"Mars, what do you think you're doing?" John's voice had never been this sharp; it was clear he was furious at Mars's performance.
Mars rubbed his bruised wrist, shame reddening his face, and shouted back:
"Instructor John, I wasn't ready just now. Please give me one more chance—"
"Will your enemy give you another chance? Will you beg for mercy on the battlefield? Or do you only want a make-believe duel for the rest of your life…?"
Mars swallowed every insult; he knew he couldn't talk back. His fists clenched tighter and tighter.
"Furan, are you willing to give him another chance?" John turned to ask Furan.
"All right… I think he really wasn't ready. Let him try again… I'm confident I can beat him."
Furan felt awkward watching her opponent scolded, and simply said whatever came to mind. Only after the words left her mouth did she wonder if it sounded like mockery.
But Mars's fury was already beyond hiding; his eyes glared as if he meant to swallow her whole.
John poured oil on the fire: "Excellent, Mars… hurry up and thank your enemy for her mercy."
Mars clenched his teeth so hard not a single word escaped.
"Faster, Mars!" John barked again, so loudly that Furan flinched.
"Thank… you… for… your… mercy," Mars forced out between rigid lips, each syllable barely audible.
Furan was grateful John finally let it go, sparing Mars the demand to speak louder—but it no longer mattered.
The blaze in Mars's eyes couldn't grow any fiercer; his nails had already drawn blood from his palms.
John had them raise their weapons, then coldly declared: "Begin."
The instant the word fell, Mars stepped forward, closing the distance in a rush—completely breaking his old habit of slow, cautious approaches.
Furan avoided the frontal clash; she knew her physique was still far inferior. A direct contest meant certain loss.
She retreated step by step, using her agility to slip just out of reach each time Mars slashed.
In this way she neared the boundary of the ring, and after dodging several strikes Mars roared:
"All you can do is run?!"
She ignored the taunt, staying focused, not letting a single blow land.
After that roar, some of Mars's anger cooled. He realized that pushing her across the line would win the match if she kept fleeing.
As long as he kept up the assault, she would be forced out and defeated.
Victory would turn everything earlier into mere overconfidence; his strength would remain unquestioned in Instructor John's eyes.
With that clarity, he adjusted his offense, watching Furan's every move, giving her no chance to counter.
Furan saw his tempo slow and knew her bait had failed; she couldn't wait for mistakes—she had to fight for real.
Two steps from the boundary, she retreated an extra pace, setting herself right on the edge and leaving a buffer.
Furan recalled how her Star Gazing Technique had shown her future self using the Breathing Technique—and did exactly that.
She deepened her breath, letting the wind linger and coil around her body… [You have successfully used Breathing Technique in combat; proficiency +10]
Seeing her give ground, Mars hesitated. Instead of attacking, he took a defensive stance and began inching forward.
John, watching from the side, recognized the signs—this was the Breathing Technique.
But how did she know it? He was puzzled.
Breathing Technique demanded a certain physique; different schools had different requirements. He had believed Mars's body was the lower limit—no one weaker should be able to learn it.
Yet reality said otherwise; he could only conclude either Furan's school set a record-low requirement—or his own experience was lacking.
The outcome was already settled in his mind. With the Breathing Technique active, wind gathered around Furan. If Mars had charged the instant she created distance, he might still have stood a chance.
Learning Breathing Technique and using it in combat were two different things; successful use in battle multiplied fighting power.
Their strongest apprentice, Bella, was the perfect example. Bella knew the technique too, but if she couldn't apply it in a fight the odds against the current Furan would be only two-in-ten at best.
Just as John expected, Furan shot forward at tremendous speed. Mars's instincts flared—he somehow parried the first strike he couldn't even see.
But the second blow found its mark, the wooden sword thudding into his body.
Feeling the impact, Mars forced out an ugly grimace. "I lose…"
The watching apprentices broke into chatter.
"Did you see that? How'd the chase flip so fast?"
"No idea—just a blur, then it was over."
John stopped Bella, who wanted a turn; he could see Furan wasn't used to fighting with Breathing Technique and was already drained.
He began reviewing their performances.
"Furan, you shouldn't have kept retreating at the start. Don't wait for the opponent's mistake—take the initiative. When he was swinging wildly, that was the moment to attack. Sometimes offense is the best defense…"
"Understood. Thank you, Instructor John."
Next came Mars's critique, yet John felt nothing in Mars's performance needed change; even he couldn't have done better in Mars's place.
"Mars, your mid-fight adjustment was excellent. Slowing down was the right call; you only lost because your opponent wielded something stronger. Keep at it."
Mars heard the words, but they chilled him—John's advice always felt lukewarm, never addressing what truly hurt.
And everything today felt like a farce, a humiliation aimed solely at him.
Resentment coursed through his blood as he stared at Furan, the fire in his eyes ready to reduce her to ash.