The moment the signal was called, Lian and Rui exploded into action, neither of them willing to risk a fraction of a second. Their fight was unlike any of the others—brief, slashing, and loaded with strategy. The crowd edged forward in their seats, the noise of anticipation snaking across the arena like a breaking storm.
First blood was drawn by Rui. He leaped forward, his movements as light as drifting feathers, but as sharp as a swooping hawk. His fingers darted, tightening air into fine, glinting blades that whined as they tore toward Lian. Lian stood firm with feet set, his position as solid as a mountain rooted in the earth. His fists glowed faintly, and with a twisting motion of his torso, he batted aside the first slash, sending it ricocheting harmlessly into the ground.
But Rui's strikes didn't come one at a time—they overlapped, layered like threads in a net. Lian ducked low, letting two whistling blades pass over his head, before springing forward and closing the distance. His fist shot out like a cannonball, wrapped in crackling energy. Rui's eyes widened, his body twisting in mid-air as he summoned a gust beneath his feet, launching himself higher into the air. The punch grazed his side, close enough that the wind of its force ruffled his uniform.
The audience gasped, some even shouting.
"Lian nearly got him!" one of the 1-C students shouted.
"He won't miss next time," another added, clenching their fists.
But Rui did not flinch. He smiled—uncoiled, intent, like an animal who had just found the prey's weak spot. His posture shifted in mid-air, and with a deft sweep of his arm, a gust of air speared down, propelling him from above at Lian. His heel shot out, and he struck Lian's shoulder.
Lian raised his arm, parrying the kick, the sound of which rang out like a hammer on metal. The power knocked him back, his boots squealing on the arena ground. Rui did not give him a chance to breathe—he turned again, sending out a burst of air blades at close proximity, each one slicing towards Lian from unconventional angles.
The strikes came fast, too fast for most eyes to follow. But Lian met them head-on, fists moving like pistons, parrying and redirecting them with raw force and precise movements. Sparks of energy clashed with invisible wind, creating brief flashes of light that illuminated their faces—Rui's sharp grin, Lian's stoic determination.
"Shit, Rui is working him hard," breathed Yan, her gaze fixed on the match. "He's faster than in his last game…"
Beside her, Shen adjusted his glasses. His expression was unreadable, though his eyes gleamed with interest. "It's not just speed," he said. "Rui's adapting every second. Notice how his strikes are coming from unpredictable angles? He's probing Lian's guard, waiting for the exact moment his defense slips. If Lian doesn't adjust soon, Rui will break through."
"Wait, Shen…" another student muttered. "You're saying Rui's winning?"
Shen's mouth curled into a thin smile. "At this rate, yes. The fight is turning in his favor."
His statement sent ripples of discomfort through the group. Most of them had been expecting Rui to lose here. But Shen's cool head cut through their emotions like a knife.
Return to the arena, Rui had altered his tactics. He spun in mid-air, compacting a whirlwind into himself before shooting it downwards like an arrow. Lian braced himself, blocking his arms in front of him. The explosion detonated on his shield, trembling the earth and sending shockwaves throughout the stadium. Dust swept across the field, obscuring the combatants from view.
"Did he get him?" one cried out.
The dust disintegrated—and Lian emerged, sliding back but remaining on his feet, his arms gently crackling with energy. His uniform was ripped and scraped, but his eyes blazed with intent. With a spurt of haste, he surged forward, shattering through the dissipating whirlwind.
Rui didn't have time to move before Lian's fist was already in flight. The punch hit against the guard, but the force of it was so great that it knocked him down across the arena. He crashed and rolled, getting to his feet on his back and scrambling backward.
"That's more like it!" Rui yelled, his voice slicing with exhilaration. "Come on, Lian—show me everything!"
Lian held breath on an answer. His appearance burned, and he attacked. His blows were strong, earth-cracking blows, each one cracking the arena floor. Rui danced between them, as light as air, his movements rolling like a stream around rocks. He avoided a punch, turned halfway through, and slammed a coiled blast of air into Lian's side.
The punch staggered Lian, but he clenched his teeth and came back with a hook that almost hit Rui on the chin. They were exchanging blows now—strength against quickness, raw power against slick finesse. Each collision elicited roars from the crowd, each close miss causing hearts to skip.
Among the stands, the 1-C students couldn't turn away.
"He's keeping up," one grumbled.
"No… Rui's making him play his game," Shen corrected softly. "Every time Lian swings, Rui learns. Every time Rui dodges, he grows sharper. If this continues…" He trailed off, the implication clear.
Lian sensed it too. His punches were hitting harder, faster, but Rui was flowing around them with increasing ease. He needed to shift the rhythm—disrupt Rui's momentum.
He feinted a straight punch, then slammed his foot down, releasing a shockwave that fractured the ground beneath Rui. The sudden tremor forced Rui to misstep, his balance tipping. Lian lunged, his fist aiming straight for Rui's torso.
But Rui's instincts were razor sharp. He twisted mid-fall, letting the punch graze past him, and with his free hand, he carved a blade of wind at point-blank range.
The blast exploded against Lian's chest, sending him stumbling backward. He coughed, his chest seared by the strike, but his eyes didn't waver.
"You're not going down that easily, are you?" Rui muttered, landing lightly on his feet. His grin widened. "Good."
He spread his arms wide. The air around him vibrated, shifting, condensing. Blades began to form—one, two, three… then a dozen, then more. Each shimmered faintly, thin crescents of compressed wind hovering around him in a deadly halo.
The stadium went silent.
"What is he doing…?" one of the students whispered, their throat tight.
Rui's voice cut through the silence, calm and cold. "Let's end this, Lian."
With a moving rush, the blades flashed—dozens of slaps of wind tearing through the arena on every side, weaving a canopy of death around Lian. They swept down from above, from the sides, from the rear, claiming no space, no sanctuary.
The coliseum's unified gasp was a sound like thunder.
"Lian—!"
But the boy at the center remained standing, his eyes narrowed, his body braced as the blade storm closed in around him.
And then—