In the vast gymnasium, students began gathering in small clusters, their whispers circling around two names that seemed to outshine all others.
"Hey, did you hear? Vivian D. Zenithara is called a once-in-a-generation talent," a girl with her hair tied neatly into a ponytail said, her voice tinged with awe.
"Yes, I heard," another girl replied, absentmindedly twirling a strand of her curly hair. "They say he's so exceptional that, even with his illness, he still managed to reach the fourth star by the age of fourteen. Some even say that, if not for his condition, he might have already stepped into the realm of a Swordmaster."
"Those might be rumors," the first girl murmured, though her eyes glimmered with belief, "but there has to be some truth to them… right?"
"Well, no matter how strong he is, he could never defeat Kafrik," the curly-haired girl said with certainty.
Her cheeks flushed pink as her mind wandered elsewhere, the mere thought of Kafrik stirring something in her imagination.
"Yes, he is the most handsome guy in the academy and he's strong," the pony-tailed girl began, only to be cut short by another voice . "not anymore."
The others turned toward her in surprise. She was the same girl who, not long ago, had tried to recruit Vivian into the dance club.
"What do you mean, Katrin?" the curly-haired girl pressed, her brows furrowing as she fixed Katrin with a piercing glare.
"You'll understand when you see him," Katrin replied with a smirk, her lips curling with quiet satisfaction.
She offered no further explanation, leaving the others unsettled and curious.
Meanwhile, in the waiting room reserved for participants, Charlotte and Vivian sat side by side.
The muffled noise of the crowd outside drifted in, but inside the room it was calm, almost heavy with anticipation.
"Charlotte," Vivian asked casually, "what do you think about that Kafrik guy? Have you seen him before?"
"I once met him at a ball," he continued before she could answer, his tone light, though his eyes betrayed a spark of excitement. "I was with my mother back then, but… I don't remember him clearly."
Outwardly, he looked perfectly composed, his gaze steady and his voice measured.
But inside, his heart raced with exhilaration. Kafrik… the protagonist of 'The Order of Love.' Known for his kindness, his unwavering resolve, his role as the hero who would even defy Charlotte's path to protect the heroine and others.
But Charlotte didn't answer him. She simply kept her gaze fixed on the arena, arms folded across her chest.
Though silent, her expression spoke volumes. Her brows were furrowed in a faint frown, and she let out a small, dismissive snort.
'So she doesn't like him, huh?' Vivian mused inwardly, watching her with growing amusement. As expected of the Villainess. She must have disliked him from the very beginning.
Vivian didn't press Charlotte any further. Instead, his thoughts drifted elsewhere.
'Is the heroine already in this academy?' He honestly didn't know, the main plot only began after his own death, a good seven or eight years from now.
For the moment, the timeline was still untouched.
What he could see, however, was that Kafrik already held the spotlight here.
In the academy, his name seemed to shine brighter than anyone else's. 'As expected of the main character of my story,' Vivian thought with a wry grin.
He puffed out his chest ever so slightly, taking a small, secret pride in himself, as the writer who had created it all.
As Vivian's thoughts wandered, Charlotte remained silent beside him, her arms still folded, her expression unchanged.
Before long, the clock struck 12:30. A hush fell over the gymnasium as one of the professors of Akron Academy strode up onto the arena stage.
He cleared his throat, then adjusted the microphone clipped neatly to his collar.
"Good afternoon, my dear students," his voice rang out, carrying across the wide hall. "Today, we have gathered to witness and evaluate the skills of none other than Vivian D. Zenithara… who will be facing off against the second-year Swordsmanship Department's top student, Kafrik Tramplin.
"Whoaaa!"
The moment Kafrik's name was mentioned, the gymnasium erupted into thunderous cheers.
Some students even looked downright fanatical, their eyes shining with admiration.
Unbothered by the noise, the professor continued, "So, without any delay, I call forth Kafrik Tramplin to enter the arena!"
Following the announcement, a tall boy—sixteen, perhaps seventeen, stepped confidently into the light.
He was strikingly handsome, his short blonde hair falling neatly over his forehead, while his crimson eyes gleamed like fire under the sun filtering through the high windows.
The instant the crowd laid eyes on him, another wave of cheers crashed through the hall.
Kafrik raised a hand and waved gracefully toward the students, his smile effortless, his presence commanding.
It was the entrance of someone who belonged in the center of the stage.
"And now… Vivian D. Zenithara, step forward!"
Hearing his name, Vivian rose without hesitation.
He picked up the sword his father had gifted him, a blade that carried both pride and expectation, and walked toward the arena with a faintly excited expression on his face.
Charlotte, however, did not follow. She remained seated, arms folded, watching from a distance without a word.
Though Vivian hadn't expected the roaring cheers that Kafrik received, deep down he hoped, just a little, that someone in the crowd would acknowledge him.
Yet as he stepped onto the stage, the silence was deafening. Not a single voice rose for him.
To Vivian, the silence felt heavy, almost mocking. But in truth, the crowd wasn't indifferent, they were stunned.
His calm stride, the way he carried the sword at his side, the quiet dignity in his expression… It was so effortlessly graceful that it left many breathless.
Kafrik Tramplin might have been handsome, but compared to Vivian's poise, his charm seemed almost ordinary.
From amidst the crowd, Katrin leaned toward her friends with a sly smirk. "What did I tell you? Isn't he better?"
But her words met no reply. Her friends were too captivated, their eyes fixed on the stage, practically drooling as they drank in the sight of Vivian.
Vivian stepped into the arena with a faintly sulking expression, his sword resting in his grip.
"Are you prepared?" the professor asked, his gaze moving between the two boys.
"Yes," Vivian answered firmly.
"Then begin." With that, the professor stepped off the stage, leaving only the two of them under the watchful eyes of the crowd.
Vivian turned his attention to the boy before him, Kafrik Tramplin, the very character he had once written into existence.
Excitement welled in his chest as he raised his voice.
"I'm Vivian D. Zenithara, son of Vined D. Zenithara!"
But instead of answering, Kafrik only let out a derisive snort. He didn't speak a single word.
He simply lunged forward, blade flashing as he struck without hesitation.
"Huh?" Vivian froze for a heartbeat, staring wide-eyed in disbelief. 'Wait—what?'