She did it.
Tarian won her duel against Herdon Teririrs.
"Two S-class students down..."
"This isn't the level I was expecting from the so-called best class in Aurum Academy."
"This has to mean something... like the gap between the upper and lower halves of S-class is bigger than the gap between the best in A-class and the worst in S-class."
Amid the students cheering for Tarian's victory, others began to doubt the prestige of the S-class.
"This can't be... We are nobles of the highest standing. We can't allow our children to be ridiculed."
"See that, dear? Even our sweet kid can climb the ranks."
Even the parents had begun to comment on the surprising results of the duels.
"Atro..." Cole muttered, glancing at the boy sitting beside him.
Atro gripped his knees, head lowered, breathing heavily.
"I... I've gotta go to the changing room to get ready!" he said, suddenly standing up and running off.
As much as we wanted to stop him and give him a few words of encouragement, we all knew he needed a minute alone—to clear his head and think about the upcoming fight.
"I don't know how to feel, honestly," Yani finally broke the silence hanging over our group.
"Me too..." Cole replied, closing his small notebook and staring off in the direction Atro had run.
"I feel like S-class is accessible now. But it still feels... so far away," Yani said, stretching her arms.
"Huh? I don't get it," Tirino said, turning to face us.
"The elf girl—she's not a high-ranking noble. I heard she's just the daughter of an elven knight with a few notable achievements. And knights who earn nobility status usually become the lowest-ranked nobles."
"Exactly. Now, getting into S-class feels less... impossible."
"Isn't that a good thing?"
"For us? Yeah. For the nobles? Not so much."
"It all started with Alen, really. A peasant who came out of nowhere and got into S-class. His inclusion stirred up a lot of controversy."
"I know... Ximuss's parents spent days sending complaints to Director Goldenlaw," I added with a tired sigh.
"Actually," Yani said, "before these duels even started, I heard that this year's S-class is considered the weakest in Aurum Academy history. And with these results, that opinion will only spread."
That's crazy to me.
The idea that the class with Cecil and Fran could be thought of as the weakest in the academy's history.
I know how strong those two can be. But living through this first month in the academy... I can see why people might think that way.
Besides Cecil and Fran—who haven't done anything remarkable so far—none of the other students seem to live up to the prestige expected of S-class.
Even Lyon, prince of the United Kingdom of Tiasbes, has done nothing to justify his place in the top class.
Compared to last year's S-class, the difference is drastic. Last year, Julius Der Botcam was a first-year student—and he alone made everyone else look inferior.
"And of course, this had to happen on the very day parents visit the academy to meet with the director and teachers," Yani said as she got more comfortable on the bleachers, resting her arm along the backrest.
"Are you sure Atro can win, Alen?" Tirino asked, pulling out a ticket labeled Ximuss Yolte. "I don't think so—that's why I bet on the side I believe will win."
"It doesn't matter if he's the underdog. I believe he can win. I want to see him win because he's our friend," I said with a frown, standing up.
I started walking off to find Atro, now that some time had passed.
"...A-Alen..." Kaida tugged at my sleeve gently. When I turned to look at her, she was clearly worried. "T-Tell Atro that we're all rooting for him."
"Except Tirino, we all want to see him win," Yani added, sitting down next to Kaida where I'd been.
"I'll be sure to let him know," I said, then made my way toward the changing rooms.
---
"Ha! Of course, any class my son Julius isn't in would be considered weak," King Enrick said with a booming laugh.
The room had just been updated on the results of the two duels, thanks to a teacher who had relayed the information.
"What now, Goldenlaw? It's clear your judgment of the students was flawed!" Isadora snapped, slamming papers down on the desk. "Two A-class students defeating S-class students!? That's unheard of—even in the worst years!"
"I don't see the problem, Queen Isadora," Director Goldenlaw said with a cold smile, eyes closed. "If a system exists that allows students to rise in rank, it means the classes aren't locked in stone. If these students improved and earned their place in S-class, then they deserve it."
"Improved?" Isadora scoffed. "These papers show no signs of improvement from the S-class this entire month! Meanwhile, A-class students somehow improved enough to overtake them? Don't insult my intelligence."
"What about that student, Alen?" Alva interjected. "He's improved more than anyone—not just in his class or year, but in the whole academy. He's currently te student that's earned the most points."
"Silence, Alva! That peasant should be expelled for his suspicious background!"
"I'm afraid I agree with her, King Alva," the elven queen said. "He's an anomaly and should not be judged like other students. I believe the real issue lies with the current homeroom teacher."
"I assure you, Queen Boscosa, that Teacher Crowbell is more than qualified to instruct S-class," Goldenlaw replied quickly, not allowing the conversation to veer further in that direction.
"I can't take your side right now, Director," the fox king said, crossing his arms. "S-class should be the best of the best. Being outperformed this early in the year shows that the class isn't upholding the standards we expect."
"The S-class is for nobles," Isadora said firmly. "It stands above the rest. It should be unachievable for anyone who isn't of pure blood."
Lyon, Theo, and Fran all had their heads lowered, unable to speak.
Theo knew his parent would dismiss him—either by comparing him to Julius or by pointing out he couldn't even measure up to a peasant, even if that peasant was his friend.
Lyon felt ashamed of not living up to his father's expectations. He'd lost to the same student multiple times—and had been the first to lose points on the very first day.
Fran didn't dare speak in front of her mother. She wasn't afraid of punishment—she'd long since grown used to pain thanks to the brutal training she endured. No, she was afraid of what her mother might do to Alen if he continued being a topic of discussion.
Alen.
No matter the subject, his name always came up.
Dungeons.
Study plans.
Extracurricular activities.
Achievements.
Alen's name always surfaced.
And everyone reacted differently.
Some, like Julius and Isadora, scoffed or clicked their tongues in irritation.
Others, like Vi and Nemeor, always had something positive to say.
"We do need to address the current state of S-class," King Edgar finally spoke in a grave tone. "No matter how much you try to defend these outcomes, S-class shouldn't be something just anyone can enter."
---
The changing rooms—where Atro now stood.
He was still wearing his academy uniform, but had chosen to add some light armor for protection.
Among all the gear provided by the academy for duels, Atro picked a lightweight metallic set: a chest plate, a helmet, and a few protective plates on his limbs.
For a weapon, he selected a bow made of strong, durable wood, its string tight and ready.
Just to test it, Atro grabbed an arrow and went through the familiar process of drawing a shot.
He slid the arrow into place, pressing the nock against the string and holding it with his thumb.
He pinched the string and pulled back slowly, inhaling as he did.
His back muscles tensed as he drew the bow, aiming at the far wall. But even without releasing it, he knew the arrow wouldn't go where he wanted. His hands trembled, and the tip of the arrow wobbled unpredictably.
The only sounds were the tense creak of the bowstring and his own ragged, uneven breathing.
Eventually, he lowered the bow.
"Phahhh..."
Atro exhaled all the air he'd been holding in a single breath. He slouched forward, hands on his knees.
Sweat dripped from his face and splattered onto the tiled floor.
He wiped his forehead with a forearm, then collapsed onto the ground.
"I... I can't win…"
His stomach twisted with anxiety as he stared up at the ceiling, his thoughts spiraling.
He imagined losing. Getting demoted to A-class. That alone wasn't terrifying—but what came next was. Being seen as weak. Targeted by other students, challenged again and again until he was pushed even lower in the ranks.
He imagined losing the few friends he'd made this past week. Alen, Cole, Cecil, Tirino—he feared they'd see him as useless and slowly drift away.
But worst of all...
Was the possibility that no one would care.
Everyone already expected him to lose. So maybe they'd keep being nice. Maybe they'd still hang out. But gradually, he'd fade into the background. Still present, but invisible.
A routine would form. One where he was there, but unnoticed. Slowly, quietly, he'd be forgotten.
No words of encouragement.
No acknowledgment.
Just silence.
And in time, he'd accept it. Because maybe... he really didn't matter.
Then—
A knock on the door snapped him out of the spiraling pit of despair he'd been digging in his own mind.
"Hey, Atro," Alen's voice called gently.
Atro scrambled to his feet.
"D-Don't open it, please," he said, panicked, as the door creaked slightly.
Before it opened any further, Alen pulled it shut again.
"Okay."
"Th-thanks... I... I don't want you to see me like this," Atro said quietly, grateful Alen understood.
"Atro," Alen's voice came through the door. "No matter what happens... give it your all."
Atro froze.
Those words didn't help. They only deepened the despair clawing at his chest.
It felt like Alen didn't care about the outcome.
"Y-Yeah..."
Atro clenched his fists. In his mind, the result was already decided—he would lose. And then fade.
"Even if you don't win, I'll help you with your next duel."
"…Wh-What?"
"I'm sorry, Atro. I wasn't the best teacher. Whether you win or lose, I'll learn how to help you get stronger," Alen said, his voice filled with determination—something he hoped Atro could feel through the door.
"Y-You… want to keep training? Even after this?"
"Yes. If you lose, I'll help you get back up. And if you win, we'll train together and get even stronger."
"…Alen…"
"That doesn't mean you shouldn't try to win. Win, Atro. That's what we all want to see."
With that, Alen let go of the door.
"I'll see you after the duel. Remember—find your line. That's half the battle."
Atro stared at the floor.
He'd assumed the drops falling from his face were sweat. But they weren't.
His blurred vision and choked breath told him exactly what was happening.
"I... I promise I'll win, Alen! I don't want to lose!"
He finally cried out, voice breaking between hiccups.
Atro didn't know if Alen had stayed to hear those words.
But that didn't matter.
He needed to say them—
Even if he thought no one heard.
But hiswosh for victory didn't go unnoticed.
Alen smiled when he heard Atro cry out his desire for victory and decided to slowly walk away back to the stands.