I woke early—earlier than I needed to—and skipped breakfast, heading straight for the gym with only one thing in mind: practice.
Rather than join the crowd filing into the stadium, I rented a private training room. The quiet hit me first—cool air, polished floors, faint traces of mana from those who'd trained before me. I took a steadying breath and began working on Mirror Veil—the elusive technique that blurred presence and bent reflection.
It wasn't easy. Every attempt demanded control so fine that a single flicker of focus shattered the illusion into scattered light. Still, I pushed through. Breath, focus, mana flow—align them, I reminded myself. My vision dimmed slightly as mana condensed around me, refracting against the light.
Then, finally, it clicked,
The veil settled like moonlight across my shoulders—neither full invisibility nor illusion, but something subtler. My outline rippled, shifting faintly as though caught between light and shadow.
A mirror to deceive perception.
I smiled faintly. That would come in handy.
Nova Flare still lingered in my mind—a high-tier light spell demanding nearly all my mana, 150 MP at minimum. I wasn't ready for it. Not yet. If I needed it tomorrow, I'd rely on chantless casting instead.
Satisfied, I left the gym and checked the time—11:40 a.m.
The stadium was already alive with energy. Cheers and flares of mana filled the air as the second-tier bracket played out across the platforms.
I watched from the stands as Douglas, my old roommate, stepped into the ring. Rank 30—and every bit the wall he looked like. His axe gleamed under the enchantment lights, heavy and deliberate.
His opponent, Max Demetri, stood opposite with a long spear that glimmered faintly with runes. I remembered him from earlier rounds—his weapon could extend, reaching up to five meters in an instant. A nightmare for anyone with a close-range weapon.
The match began.
Max's spear lashed forward like lightning. Douglas blocked the first swing easily, but the next came faster—extending mid-thrust. The tip slammed into his chest.
Douglas didn't even flinch.
Fortification. His Unique Skill. It hardened his body beyond natural limits, reinforcing every muscle and bone until he could shrug off blows that should've dropped him.
He grinned, stepped in, and brought his axe down with brutal precision.
The arena shook.
Max's spear shattered cleanly in two.
He surrendered a breath later.
Douglas powered through the next few rounds before facing Harper Smith, Rank 23.
Where Douglas was an immovable fortress, Harper was a storm. He used compressed bursts of air from his feet—short-range propulsion that made him unpredictable, a blur of motion and misdirection.
Watching him was like watching the wind fight stone. Douglas swung, but every strike hit empty air. Harper darted, spun, struck, and vanished again. A perfect rhythm of offense and escape.
He dismantled Douglas without a single spell—just momentum, agility, and precision.
And when he fought Miles, it was even faster. Miles's barriers—his Unique Skill—converted magic into mana, but Harper relied on none. He danced around every wall, wearing him down with relentless movement until Miles could barely raise his arm.
When Harper was declared victor, the crowd erupted.
So that's him… I thought. My opponent tomorrow.
After the matches, I caught up with Douglas and Miles near the stadium gates.
Douglas looked unfazed—grinning like he'd just had the time of his life. Miles looked more drained than injured, shoulders slumped under quiet frustration.
"You did well," I told him. "That wasn't a bad loss. Just a bad matchup."
He gave a tired smile. "Still feels like I could've done more."
"You could," I agreed. "But your skill's built for magical duels, not high-speed melee. Fight opponents who rely on mana—and you'll dominate."
He seemed to think on that for a moment, then nodded.
We had lunch together after that—my treat. I promised them both I'd take Harper down tomorrow. Douglas just laughed, pounding my back hard enough to rattle my ribs. Miles only smiled faintly, but there was hope in it.
---
Later that evening, I found myself back in the library.
The silence there always steadied me. I sorted returned books, moving on instinct while my thoughts stayed elsewhere—on Harper's rhythm, his momentum, and the gap between us.
He was fast. Too fast for normal perception. But I wasn't limited to normal.
Perception and Harmonic Resonance—those were my anchors. If I could match the rhythm of his movement, sense his intent before he struck, I could outmaneuver him.
Lux Hastae would pin him mid-dash.
Veiled Stride would let me vanish between beats.
And if all else failed, Disruptive Pulse could break his momentum.
The plan was forming, piece by piece.
I didn't notice I had company until a soft clink sounded beside me.
Lina stood there, holding out a small glass bottle. I blinked, realizing I hadn't even sensed her approach.
"Thanks," I murmured, taking it. The drink was cool fruit tonic, faintly citrus.
"You were somewhere else just now," she said, sliding into the seat beside me. "Thinking about your match?"
"Yeah," I admitted. "Sorry. Guess I'm a bit distracted."
"You don't have to apologize." Her smile was warm, steady. "It's normal to be nervous before a big fight."
"I'm not nervous," I said after a beat. "Just trying not to overthink."
"Same thing," she teased with a wink. "You've already got a plan, right? Then trust it. If things go wrong, adjust. But don't sabotage yourself before you even start."
I laughed quietly. "You sound like a mentor."
"Maybe I am," she said with a grin. "Or maybe I just don't want to see you get knocked out before our next study session."
"Fair point."
After a short pause, she added, "I'm free tomorrow. Can I come watch your match?"
I hesitated—caught off guard—but nodded. "Yeah. I'd like that."
"Good," she said softly. "Then after you win, lunch is on me."
Her confidence sparked something steady in my chest. For the first time that day, I felt calm.
When I finally stepped out of the library, the campus was bathed in gold. The evening breeze carried faint traces of incense from the training halls.
Tomorrow, I'd step onto the stage—not as a spectator or a shadow, but as a contender.