The instant the referee dropped his hand—
The arena exploded with motion.
Julien barely had time to register it.
Dreyden was already in front of him.
No hesitation. No buildup. Just raw acceleration across the stage before Julien could properly expand his numbers.
Two clones.
That was all he'd managed.
That was all he was getting.
"Tsk!"
Their weapons collided.
His saber slammed into the black brass knuckles—
CLANG.
Sparks burst between them.
One of the clones moved instantly, raising its saber and bringing it down with a full-bodied overhead slash.
CLANG.
Dreyden twisted his wrist with surprising precision, redirecting the blade just enough to slip off its angle. The opening appeared for less than a heartbeat.
That was enough.
Blue fire flared around his right fist.
He didn't announce it.
Didn't dramatize it.
He simply punched.
The flame-coated strike crashed into the clone's chest.
The copy tore apart on impact, dissolving into smoke and scattered mana fragments.
Julien's grip tightened.
He hadn't expected that.
Not that fast.
The second clone lunged—
But Dreyden's other fist ignited just as quickly.
Another punch.
Another explosion of heat.
The second clone vanished as easily as the first.
Silence rippled through part of the audience.
Julien's entire strategy had been erased in under five seconds.
He abandoned cloning altogether and charged.
"You think you can beat me just because you destroyed my copies!?"
The anger in his voice wasn't strategic.
It was wounded pride.
Dreyden said nothing.
Eyes of Truth remained active.
Julien slashed horizontally at Dreyden's torso—
The blade cut through empty air.
Dreyden had dipped under it with minimal movement. Efficient. Controlled.
Julien stumbled from the overextension. For just a moment, he lost balance.
That moment widened.
"You're weak," Dreyden said calmly.
Not loud. Not theatrical.
Just matter-of-fact.
"How did you even make it into the top 20?"
He tilted his head slightly.
"Or maybe… you just don't understand your own skill."
"Shut up!"
Julien surged forward again, fury overriding judgment.
That was when Dreyden moved.
He stepped inside Julien's guard.
Blue flames surged around the brass knuckles.
Julien tried to adjust—too slow.
Dreyden's fist collided with the flat of the saber.
Crack.
The low-tier spiritual weapon failed first.
The blade snapped cleanly in two.
The force didn't stop there.
The impact followed through, slamming into Julien's abdomen.
He lifted off the ground.
A spray of blood left his mouth as his body launched backward, rocketing toward the audience.
Toward—
Lucas.
Julien was seconds from crashing into him.
Lucas didn't move.
Didn't flinch.
He simply raised his leg.
Julien's body collided with the sole of his shoe.
"—ARGH!"
Something cracked.
Lucas's foot redirected the momentum effortlessly, sending Julien sliding downward to the ground, unconscious before he fully collapsed.
Dreyden looked away first.
He turned to the judge.
"Well?"
The referee snapped out of it and raised his hand.
"Winner: Dreyden Stella!"
The panel on Dreyden's uniform flickered.
Rank 22.
He couldn't stop the faint smile that tugged at his lips.
The crowd slowly dispersed, whispers spreading like static through the arena.
Dreyden remained where he was.
Waiting.
He expected Lucas to approach him this time.
Say something.
Invite him again.
Challenge him.
Instead—
Lucas turned.
And walked away.
"…Just watching, huh."
His focus shifted when he felt someone approach.
"Why are you pushing so hard?" Maya asked quietly.
He turned toward her.
"Merit points," he answered simply. "We'll need more. A lot more. How close are you?"
Maya thought for a moment.
"Tomorrow," she said. "The more magic energy I store, the harder it becomes to compress it."
"You'll handle it," he replied. "You're ridiculous when it comes to magic."
"I hope so…"
"Yeah," he muttered softly.
Too softly for her to hear.
He reached out and took her hand.
"Let's go."
They left together.
[06:18 — Saturday]
Bang.
A training dummy detonated under a compressed surge of wind.
Dreyden stopped mid-step.
Across the field, Raisel Silvius drew her bow back again, breath fogging faintly in the cool morning air.
She didn't fire directly at the target.
She aimed wide.
Released.
The arrow flew—then curved midair as her fingers shifted.
Wind redirected it violently.
It slammed into the dummy's chest.
Dreyden frowned.
"She shouldn't be here."
In the original timeline, Raisel never trained in the morning.
She trained at night.
That was how she and Lucas grew close—two insomniacs chasing improvement in the dark.
But here?
She was pushing herself in broad daylight.
Alone.
Dreyden glanced around.
They were the only two A-Class students on the field.
That made something tighten in his chest.
"Did she lose…?"
Memories clicked into place.
Dhara recently hit Rank 6.
Raisel had slipped to Rank 8.
Small difference on paper.
Huge difference for someone like her.
Quiet pride cuts deeper than loud arrogance.
"Not my problem," Dreyden muttered, turning away.
The original plot wasn't stable anymore.
Too many small deviations.
Too many new variables.
He couldn't afford to obsess over side ripples.
The dungeon raid class.
The dungeon break.
The sealing incident.
Those were the real checkpoints.
That was what mattered.
"Dreyden."
He paused.
Lucas had just stepped onto the field.
Of course.
Dreyden lifted a hand half-heartedly.
"Lucas."
And kept walking.
Didn't slow down.
Didn't stop.
'Go train her,' he thought. 'That's your role.'
But watching Lucas appear exactly when Raisel was here—
That unsettled him.
The changes were layering too quickly.
Daytime training.
Dhara openly flirting with Riven.
Jayden laughing in groups instead of isolating himself.
That wasn't how it was supposed to go.
In the novel, Jayden spiraled.
Now?
He had friends.
If enough small changes stacked together—
Major events might fracture.
Or mutate.
"…I'll have to deal with it head-on."
He pulled up his ID.
Dreyden Stella
Class A-1
Score: 165,983
Balance: 1,050 Merits
History:
+500 — Top 22
+300 — Top 50
+250 — Top 100
1,600 — Spent
He exhaled through his nose.
"Top 20 for 500 merits… they're cheap."
Among thousands of students, that barely moved the needle.
He closed his eyes.
Magic circulation.
It had become automatic.
If he wasn't fighting, he was refining.
Inside, his core churned like a swelling river.
But something felt tight.
Constricted.
He drew in loose nodes of magical energy, guiding them inward—
They bounced off.
Again.
And again.
He smiled slightly.
He'd improved massively.
Eighty percent faster than before, easy.
And now—
He'd hit the ceiling.
Which meant there was only one path left.
Evolution.
His core was ready.
And so was he.