The teacher went on to ask us to make groups of two and spar without magic, and that way he would assess the overall strength of all of us and see what we were good at.
That was simply a decent idea, and I liked it. I instantly decided that Andrew was going to be my partner, but as I turned to look at him, a boy stood beside him.
He was as tall as me, slightly built, and wore a low-cut top. He had a look in his eyes that said it all; he wanted something from me.
He stepped forward, basically pushing the confused Andrew aside.
"I want to spar with you. I heard what you said, and I also have a desire to reach the top." He spoke calmly, but I could hear it in his voice, that distinct craving to make me eat dust and make sure that everyone saw me as a fraud.
It was a common thing that I had seen so many times in the university: students wanting to show you up; they would go to extreme means to discredit you. I know all about it because I also spent a week researching just to discredit someone who acted all high and mighty.
I honestly understood what this dude wanted to do, but then again, I couldn't seriously allow this dude to take me down — that's not going to happen.
Then again, he surely had more strength and training than me; I had to find a way other than brute force to win.
"Alright, we can spar. Give it your all," I said, having a smug look on my face. I wanted to make him mad, and it was working; his face twisted into one of rage as he walked forward.
"Get Andrew. Can you find someone to spar with?" I asked. Andrew nodded right away and walked off, leaving me and this dude.
He was miffed by my carefree attitude; it irked him to no end, but he couldn't do anything until we actually started sparring. With Andrew gone, he walked in front of me and cracked his knuckles; a grin formed on his face.
"I'll enjoy our spar a lot," he said, looking me right in the eye.
He didn't wait even a moment after that and lunged at me, his feet kicking against the ground. He punched, his fist coming right for my face.
I might not be the best at fighting, but honestly, if I fell to such a little punch, then I wasn't fit to be here. I leaned back, dodging the attack.
After dodging that first punch, I felt something was wrong; it was as if his hands were moving slower than they should. I focused on the fist retracting and it was moving at least twice as slow.
Something was definitely wrong, so I began thinking, racking my mind, and then an answer came: the only reason that could probably be was the space inside me, time there was twice as slow as normal, and my mind had begun adjusting to that setting, meaning when I focused, I could seemingly see things slower.
That was the logic my head made. Did it make full sense? No, but it was all I had, and right now in this moment I needed all the help I could get. But I also noticed something: the more I focused, the more my head ached, which meant I couldn't use it continuously.
I had to be cautious of how and when I used it. I looked up, and the boy was already lunging for me again, throwing a second punch. It came fast and I leaned back again, dodging the punch.
He instantly went for a kick and I blocked it in a shaky fashion, but at least I blocked it. I found the opening I needed and I used the focus, locking in on him. He began moving in slow motion, so I attackged, a knee right to his gut.
He was knocked back, pain shooting through his body. I couldn't believe what happened; his eyes widened. I stood there, fighting against the progressive headache that increased after I used the focus.
The boy looked up and then looked around; everyone had seen him get kneed in the stomach, because everyone wanted to see him defeat me. Even the teacher saw this and, let me tell you, it pissed him off to no end.
His face twisted into something different, rage covered with a smile. He rushed in and began throwing a flurry of punches: left, right, middle, uppercut, everything that he could think of.
I tucked under my arms. Bam, bam, bam, fist after fist; it kept landing and I took it all. I couldn't look up while he was enraged, but I could see his feet, so I focused on them through the pain and barrage.
Finally he stepped forward too much and his foot was just in range, so I moved, pushing into him and then swinging my leg, sweeping him off his feet.
His back slammed into the ground hard. I had the thought of jumping on him to keep beating him up, but what would that really do? The best thing I could do was to stand back and allow everyone to watch him in shame.
And it worked. The boy got up, enraged, head hurting; in anger he lunged at me, but this time he wasn't joking.
"Fireball," he roared, and a ball made of fire formed in his hands. He hurled it at me. I instantly reacted and used a wind blade; I needed to counter fast.
But before I could even cast the spell, the teacher vanished from where he stood and appeared right between us, and with only his palm he grabbed the fireball before proceeding to grab the boy by the hand, pull him forward, sweep him off his feet, and slam him right into the ground hard like a police arrest.