Takumi's body slammed into the arena barrier with a heavy *THUD*, the reinforced mana wall rippling like disturbed water.
For a brief moment, his weight hung there—suspended between defeat and collapse.
Before he could crash to the ground, Hikari lifted his hand.
A soft pulse of light mana surged forward,
Takumi's falling body slowed as if time itself had been dragged by the throat. He was gently pulled away from the barrier and redirected midair, floating across the stage like a broken puppet whose strings had been cut.
The healers were already rushing in.
They caught him the instant his boots touched the ground, supporting his weight as his knees buckled. His eyes were half-open, unfocused, and his breathing was ragged—barely conscious, barely aware of where he was.
He was in no condition to continue.
Hikari didn't waste words.
"Winner—Kagayaki Aiko."
His voice was plain, almost emotionless.
Yet the arena erupted as if the sky itself had cracked open.
Cheers roared from every direction, the sound rolling like thunder over the stone battlegrounds. For the commoners, it was exhilarating—a spectacle worth telling their grandchildren about. For the nobles, it was confirmation. The Young Saint remained untouchable.
Aiko stepped forward and gave a light bow, her expression calm and composed despite the visible exhaustion in her breathing. She accepted the healers' assistance without protest, allowing them to begin treating the burns and mana strain she'd accumulated.
Then she vanished from the stage in a streak of light, her departure as clean and graceful as her swordwork.
There was no doubt.
She was the crowd's favorite.
Not just for winning.
But for how effortlessly she made victory look inevitable.
------------------
Kazehana Yuriko leaned back in her seat, legs crossed, a mischievous smile playing on her lips.
"Your son got destroyed," she stated bluntly, as though she were commenting on the weather.
Kazuma Hirosaki's mouth twitched.
His annoyance flared—then died before it could even rise properly. He'd expected this woman to say something like that. Yuriko lived for chaos, and she didn't even pretend otherwise.
Still, he refused to entertain her.
Instead, he turned his gaze to Kagayaki Akiko.
"Why didn't Aiko use her main gear?" he asked, voice steady. "Not even armor."
Akiko shifted her attention to him. The moment their eyes met, she understood what he wanted.
Not a polite answer.
Not a diplomatic answer.
The truth.
"She doesn't want to rely on crutches," Akiko replied calmly. "Not against someone formidable. This was the best way to test her foundation."
No embellishment.
No sugarcoating.
Just fact.
A silence followed.
It lasted only a breath.
Then Hirosaki laughed.
Not the strained laughter of a man trying to hide humiliation.
Genuine amusement.
"Good," he said, grin widening. "That should curb Takumi's arrogance by at least one notch."
He leaned back, eyes gleaming like a predator who'd just smelled blood.
"Just because he's physically stronger doesn't give him the right to underestimate his opponent."
He glanced at Akiko again.
"Pass my gratitude to Aiko."
Akiko didn't speak. She simply nodded once.
Not because she agreed with him entirely…
…but because she respected the mindset.
Most Duke Heads would take offense at their heir being used as a "training dummy."
Hirosaki didn't care.
He cared about results.
And growth.
That alone made him dangerous.
Then his grin sharpened, turning into something far more interested.
"But I'm much more curious about how Hikari's brat performs."
His eyes shifted—past the arena, past the crowd, toward the waiting area.
Toward Kazuki.
"It'll be interesting if he can last a few minutes," Hirosaki muttered, voice low. "But I don't see it happening."
No one contradicted him.
Not Mizuno Aoi.
Not Yamada Kiyoshi.
Not even Shouhei.
Because it was the most reasonable conclusion.
Kazuki had been trained for a few years.
Their children had been forged since the age of nine.
There was a difference between training…
…and being raised as a weapon.
"I hope you don't disappoint…" Hirosaki murmured.
Whether it was a warning or a prayer, no one could tell.
------------------
Hikari stepped back from the arena's center, his presence retreating like a tide pulling away from shore.
Vice Headmaster Yasura Megumi took his place.
Her calm gaze swept across the arena, then the crowd.
She raised her hand slightly, and the noise slowly settled—not because they wanted to be quiet, but because the air itself demanded it.
"Now," Megumi announced, her voice smooth and clear, "for the match everyone has been waiting for."
Her eyes shone faintly with restrained curiosity.
"Takamura Kazuki… versus Kazehana Airi."
The arena exploded again, cheers and gasps blending together as two figures stepped onto the stage.
Kazuki walked forward with controlled steps, expression neutral, posture relaxed.
But the moment the crowd saw him clearly, a wave of whispers rolled through the stands.
His outfit was form-fitting—white and black with golden streaks tracing the edges. It looked refined, expensive, and practical. It didn't restrict movement at all, and yet it wasn't flashy either.
At his waist hung a sword.
Almost identical in shape to Aiko's.
Well-crafted.
Balanced.
But not an artifact.
Airi's eyes narrowed.
She stood opposite him, light green armor pulsing faintly as it absorbed and circulated ambient mana. It offered far more protection than Kazuki's attire, and her weapon only widened the gap.
A wooden staff lined with mana crystals.
One end sharpened like a spear.
It was both a conduit and a killing tool.
Airi's voice was cold when she spoke.
"You sure you don't want to change your gear and weapon?" she asked. "I won't mind waiting."
Commoners in the crowd blinked, confused by her tone.
But nobles understood immediately.
This wasn't kindness.
This was pride.
If she defeated him while he used subpar equipment, people would whisper that the victory wasn't earned.
That it was handed to her.
And Kazehana Airi, no matter how playful she seemed, could be ruthless when her dignity was questioned.
If Kazuki ignored her warning…
she would humiliate him before throwing him off the stage.
Kazuki's reply was calm.
"I appreciate the warning," he said. "But I don't need it."
Airi's expression tightened, fury flickering beneath her composure.
Kazuki, however, didn't react.
Inside his mind, only one thing surfaced.
A memory.
A voice.
Hikari's voice.
"Oh," he had said casually, as if discussing the weather,
"if you don't place high in the exam—"
He paused.
"You may not even be in a condition to attend the academy afterward."
A chill ran down Kazuki's spine.
He forced it away.
He exhaled slowly, eyes locking onto Airi's.
Cold.
Focused.
Ready.
Megumi watched their exchange with a faint smile.
"Are you both ready?" she asked.
Both nodded.
"Three… two… one…"
"Start!"
BOOM!
The instant her voice fell, Kazuki vanished.
Not in a blur of mana.
Not in the ripple of a movement spell.
He simply moved.
Raw technique.
Raw physical control.
Speed so terrifying it made the air crack behind him.
Airi's pupils shrank.
For a fraction of a second, she froze—not from fear…
but from disbelief.
He wasn't using a spell.
And yet he was faster than most spell-enhanced movement techniques.
Airi snapped out of it instantly.
Her body flowed into her family's martial arts casting posture, ambient wind gathering around her like a living cloak.
[Tempest Centum — Third Form: Stormborn Fury]
[Bladed Tempest][Shattering Zephyr Edge]
Countless wind blades screamed into existence, slashing toward Kazuki from every angle.
Airi intended to slow his charge.
To break his momentum.
To force him to fight on her terms.
She coated her staff in wind, mana thickening along its length, ready to block—no, ready to crush him.
But Kazuki didn't slow down.
He sped up.
As if the arena itself had become familiar ground in the span of a heartbeat.
His sword gleamed faintly as he coated it with raw mana—not light element like Aiko's, but pure, sharpened mana reinforcement.
Airi snorted.
So he really was underestimating her.
Fine.
Then she would carve that arrogance out of him.
Slash—slash—slash!
Without taking his eyes off her, Kazuki swung.
His blade moved with precision so clean it looked effortless.
Wind blades shattered one after another, destroyed mid-flight like glass meeting steel.
His expression didn't change.
As if this wasn't even remotely challenging.
Within seconds, he was already in front of her.
Airi had braced herself fully.
Her staff was reinforced to its limit.
Her stance was perfect.
Her wind currents surged stronger than anything she'd displayed before.
Then their weapons collided.
BOOOOOM!
The shockwave tore through the arena.
Wind screamed outward.
The ground cracked beneath their feet.
But instead of Kazuki being pushed back—
Airi slid backward.
One step.
Two.
Three.
Several meters.
Her expression strained as she dug her heels into the stone to stop herself.
And in that moment…
complete silence fell over the arena.
Not because the crowd had been ordered to be quiet.
But because everyone, noble and commoner alike, had just witnessed something impossible.
Kazehana Airi…
had been overpowered.