Two figures stood in the corner of the combat field.
Both were relaxed. Both were dangerous. Both radiated the kind of chaotic energy that made instructors sweat and fellow students edge away.
Dennis yawned like a cat in the sun, hands behind his head. Aviel stood next to him, arms stuffed into his oversized hoodie pockets, staring up at the sky like it held all the answers to a life well-wasted.
They were chaos incarnate. Sloth royalty. Gremlins of maximum efficiency and minimum effort.
Somewhere, a hawk screamed overhead.
A poetic touch.
---
In the distance, a crowd swarmed someone.
White hair. Deadpan expression. Slightly pouty when overwhelmed.
Avael.
"She's so cute!"
"I heard she ranked ninth in physical!"
"Can you believe she's only twelve!?"
"She's EIGHTEEN, you dummy."
"...Wait. Really?"
"Still cute tho."
"She must be carrying her twin. That guy's basically a cardboard cutout."
"You mean the useless one?"
"Right, what's his name again? Avi… Avian?"
"Aviel. The Gremlin."
"Isn't that the one who nearly fainted after the wall climb?"
Dennis leaned toward Aviel. "You hear that, man?"
"Every word."
"You're getting roasted harder than the cafeteria fish."
Aviel didn't flinch. "As planned."
Dennis blinked. "You planned… to get called useless?"
Aviel gave a smug grin. "Let them underestimate me. I never reveal my cards until the final boss."
Dennis blinked again. Then nodded slowly. "...You're terrifying."
---
Professor Chelsea stood at the front of the arena again, clipboard in hand, heels clicking like divine judgment.
"Alright cadets. Welcome to Phase Two: Combat Evaluation."
A hush fell.
"You will be paired off and assessed based on performance, technique, improvisation, and control. No killing, no maiming, no dismembering. Yes, those rules need to be said. This is the Tower."
A few students chuckled nervously.
She continued. "Your class standings will be determined based on your performance in this and the next phase. High performers may receive early access to Realm Dungeons on Floor Two. Fail, and you'll be stuck here for a while."
Somewhere nearby, a tall, raven-haired girl with crimson eyes scoffed.
"Let's see if the twins can survive a spar without crying…"
Dennis nudged Aviel. "Yo. Is it just me, or does that girl hate your soul?"
Aviel sighed. "Tryhards always do."
---
Match One: Avael vs Garon
Avael walked into the arena with the grace of a cat bored of mice.
Her opponent? Garon. Muscles on muscles. A fire attribute brawler with the energy of a flaming boulder.
"Don't worry, little girl," he said, cracking his knuckles. "I'll go easy—"
He didn't finish the sentence.
Because Avael moved.
Fast.
A blur of white.
Before anyone could blink, Garon was on his back, his arm pinned by her precise strikes and a blast of long-range pressure shock.
Silence.
Professor Chelsea raised a hand.
"Match over."
Everyone stared.
"She's so small…"
"She's a monster."
"That was terrifyingly efficient."
"I'm in love."
---
Match Seven: Aviel vs Harn
Aviel stepped up.
People murmured.
"Isn't that the useless one?"
"Does he even know how to throw a punch?"
"He looks like he's gonna trip over his own shadow…"
"Poor guy. Avael's really carrying the team."
Dennis called out from the sideline, sipping a juice pouch he swiped from someone.
"Go easy on 'em, Av! Don't throw your back out!"
Aviel gave him a thumbs up. The crowd thought it was sincere. Dennis knew it was sarcasm.
He stood opposite his opponent.
A brute. Tall. Tower-born. Named Harn.
Harn grinned like a man who liked breaking things.
"I'll make this quick."
Aviel exhaled.
And then—
Did absolutely nothing.
He dodged the first few strikes lazily. Blocked one punch by ducking. Let the other graze past his shoulder.
No counters.
No retaliation.
Just tired footwork and accidental parries.
The match went on longer than expected. Eventually, Harn lost patience, overextended—and Aviel flopped to the ground like a ragdoll.
"Match complete!" Chelsea called.
"No points awarded."
Aviel smiled from the dirt.
Perfectly played.
---
"Are you okay!?" Avael hissed, running to him.
He gave a weak thumbs-up from the floor.
"I did it, sis. I was so average it hurt."
"You were useless..."
"Exactly."
She growled, pulling him up by the hood. "We're going to talk later."
Dennis joined them, still sipping his stolen drink.
"You tanked that like a champ."
"I flopped."
"Same thing."
They fist-bumped.
In the background, someone muttered:
"...That guy's hopeless."
"How did someone so weak make it this far?"
"It's gotta be pity points…"
"Maybe his sister brought him as a pet."
---
But Professor Chelsea… watched.
Her eyes weren't fooled.
That wasn't just laziness. That was a strategy.
She wrote something down on her clipboard.
"Aviel [Ø] — Potential unknown. Deliberate sandbagging. Monitor."