To Baldwin's surprise, quite a crowd had gathered.
Not for celebration. Not for excitement.
No cheers echoed through the massive stadium. Just silence—thick, expectant, and cold.
People stood still, some with arms crossed, others with narrowed eyes. Faces unreadable. No one clapped. No one smiled. It felt less like a school event and more like an execution.
"Seems like you're already infamous," Baldwin remarked, standing relaxed on the opposite end of the arena, his voice calm but edged with irony.
"You'll find out soon enough, black-haired freak." Julius stepped forward, his tone sharp, almost theatrical. "Do you even know why I chose you?"
"I don't care," Baldwin replied without looking at him. His gaze swept across the crowd instead, as if the people intrigued him more than the boy shouting at him. "This whole place reeks of performance."
Julius's eye twitched. "It's because of your hair. That cursed black hair of yours. You don't belong here."
"So you're a racist and a coward. Great combo," Baldwin muttered.
Julius's face contorted with rage. "I'll make sure you never step foot in this academy again. I'll burn your reputation and bury what's left."
Baldwin finally turned to face him. Slowly. Almost bored.
"Oh?" he said, his lips curling into a small, unreadable smile. "Then show me what you've got."
The teacher raised a hand.
In an instant, Julius acted.
A fireball surged into his palm, swelling with heat and fury. Sparks danced violently around it. With a furious shout, he hurled it straight at Baldwin.
Baldwin stood still. One hand buried in his pocket. The other lazily scratched the back of his head.
He didn't even blink—until something cold and foreign brushed his senses.
An unfamiliar magic.
Without a word, he shifted his weight and leapt backward.
Just as a towering wall of ice erupted in front of him—crackling, glistening, shielding him completely from the explosion of fire that followed.
The stadium gasped. Some leaned forward. Others instinctively stepped back. but Baldwin?
He simply exhaled and dusted a fleck of ash off his shoulder.
All eyes turned skyward. Even Baldwin tilted his head up.
There, floating effortlessly above the stadium, was Lilly—her long robes trailing like ribbons in the air, her staff glowing faintly with restrained magic. Her expression was unreadable, but her eyes were cold and sharp as frost.
"Stop this match at once, Julius," she commanded, voice amplified and crisp, cutting through the heavy silence below. "You don't know who you're dealing with. They were personally recommended by Lucas Whitecat—one of the Knight Generals."
A murmur rippled through the crowd. The name carried weight.
But Julius only scoffed, unfazed. "So what? Lucas Whitecat may have accepted them, but I don't owe them a thing." He sneered and added, "Unless you're saying they're too weak to defend themselves?"
Lilly's voice dropped, but it gained edge—cold steel beneath velvet.
"Your opponent carries the Saint's Sword, Julius. Do you even know what that means?"
Julius hesitated. Just for a breath. Then he forced a smirk.
"A fancy sword changes nothing. Power isn't in names. It's in results."
Above them, Lilly's eyes narrowed. "Then pray your result doesn't leave you broken."
Athan, seated casually in the stands, scratched his head.
Did we know that?
They'd just assumed it was some important-looking sword. Flash it around, and people got friendlier.
Guess it's a bigger deal than we thought.
Down below, murmurs stirred like rising wind through dry grass.
"So what—he's a hero now?" Julius scoffed, gesturing sharply toward Baldwin. "For all I know, that sword's fake."
Lilly's expression darkened. "You dare question the headmaster's judgment?" Her staff lifted once again, glowing faintly with warning.
"Enough of this melodrama," Baldwin cut in, voice calm but edged with boredom. He waved a hand dismissively. "Hey, you—Julius, right? Let's settle this properly. One-on-one. No more interruptions."
"You little—! Fine!" Julius snarled. "I accept your duel!"
Lilly sighed, lowering her staff. "If that's what you want… don't expect me to save you later."
Baldwin gave her a lazy grin. "Actually, prepare to save him."
Lilly didn't respond. She simply descended from the air in a slow, graceful arc and took a seat beside Athan.
"This was supposed to be classic drama," Athan muttered, slouching back as his eyes fluttered shut. "Now it's just… boring."
Lilly turned her gaze toward him, brows furrowed.
What a strange boy.
His friend was about to fight, and he looked ready to nap.
Are they even friends at all?
Back in the stadium, the mood had shifted.
Some cheered Julius on, loud and proud. Others watched in heavy silence, unsure if this was confidence or arrogance.
Baldwin stepped forward calmly, brushing dust from his sleeve. "I'll tell you how this goes," he said. "Two moves only. First, yours. Then mine. Agreed?"
"Perfect," Julius replied coldly, his eyes like twin knives. "Because I'll kill you in one."
At the teacher's signal, Julius raised both hands high. The air rippled. Magic surged.
Another fireball formed—colossal, blistering, furious. Flames writhed like serpents, crimson and gold, devouring the air itself. The ground trembled beneath it.
he hurled it without hesitation.
Baldwin exhaled, visibly unimpressed. "Why is it always fire? Seriously. Can't mages ever be creative? Is every author just obsessed with fireballs?"
The blazing sphere screamed through the air, carving a molten path across the arena. Stone cracked beneath it. Heat rippled like a wave.
Baldwin casually reached into his coat, from his shadow, he pulled out Inkbound.
"This fight isn't worthy of me," he muttered, pressing a hand to the worn cover. "It's yours now."
The moment his fingers touched the page, the world changed.
The fireball froze midair—suspended in time, as if the scene had been paused by some divine remote. The flames halted, still writhing but motionless. Their roar died to a ghostly whisper.
Even Julius's breath locked in his chest.
The crowd gasped. A few shielded their eyes. Some had already braced for the explosion.
But there was none. no impact. No heat. just silence. Julius strained, trying to regain control. Sweat poured down his brow. His eyes widened. His own magic… had betrayed him.
Lilly stood frozen in place, her thoughts racing faster than her breath.
Is this… elemental time magic? No, something else… something older.
Baldwin's voice rang out, calm and cool like wind cutting through still air.
"Oh, one more thing—blocking your enemy's attack doesn't count as a move."
The crowd didn't even have time to process those words.
The fireball reversed—violently.
It screamed backward through the air, spinning faster than when it had launched.
Straight toward Julius.
Gasps filled the stands. Some spectators were still mid-blink.
Even Lilly shot to her feet, heart pounding. "Julius—!"
A wall of ice burst into existence—thick, jagged, divine in speed.
It crashed into place just before impact.
The fireball slammed into it and exploded into a geyser of steam and flame.
Mist rolled across the arena, thick and cold, blanketing the ground in silence.
Julius collapsed, overwhelmed, breath ragged. His knees hit the stone with a dull thud.
Whispers spread like wildfire.
"Inkbound," Baldwin murmured, "You can't kill human property. Watch and learn."
With a single step, he vanished. and appeared before Julius. his blade drawn. Shadow trailing behind like a living thing.
The mist stirred as Lilly waved her staff once, dispersing it with a pulse of golden light.
And there he stood—Baldwin, still as a statue, crimson blade pressed to Julius's neck. Julius's breath hitched.
"I… I surrender!" he cried, voice cracking.
Silence. then— the arena exploded with sound. cheers, screams, disbelief.
Baldwin didn't react. Slowly, he sheathed his sword into the mouth of his shadow, letting it swallow the steel. he stood tall in the chaos, eyes half-lidded, as if bored by his own victory.