Gray lay sprawled on the ground, gasping for air, struggling to rise once more. His trembling fingers reached out toward the sword that had slipped from his grasp, but his legs refused to carry him. And yet, in his eyes, that faint glimmer remained… the spark of defiance.
From his seat in the stands, Ken tilted his head slightly, studying the boy with a depth no one else seemed to notice. The crowd, meanwhile, was far too busy laughing and mocking:
— "It's over for him."
— "He was just a bit of entertainment, nothing more."
— "How foolish—thinking resolve alone could carry him?"
But then, to everyone's shock, Ken suddenly rose to his feet. A ripple of murmurs swept across the audience:
— "The Fourth Prince?!"
— "What is he doing?"
His steps were not hurried, but steady, deliberate. Slowly, he descended from the stands until he reached the edge of the dueling ground. Even the soldiers hesitated in giving him a salute, while the official on duty faltered, averting his eyes in feigned indifference.
Ken stood before the battered boy, looking down with a gaze that carried neither contempt nor pity—only a quiet, curious respect. Then, in a calm but clear voice, he said:
— "I see in you what the others could not… a will that refuses to fall."
The arena fell silent for a heartbeat before whispers rushed in like a tide:
— "Has he lost his mind?"
— "The Fourth Prince… speaking of willpower?"
— "Wasn't he himself the very image of weakness?"
Ken ignored their words entirely. His voice carried firm resolve as he continued, right there in front of everyone:
— "From this moment on, I will train you myself. I'll guide you until the next tournament, and I want to see just how far your determination can take you."
The statement struck like thunder. Shock froze the crowd. Some smirked in disbelief, while others exchanged doubtful glances:
— "The Fourth Prince training a knight? This must be a joke!"
— "Even if he trained a thousand, it wouldn't erase his laughable image."
The official, however, was the angriest of them all. His fists clenched so tightly his veins bulged, his voice nearly bursting out—but he bit it back, unwilling to lose control before the prince. He knew well enough: Ken's move wasn't mere whimsy. It was a direct, deliberate slap in his face.
Gray, trembling and drenched in sweat and tears, lifted his head with effort. His voice cracked, but his words carried unwavering resolve:
— "Your Highness… if you grant me this chance… I will not disappoint you."
Ken answered only with a faint smile—not a smile of triumph, but one of quiet confidence. Then, turning his back, he walked away with calm steps, leaving the crowd drowning in chaos, doubts, and questions.
At that moment, no one could tell: was this the beginning of the Fourth Prince's rise from the shadow of ridicule… or merely another whim that would only fuel their laughter?
Don't forget to interact.