The dueling hall was a massive circular chamber, sunlight streaming through enchanted glass high above. Students filled the rows of benches circling the arena, their chatter a mix of curiosity and anticipation.
Kuro stood at the edge of the sanded floor, clutching his practice sword. His pulse raced, though he forced his grip steady. Mika's presence at the edge of the ring was the only thing keeping him from walking straight out.
"Next match," the instructor barked. "Eryndor Valcrest against Kuro."
A tall, broad-shouldered student strode forward. Eryndor. Even his name carried weight, dripping with arrogance. His golden hair caught the light like a crown, but the sneer twisting his mouth destroyed any illusion of nobility. His eyes—sharp and blue as ice—raked over Kuro with open disgust.
"Well, well," Eryndor drawled, stepping into the arena. "They're really letting you fight? An elf?" He chuckled cruelly, voice cutting through the hall like a blade. "What a joke. You don't belong here. Your kind is only good for bowing at our feet, cleaning our shoes, and maybe entertaining us if we're bored. Honestly, I'm surprised the academy didn't just chain you up in the stables where you belong."
This time, a few students in the crowd actually laughed. The sound was sharp and ugly, fueling Eryndor's smirk as he turned his sword lazily in his grip.
Kuro stiffened, his knuckles whitening around the sword hilt.
{…He really said that.}
[He really f*ing did. And look at these clowns laughing like seals—pathetic. And what's worse? He's not even swearing. Like, where's the edge? Where's the actual menace? All he's got is his ugly a face and his daddy's money. That's it.]
{…Elvastia.}
[No, seriously, look at him. Acting like some badass villain, but he's just a spoiled brat. People only kiss his ass because of his family's gold. Without that, he's nothing but a glorified scarecrow no one even wants to look at. Honestly, I've seen mud with more charisma than that f***er.]
{…}
[What? Don't look at me like that. You know I'm right. Look at that smug grin—it's like his face is BEGGING to be punched. Ugh. Ugly, boring, talentless. And people still cheer for him. This world's f***ed.]
Kuro blinked, staring down at the sand in disbelief at just how brutal Elvastia's rant had become.
Eryndor laughed loudly, tilting his head back as though the idea of Kuro standing against him was absurd. "Lose? To you? An elf brat who probably grew up in the dirt begging for scraps? You'll be on your knees before the first strike." He leaned closer, his voice dropping so only Kuro could hear. "And that's exactly where your kind belongs."
That did it.
From the corner, Mika's chair screeched against stone as he shot to his feet, his cold mask cracking into fury. His pale eyes blazed, his hand tightening around his own weapon.
"Mika," the instructor barked, "remain seated—"
But Mika didn't hear. He was already striding toward the arena, each step brimming with intent.
[Yes, YES. Tear him apart, Mika. Break his f***ing jaw. Kick his racist teeth in.]
{Mika, don't—}
Before Mika could step into the ring, another figure moved swiftly between him and Eryndor.
The newcomer was tall, with a build that was both lean and strong, like a blade honed to perfection. His hazelnut hair shimmered under the enchanted light, catching soft golden tones that framed a striking face. Eyes the color of clear summer skies—piercing, almost too beautiful to look at—met Mika's with calm authority. He carried himself with effortless grace, refined yet undeniably dangerous, like someone who was used to being obeyed without ever having to raise his voice.
"Calm down," the stranger said smoothly, placing a hand on Mika's chest to halt him. "If you step in, it'll only give him what he wants." His gaze shifted to Kuro, warm and steady. "You can handle this, can't you?"
[Whos this hottie?]
Kuro blinked, startled by the man's presence, then nodded. "Yes. Thank you… uh—"
"Lucien," the stranger supplied, his smile widening just enough to soften the sharpness of his features. "Lucien Veyra."
Kuro's chest warmed at the support, and he gave a small, grateful smile. "Thank you, Lucien."
Mika's jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing faintly as Lucien's hand lingered just a moment too long before dropping. His expression returned to its usual cold aloofness, but the way his fingers curled at his side betrayed something sharper beneath.
Kuro glanced at him, frowning slightly. {Why is he acting… weird?}
"Fight," the instructor ordered.
Eryndor sneered, raising his sword again. "This'll be fun."