The first ranking battle of the semester was announced on Wednesday morning. Once per month, students could challenge those ranked above them. Win, and you swap positions. Lose, and you drop ten ranks. It was the academy's mechanism for maintaining competitive pressure.
Kael had no intention of challenging anyone. Rising in rank meant increased visibility, and visibility was dangerous. But apparently, others had different plans.
Marcus burst into Kael's room at breakfast time, looking worried. "You've been challenged."
"What?"
"Derek Stone. Rank seventy-three. He's challenging you for your position." Marcus handed over his tablet showing the official challenge notice. "Fight's scheduled for Friday afternoon."
Kael studied the notification. Derek Stone—legacy student from a minor corporate family, trying to climb toward the Shadow tier's upper range. Challenging rank eighty-nine made tactical sense for someone at seventy-three. Win, and he jumped up. Lose, and he'd drop to eighty-three, still within the Shadow tier.
"Do you know anything about him?" Kael asked.
"Decent fighter, nothing special. Probably saw you as an easy target—scholarship kid who barely made it into Shadow tier." Marcus grimaced. "No offense, but most people think you got lucky during trials. This is Stone's way of proving you don't belong."
*Perfect. Another chance to reinforce my mediocre reputation.*
"When's the fight?"
"Friday, four PM. Main arena. It'll be public—all ranking battles are."
Kael spent the next two days researching Derek Stone. Training footage showed competent technique, favoring aggressive striking combinations. Strong endurance, decent speed, tendency to pressure opponents into mistakes. Nothing Kael couldn't handle, but he'd need to make it look competitive.
Friday arrived with clear skies and nervous energy throughout the academy. Ranking battles drew crowds—students enjoyed watching their peers fight for position. The main arena filled with spectators as four PM approached.
Kael entered through the competitor's entrance, wearing standard training gear. The arena was smaller than the Crucible, designed for one-on-one matches with clear sight lines for audiences. Students packed the surrounding seats, their conversations creating a low roar.
Derek Stone was already present, warming up with aggressive shadow boxing. He was tall, muscular, and carried himself with the confidence of someone who expected to win easily.
Marcus appeared at Kael's side. "You ready?"
"As I'll ever be."
"Listen, Stone's been talking. Saying he's going to embarrass you, make an example. Don't let him get in your head."
Kael appreciated the concern, but Derek Stone's psychological tactics were amateur compared to what Kael had endured during training. His master had broken him down and rebuilt him dozens of times. A legacy student's trash talk was nothing.
Professor Cross entered the arena, her voice cutting through the crowd noise. "Ranking battle. Derek Stone, rank seventy-three, challenges Kael Morrison, rank eighty-nine. Standard rules apply. First to yield, lose consciousness, or suffer incapacitation loses. Excessive force after yield results in disqualification and rank penalty."
She looked at both fighters. "Ready?"
Derek nodded eagerly. Kael simply raised his hand in acknowledgment.
"Begin!"
Derek attacked immediately, closing the distance with a flying knee strike. Fast, aggressive, exactly what Kael expected. He sidestepped, letting Derek's momentum carry him past, then reset to a defensive stance.
The crowd reacted—some cheering Derek's aggression, others noting Kael's calm evasion.
Derek spun and launched a combination—jab, cross, hook, low kick. Kael blocked the punches and checked the kick, absorbing impact without giving ground. Derek was strong, his strikes carried real power.
They exchanged for thirty seconds, Derek attacking while Kael defended. To the audience, it looked like Derek was dominating. But Kael was reading him, learning his patterns, identifying the tells before each strike.
*Left shoulder dips before his cross. Shifts weight obviously before kicks. Drops his guard slightly after three-punch combinations.*
Derek pressed harder, sensing an advantage. He threw a heavy overhand right that Kael ducked, then followed with a knee strike. Kael caught the knee, twisted, and swept Derek's supporting leg.
Derek hit the mat but rolled immediately, coming up in guard position. Smart—he'd been trained well enough not to panic after being taken down.
They reset and continued. Kael allowed Derek to land a few shots—nothing serious, just enough to make it look competitive. A jab to the shoulder. A kick to the thigh. Surface hits that looked significant but caused minimal damage.
The fight lasted three minutes, longer than most ranking battles. Derek was breathing hard, his aggression starting to cost him. Kael had barely broken a sweat, his conditioning far superior from years of brutal training.
*Time to end this. Make it look hard-fought but decisive.*
Derek threw another combination, this time dropping his guard after the third punch exactly as Kael predicted. Kael slipped inside, landing a clean body shot that drove air from Derek's lungs. Before Derek could recover, Kael followed with a leg sweep and controlled takedown.
Derek hit the mat with Kael on top, immediately trying to escape. But Kael had been trained in ground fighting by masters who'd forgotten more about grappling than academy instructors ever knew. He transitioned smoothly to mount position, controlling Derek's arms.
Derek struggled for fifteen seconds before realizing he was completely outmatched on the ground. "Yield!"
Kael released immediately, standing and offering his hand. Derek stared at it for a moment before accepting, allowing Kael to help him up.
Professor Cross's voice rang out. "Winner by submission: Kael Morrison. Ranks are swapped. Morrison rises to rank seventy-three. Stone drops to rank eighty-nine."
The crowd's reaction was mixed. Some cheered Kael's victory. Others seemed disappointed that the scholarship student had won. Kael ignored both responses, maintaining his neutral expression.
Derek looked stunned. "Where did you learn ground fighting like that?"
"Wherever I could," Kael said honestly. "YouTube videos, mostly."
It was a lie, but believable enough. Derek nodded slowly, processing his defeat, then walked away without further comment.
Marcus rushed down from the stands, grinning. "That was incredible! The way you controlled the ground game—I've never seen anything like that outside of professional matches."
*Too much. I showed too much again.*
"Got lucky with the takedown," Kael said, deflecting. "He was tired, made mistakes."
But as students filtered out of the arena, Kael noticed several people watching him with new interest. His careful mediocrity was slipping. First Aria and Raven noticed. Now a public ranking battle had revealed capabilities he'd tried to hide.
Worse, at the arena's edge, a figure stood watching—someone Kael hadn't expected to attend a minor ranking battle.
Damien Morrison. Rank one. Kael's cousin, who'd inherited everything stolen from Kael's family.
Their eyes met across the arena. Damien's expression was calculating, analytical, like he was solving a puzzle. Then he turned and left without a word.
*He noticed. Damn it, he noticed.*
Kael returned to his dormitory with rank seventy-three now attached to his name. Higher ranking meant better meal privileges, improved training facility access, and slightly nicer accommodations. It also meant increased visibility and attention from people he'd been trying to avoid.
His encrypted phone showed a message: *Master: Your performance was sloppy. You revealed too much capability. Damien Morrison attended the match. Explain why you didn't maintain cover.*
Kael typed back: *Had to win convincingly or losing would have raised different questions. Ground fighting was the cleanest way to end it quickly.*
*Response: Every exposure increases risk. You're rank seventy-three now—people will expect consistent performance at that level. You've locked yourself into a position that requires continued competence. This complicates operations.*
His master was right. Kael had maneuvered himself into a trap of his own making. To avoid suspicion, he'd need to perform at rank seventy-three level consistently. But performing at that level meant showing more skill, drawing more attention.
A knock at his door interrupted his thoughts. Kael opened it to find Aria standing in the hallway.
"Congratulations on your win," she said. "Mind if I come in?"
Kael stepped aside, allowing her entry. Aria looked around his modest room—barely upgraded from his rank eighty-nine quarters.
"That ground fighting was impressive," she said directly. "Professional level technique. Not something you learn from videos."
"What do you want, Aria?"
"Honesty." She turned to face him. "I've been thinking about our conversation. About aligned interests and shared goals. After watching you fight today, I'm certain you're not just a scholarship student trying to survive the academy."
Kael said nothing, waiting.
"I don't need to know everything," Aria continued. "But I need to know if you're someone I can trust. Because if we're going to work together—really work together—I can't do it with someone who's playing a role I don't understand."
Kael weighed his options. Full disclosure was impossible. But complete deception was becoming unsustainable.
"I'm here for justice," he said finally. "People were hurt by those in power. I'm working to expose them and hold them accountable. That's all I can say right now."
"People were hurt," Aria repeated. "Like my parents?"
"Like many people."
She studied him for a long moment. "Okay. That's enough for now. But Kael? When you're ready to tell me more, I'm ready to listen. And when you need help—and you will need help—I'm ready to provide it."
After she left, Kael sat on his bed, considering the shifting landscape. His cover was eroding faster than planned. Aria was pushing for trust. Raven had offered an alliance. Damien had noticed him.
The ghost was becoming visible. And once fully seen, the ghost couldn't hide anymore.
Soon he'd have to choose: maintain his cover and slow his mission, or accelerate operations and accept the increased risk.
Either way, the careful balance he'd maintained was collapsing.