The second week at the Academy brought a new development. Master Torren announced it during morning assembly.
"This week, Class F will be sparring against students from other classes. You'll face opponents with higher mana ranks. Better equipment. Formal training." His scarred face showed no sympathy. "You'll lose most of these matches. The point is to learn what real combat against superior opponents feels like."
Murmurs through the assembled students.
"Assignments are posted. Find your opponent. Report to the main arena at midday."
Robin found his name on the board.
STARK, ROBIN (Class F) vs. GROL (Class C)
Different Grol. Not his classmate, this was a Class C student. Higher ranked and more capable.
Interesting. They're matching me against someone competent.
The main arena was larger than Class F's training ground. Proper seating and better equipment.
This was where the Academy showcased its students to visiting dignitaries and scouts.
Robin arrived early. Observed the other matches already in progress.
Class F students were getting demolished. A girl from his class faced a Class B noble and lasted maybe twenty seconds before being disarmed.
A commoner fought a Class C warrior and managed a minute but was clearly outmatched.
As expected. Mana advantage plus better training equals dominance.
His opponent arrived. Grol was a thick-built commoner. Older, maybe nineteen. Confident bearing. His practice sword was standard issue but well-maintained.
They took positions in the ring.
"You're the F-minus kid," Grol said. Not mocking. Just stating fact. "Heard you killed a Scrabbler in two minutes during entrance exams."
"I did."
"Impressive. Against a beast." Grol settled into a proper guard stance. "Let's see how you do against someone who can think."
An instructor called the start.
Grol attacked methodically. Probing strikes and testing Robin's defense. His technique was solid, formal training evident in every movement.
Robin defended carefully. Read the patterns. Grol was competent but not exceptional. His strikes followed textbook combinations.
C-rank mana. Probably trained since childhood. But no real combat experience. Just drills and controlled sparring.
Grol increased aggression. His strikes came faster. Enhanced slightly by mana not much, but enough to make a difference.
Robin gave ground. Made it look like he was being pushed back. Struggling.
I could end this. His left side drops slightly after attacks. Perfect opening for a counter.*
But I won't.
Instead, Robin defended. Made it look competitive. Let Grol land a few glancing blows nothing serious, just enough to make it seem like a real fight.
The crowd was watching now. Interested. The F-minus student was lasting longer than expected against a C-rank opponent.
Grol noticed too. His expression shifted. Pride mixed with frustration. He'd expected an easy victory.
He committed to a powerful combination. Three-strike sequence, high, low, middle. Well-executed.
Robin blocked the first two. Could've blocked the third.
But didn't.
Let it through. The practice blade caught him in the ribs. Not too hard Grol had control. But a clean hit.
Robin stumbled back. "Yield."
"Match to Grol," the instructor announced.
Grol lowered his sword. His expression was confused. "You... let me win."
"You won fairly."
"No. That last strike, you could've blocked it. I saw you start the movement then stop." Grol stepped closer. "Why?"
Robin met his gaze. "You're C-rank. I'm F-minus. You're supposed to win. What would be the point of making you look bad?"
"The point would be winning."
"Sometimes losing is winning." Robin picked up his practice sword. "You get your expected victory. I get to observe your technique without revealing mine. Everyone's satisfied."
Grol stared at him. "You're either very stupid or very smart. Can't decide which."
"Does it matter?"
Robin left the ring. Found a spot to observe the remaining matches.
Norman's match was next. He faced a Class B noble, a sword prodigy from House Valois.
The noble was fast. Technically brilliant. His mana-enhanced strikes were precise and powerful.
Norman matched him.
He's not holding back.
Norman's beast-enhanced speed let him keep pace. His instinctive aggression countered the noble's formal training.
The fight was intense. Real. Both fighters pushed to their limits.
Norman's eyes flashed gold. The beast was close to the surface.
The Valois noble unleashed a complex technique, a whirlwind of seven strikes too fast to block individually.
Norman didn't try to block. He dove inside the attack radius. Got close where the strikes couldn't generate full power.
Drove his practice blade into the noble's midsection.
Clean hit. Decisive.
"Match to Grey!"
The arena went silent. A Class F student had just defeated a Class B noble.
Norman stepped back. His hands trembled slightly. Fighting for control.
The noble stared in disbelief. "Impossible. You have F-rank mana. How...?"
Norman didn't answer. Just walked out of the ring.
The crowd erupted in whispers. Speculation. This would be talked about for weeks.
Robin watched with interest. Norman just made himself a target. Every instructor will be watching him now. Every noble will want to prove it was a fluke.
Bold move. But dangerous.
The sparring sessions concluded. Class F had lost most matches as expected. But Norman's victory was the story everyone would remember.
Back at the dorm, the atmosphere was different. Norman's win had given the class something they desperately needed, a proof that Class F could compete.
"Did you see that?" Grol, the classmate, "Grey destroyed a B-rank! An actual prodigy!"
"Technique over mana," another student said. "Maybe Torren's training actually works."
Norman sat on his bunk, silent. His golden eyes were distant.
Robin approached quietly. "That was risky."
"Had to be done." Norman's voice was low. "They needed to see that Class F isn't hopeless. That we can win."
"You painted a target on yourself."
"I know." Norman looked at him. "But someone had to. And you're too smart to do it."
Robin said nothing. Acknowledged the truth of it.
"Why did you throw your match?" Norman asked.
"Strategic loss. Grol gets his expected win. I get to observe without revealing capabilities. More valuable than a hollow victory."
"You think like a general. Not a student."
"I think like someone who wants to survive."
Norman smiled slightly. "We're going to make an interesting team."
That evening, Master Torren summoned both Robin and Norman to his office.
They stood before his desk. Torren looked at them both with his scarred and experienced gaze.
"Grey. That was an impressive win. Too impressive." Torren leaned forward. "You just made yourself the most watched student in Class F. Every instructor will be looking at you. Every noble will want to put you in your place."
"I understand, sir."
"Do you? Because from now on, you're not just representing yourself. You're representing Class F. Every fight. Every mistake. Everyone will be watching."
Norman nodded. "Yes, sir."
Torren turned to Robin. "Stark. That was a pathetic loss. Deliberately pathetic."
Robin said nothing.
"You threw that match. I know it. You know it. "Why?"
"Because winning wasn't worth the cost."
"Explain."
"If I win, people wonder how an F-minus beat a C-rank. I get scrutiny. Questions. Attention I don't need." Robin met Torren's gaze. "If I lose reasonably, I'm just another Class F student who tried hard but came up short. Forgettable."
Torren was silent for a long moment. Then he laughed. "You're more calculating than half my instructor colleagues. That's either going to make you great or get you killed."
"Preferably the former, sir."
"Dismissed. Both of you."
They left the office. Walked back toward the dorm in silence.
"You're playing a long game," Norman said finally.
"The only game worth playing."
"And me? What am I doing?"
"Making yourself a symbol. Giving Class F hope." Robin glanced at him. "Different strategies. Both valid."
"Or both stupid."
"Time will tell."
They reached the dorm. Inside, their classmates were still celebrating Norman's victory. Talking about technique. About possibilities.
Robin lay on his bunk. Pulled up his status screen.
┏━━━━━━━[ Combat Log ]━━━━━━━┓
│ Match: Robin Stark vs. Grol (C-Rank)
│ Outcome: Strategic Defeat
│
│ Analysis:
│ ├─ Opponent Technique: Solid (B-Grade)
│ ├─ Mana Advantage: Moderate
│ ├─ Victory Probability: 67%
│ └─ Decision: Tactical Loss Chosen
│
│ Benefits:
│ ├─ Reduced Scrutiny
│ ├─ Opponent Analysis Complete
│ └─ Expectations Managed
┗━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━┛
The system tracked everything. Even deliberate losses.
Norman chose to be the hero. I chose to be forgotten.
Both have value. His strategy builds morale. Mine builds opportunity.
Robin closed his eyes. Midnight was hours away. He'd rest before the nightly training session.
Where he'd push harder. Train longer. Build strength while everyone focused on Norman's spectacular win.
Let them watch him. Let them wonder about the half-beast who defeated a noble.
While he stay in the shadows. Growing stronger, learning and preparing.
The perfect strategy.
Norman could be the symbol. The inspiration.
Robin would be the weapon they never saw coming.
Week two. Calculated defeat. Information gained and position maintained.
Everything according to plan.
Sleep came quickly.
At midnight, he'd train again.
Build the strength his thrown match had convinced everyone he lacked.
The deception was perfect.
And Robin Stark was very, very good at deception.