.
"But still just dirt."
Her blade quivered. Her teeth clenched.
But Jake… he didn't flinch.
He took one step forward. Just one.
And then the voice came — soft now. Gentle almost. But worse because of it.
"After all that rage..."
Another step.
"All that pride..."
Another.
"All that noise..."
He was close now. Closer than before.
His eyes narrowed — not with anger, but with something colder. Something final.
"You're still just…"
A pause.
"...weak."
And then, as if the matter was settled, he turned his back to her. Not in carelessness — in utter confidence.
He walked calmly, almost lazily, back to the edge of the circle. One step. Then another.
And then—he stepped in.
Right back into the center of the ring — the very ring she was supposed to push him out of.
Hands behind his back. Shoulders loose. Standing tall like a mountain she could never move.
He turned his head just slightly, eyes flicking toward the three girls watching in the shadows.
And when his gaze met theirs — sharp, cold, something other — they shivered.
Not because of fear. Because of recognition.
This wasn't the same Jake who'd fought Seraphine moments ago. Something had shifted.
His presence now felt... heavier. Sharper. Like a blade freshly drawn.
No words from the girls. Just silence. One swallowed. Another took a half-step back.
His voice cut through the air with the weight of finality.
"Now then…"
He looked up at Seraphine again, the smirk gone. Only stillness remained.
"Three minutes."
He tapped his boot once inside the circle. A hollow echo rang out.
"Make me move."
He didn't raise his voice. He didn't taunt this time.
He just stood there.
Waiting.
Daring her.
"Push me back — even an inch."
"And I'll call it your victory."