Kaelen slept like a rock that night, the tension of the day melting into dreamless silence. By morning, the sunlight spilling through his dorm window dragged him awake. After a quick wash and change into his crisp Crimson Vale uniform, he made his way to the cafeteria.
The smell of fresh bread and fried eggs hit him before he even stepped inside. Banlett and Wester were already there, hunched over their trays at a corner table, halfway through breakfast.
"Morning," Kaelen greeted casually, sliding into the seat beside them.
"Kaelen," Banlett said between mouthfuls, "the institution's holding a mecha competition today. Freshers can join, and senior students are volunteering to run it. They're hyping it up big this year, supposed to be a huge event."
"Yeah," Wester added, tearing into a bread roll. "You gonna participate? The rewards are apparently really good. They haven't announced them yet, but still."
Kaelen took a leisurely bite of his toast, chewing slowly before answering. "Nope. Not joining." He paused, the corner of his mouth quirking upward. "But I will place bets."
Banlett's and Wester's eyes lit up instantly. "We're in," they said in unison.
They were still discussing odds and potential contenders when a murmur rippled across the cafeteria. Chairs shifted. Heads turned. Kaelen glanced toward the source of the commotion and his brow furrowed.
"Nyssa Valen?"
The red-haired noblewoman stood before the table where Prince Cassian Ashford and Theron Merues sat, both mid-breakfast. She held a lacquered lunch box in her hands, her posture poised but her expression tight.
"Good morning, Your Highness," she began, voice polite but tinged with nerves. "I hope you're well. I prepared lunch for you to have later—"
Cassian didn't even let her finish. He set down his fork and fixed her with a cold, unreadable gaze.
"Nyssa Valen, we are in the academy. I've told you before, leave our engagement outside these walls. Don't interfere in my life here. And I don't want your lunch."
Theron, ever blunt, glanced up from his plate. "He's right, Nyssa. Here, we're all students. The prince isn't your fiancé in this place."
A ripple of whispers passed through the room. Nyssa's lips parted to protest.
But before she could speak, another girl approached the table, moving hesitantly. "Good morning, Prince Cassian," she said softly.
Kaelen noticed how Cassian's expression shifted in an instant. His eyes warmed, his smile appeared. "Oh. It's you, Ophelia. How are you?"
Ophelia—brown-haired, delicate features, modest figure, smiled faintly. "I'm fine, Your Highness. I… I brought mango juice for you." From her bag, she produced two neatly chilled bottles and set them on the table.
Theron's brows rose. "Ophelia? And who exactly are you?"
Cassian's tone was pleasant, almost protective. "We met yesterday. She's a good person. A friend."
The cafeteria was abuzz now, students leaning toward each other in hushed conversations.
"Are they fighting?" someone whispered.
"Nyssa's the prince's fiancée, right? Then who's this Ophelia?" another voice questioned.
"I think she's from the Department of Mana Theory," a boy murmured. "Saw her yesterday."
Nyssa's gaze turned sharp, her voice dropping to a dangerous tone. "You lowly girl… stay away from the prince."
That was it. Cassian's chair scraped loudly against the floor as he stood, his face hard. "Enough, Nyssa."
Without another word, he strode out of the cafeteria. Theron rose lazily to follow, and Ophelia, after a moment's hesitation, trailed behind them.
Kaelen's eyes narrowed. Something was wrong.
"That flat-chested girl wasn't in the original script. In the real plotline, this morning was supposed to be when Cassian first approached Eveline… That meeting was the spark that shifted the story's early events."
His gaze swept the cafeteria once more. No fox ears. No sign of her. Eveline was nowhere in sight.
"Banlett, Wester," he said quietly, "stay out of their business. Don't get involved."
Both of them exchanged a look and nodded.
Kaelen's smirk from earlier was gone. Internally, he was already running through possibilities. "This… could be bad."
A moment later, a voice echoed across the entire Crimson Vale campus, resonating through the air with the distinct ripple of mana magic.
"Good morning, students," the vice principal's clear, authoritative tone rang out. "All first-year students are to assemble at the MechDome Arena immediately."
Around him, conversations broke out as the freshers began making their way toward the massive arena at the academy's center.
"Did you hear?" one boy whispered to a friend, glancing at Kaelen. "That's the guy who proposed to a professor on his very first day Professor Alexia, from the Tea Ceremony Department. One of the most beautiful women in the entire institute!"
A girl scoffed, flipping her hair with disdain. "Please. He's just a commoner from some low-ranking backwater."
Another voice chimed in, lower but still audible. "Commoner or not, don't forget the rumors—he was admitted without even taking the entrance test. And that coat he's wearing… see the black trim? Only nobles from royal or ducal lines wear that. The rest of us are in standard white."
Wester, walking just beside Kaelen, caught all of it. His expression twisted into something between amusement and pity. "Seems like you're already the talk of the academy, Kaelen. All because of that little… proposal yesterday."
Kaelen's face didn't so much as flicker. "It was just an accident," he replied evenly. "I got… carried away after drinking her tea."
But beneath the calm exterior, his mood had soured. The whispers, the stares, they were the last thing he wanted. "I just wanted a quiet life in the background…"
His thoughts turned heavier. But fate clearly has other plans.
"Yesterday's mess with Alexia… and then Eveline…" he muttered under his breath.
The MechDome Arena occupied the very heart of the institution—a vast structure whose high, domed ceiling arched like the sky itself. Rows upon rows of seats spiraled upward, forming a sea of anticipation. At the very top sat the VIP gallery, where the vice principal and the academy's most respected professors overlooked the event. Above even that were several enclosed boxes reserved for students of special standing.
By the time Kaelen arrived, the stadium was already a living wave of voices. The low murmur of thousands of students filled the air like the hum before a storm.
On the central platform, Vice Principal Sabastian stepped forward, his voice amplified with mana so it resonated across every seat.
"Good morning, students. Today, our academy will hold its annual Mecha Competition for the first-years. Every fresher is eligible to participate. This is your chance to test your skills, learn from your peers and if you perform well, receive good rewards. Our professors will personally be observing each match."
As his words rolled through the arena, a massive holographic screen materialized above the platform, casting a cool glow over the audience. Sabastian continued.
"If you wish to participate, raise your right hand. Your name will appear on the screen."
Excitement erupted like a sudden tide. Conversations overlapped, laughter mixed with murmurs of strategy, and the shuffle of movement echoed around the dome. One by one, hands went up.
When the count settled, 137 names both male and female, flickered onto the hologram in crisp letters. The rest, for their own reasons, remained still. Some didn't care for competition. Others knew their limits. And a few simply wanted to watch.
Kaelen now sat in one of the elevated VIP rooms, his gaze fixed on the glowing roster. Beside him, the baseball-sized azure orb that was Kitsu floated silently, its core emitting a faint hum.
The seat he occupied wasn't something an ordinary fresher could claim. The institution itself had granted him this privilege, though for reasons it had never openly stated.
Kaelen had no intention of advertising it either, better to let others think he had simply slipped in here unnoticed than invite questions he didn't want to answer. So he had come alone. Banlett and Wester were better off far from this place. Too many eyes. Too many opportunities for trouble.
"Kitsu," he said quietly, "I want you to analyze every competitor. When they step into the arena with their mecha, I want the probability of who will win before the fight is even halfway through."
The little orb drifted closer to the glass, its outer surface shimmering with data streams.
"Understood," Kitsu replied in its clear, neutral tone. "Beginning analysis. Scanning… competitor profiles loading."
Kaelen leaned back in his seat, letting the roar of the crowd wash over him. His eyes narrowed slightly.
On the small table beside him sat a chilled bottle of peach wine and a platter of fresh fruit. He poured himself a glass, crossed one leg over the other, and took a slow sip, letting the sweet aroma relax him.
Kitsu's calm, mechanical voice broke the moment. "Master, notable participants include Prince Cassian, Duke heir Theron, several other nobles… and Eveline Monroe."
Cough! Cough!
Kaelen's drink went down the wrong way.
He set the glass down with a sharp clink, wiping his mouth.
"What the hell is going on with the original plot? Eveline, you're supposed to be sitting with the prince, not signing up for a mecha brawl!"
"In the original story, she never joined the competition." His mind tightened around the implications. "Something's changed… something I didn't cause directly… or maybe it's just the ripple effect of me being here."
His eyes swept the lower seating, scanning rows of uniforms until he spotted her in white jacket crisp, expression unreadable. She sat alone, her gaze fixed on the arena floor.
Kaelen's gaze lingered on her, a slow spark of curiosity lighting in his eyes.
"What are you up to female protagonist? Don't tell me you're here to vent your frustration from last night."
His attention shifted when the massive holographic display in the center of the arena began to shuffle names. The crowd's chatter swelled in anticipation until the final two lit up on the screen:
Ethan Mercer vs. Avery Quinn.
Two gates at opposite ends of the MechDome slid open with a deep mechanical groan. The ground trembled as the first challenger stepped out—Ethan Mercer, piloting a crimson mecha etched with black flame-like patterns. Its armor gleamed under the arena lights, a symbol of raw power and intimidation.
Opposite him strode Avery Quinn's machine, a sleek silver mecha with smooth plating and reinforced joints, built less for flashy intimidation and more for precision. At roughly ten meters each, the titans dwarfed the human figures inside their cockpits.
In the center of the field hovered the referee unit, a humanoid automaton infused with mana, its voice carrying across the arena.
"State your names."
"Ethan Mercer!"
"Avery Quinn."
"Combat start!"
The stadium erupted in cheers as Ethan's mecha shot forward, heavy servos whining. From his inventory compartment, a broad longsword materialized, gleaming with a faint red aura. He swung it with brutal speed toward Avery.
Avery's silver machine reacted in an instant. Her mecha's servos hissed as she sidestepped, her own weapon—a single-edged saber, sliding free from its magnetic sheath. The first clash rang out like a thunderclap, sparks exploding into the air as steel ground against steel.
Up in the VIP room, Kitsu floated silently beside Kaelen, scanning with its glowing azure core.
"Master," the AI reported in a calm, mechanical tone, "Ethan Mercer possesses raw strength but lacks refined control. His stance is aggressive but predictable. Avery Quinn's movements suggest extensive training and strategic patience. Estimated victory probability: Avery Quinn, sixty-eight percent."
Kaelen didn't hesitate. He plucked a sleek betting device from the table, his lips curving faintly.
"Avery it is." He keyed in the amount, eight thousand gold coins and locked in his bet.
In the next heartbeat, the betting display above the arena updated. Murmurs swept through the crowd.
"Eight thousand? On Avery?"
"Some rich noble's throwing money away."
"They should've gone with Ethan, he's stronger!"
"Betting names are hidden. We'll never know who's crazy enough to risk that much."
Kaelen only leaned back in his chair, swirling the peach wine in his glass.
Down in the arena, the duel intensified. Ethan's strikes came in heavy, relentless arcs meant to overpower. Each swing shook the ground, forcing Avery to give way step by step. But her silver mecha danced around him, taking measured blows, baiting him into overextending.
Cheers and shouts rang from the stands.
"Come on, Ethan! Crush her!"
"Watch that flank, Avery!"
The fight reached its climax when Ethan saw an opening—or thought he did. With a roar, his crimson mecha raised its blade high for a decisive strike aimed at severing Avery's left leg actuator.
But in that split second, Avery's machine twisted sharply to the side. Her saber shot upward, driving straight into the exposed joint in Ethan's right arm assembly. A deafening clang echoed as Ethan's massive sword crashed to the ground.
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
Before Ethan could recover, Avery's silver mecha had her saber pressed against his cockpit headpiece.
"Admit defeat," her voice came through the comms, steady and cold. "You've lost."
Ethan froze. Every instinct screamed to fight on, but in front of the roaring audience, pride clashed with reality. Finally, he exhaled sharply.
"…I admit defeat. Well fought, Lady Avery."
Half the arena groaned.
"No! My gold!"
"Damn it, Ethan! I'm broke!"
In the VIP box, Kaelen's smile widened.
"Yes… doubled." He glanced at Kitsu. "You really are my lucky charm."
Kitsu's neon-blue eye swiveled toward him.
"Master, are you attempting to bribe me with compliments?"
Meanwhile, down in the arena, Avery turned toward the big screen and froze. Someone had wagered eight thousand gold coins on her victory.
Her brows furrowed ever so slightly. "…Who in the world would…?"