It caught me off guard.
Kristina—always bright, always smiling—
crying.
But what unsettled me more was why.
Could it be…?
"Director Blocking gave me something to wear," I said, forcing the words out. "Mine burned. I was just going to change and head back."
"Go back?" Kristina stared at me like I'd lost my mind. "You can barely stand! You're covered in injuries!"
"I have to," I said. "Sorry, Kristina. There's no time. And if I walk in wearing Blocking's uniform, that'll raise even more questions."
I turned and headed for the room I shared with Silius.
Clyde followed.
Silent.
Too silent.
We entered the same way.
No words.
I stepped into my corner and barely managed to pull on a pair of dark gray pants before the door opened.
"Get out. I'm changing," I said without turning.
Nothing.
"Clyde… I'm tired. Just let me finish this. I don't want to talk."
Still nothing.
I pulled on a shirt and turned.
He was leaning against the frame, arms crossed, watching me.
Not blinking.
Not moving.
Just watching.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" I snapped.
Heat surged through me.
Fast.
Too fast.
Like something inside me had been waiting—
and now it was waking up.
Not good.
Inhale.
Exhale.
Count.
Eyes closed.
Hold it down.
Hold it—
or it spills out.
"You could've refused him," Clyde said quietly while I fought to keep control. "We have Samantha. You needed seconds. I would've pulled you out."
"I wasn't thinking," I said. "It hurt."
Not a lie.
Just not the kind he meant.
"Why do you always do the opposite?" he went on. "Why do you keep walking straight into danger when I'm trying to keep you out of it?"
"That's my job," I shot back. "In case you forgot."
"If something happens to you—"
He stopped.
Pushed off the wall.
Stepped toward me.
I stepped back.
Instinct.
"I know," I cut in quickly. "If I die too early, I won't be useful."
"Alan—"
"Clyde, we need to go."
"You're injured. You can stop. You've already proven enough. There's no reason to push this."
"I'm not backing out because of a few bruises!" I snapped.
The heat spiked again.
Sharp.
Violent.
Damn it.
"I'm doing what I have to!"
I needed out.
Now.
Couldn't stay here.
Not with him.
Not like this.
"You look like something wrapped for burial," he said flatly. "And you call that 'a few bruises'?"
"Blocking's doctors handled it," I said. "I don't feel anything."
That wasn't entirely a lie.
I didn't feel pain.
That was the problem.
"As soon as this is over, I'm calling Samantha."
"No need."
"Alan…"
"Clyde, let's go."
"Wait."
His hand closed around my forearm.
Light.
Barely there.
But it hit harder than anything else.
My chest tightened.
I was lying to him.
Right to his face.
And he believed it.
That made it worse.
So much worse.
I didn't look up.
But I stopped.
"When this is over," he said quietly, "I need to tell you something."
A pause.
"Not many people know it. But… I want you to. And then—you decide."
A secret.
Now.
When I'm already drowning in lies.
Is this a test?
Or something worse?
I didn't trust my voice.
So I just nodded.
Ten of us remained.
The crowd wasn't the same anymore.
Quieter.
Heavier.
And I knew why.
Every now and then, the wind shifted—
and the smell hit.
Smoke.
Burned flesh.
What was left of the demon's "entertainment."
I looked up.
Upper stands.
As expected—
Loen lounged beside Socrati like nothing had happened.
Like people hadn't burned alive for his amusement.
I couldn't get angry.
Not now.
Not when the heat inside me was already building too fast.
Why now?
Why like this?
It wasn't like this before.
Something was wrong.
And I knew exactly who had the answers.
A demon.
"The fourth trial was interrupted after only two matches," Martha announced. "We have our winners. Unfortunately, one of them cannot be present—but Robert Torrent still advances."
"So!" Samir's voice cut in—bright, forced. Too bright. "Let's continue the remaining four matches and give our audience something to enjoy!"
Of course.
Something to enjoy.
After all that.
"Numbers five and six—stay. The rest, return to your waiting rooms."
I didn't move.
Didn't turn.
Didn't care who it was.
It didn't matter.
I'd fight.
And I'd lose.
Against anyone left—
I wasn't enough.
And if I didn't want to reveal what I really was—
I had to hold it in.
No matter what.
No matter how much it pushed.
No matter how badly it wanted out.
"Alan Holivan—first-year from Gordinstreet Academy, candidate for Silius Clyde's personal guard—versus Scott Roy, third-year from Blocking Academy!" Samir announced. "Two top contenders! This should be good!"
"Holivan is injured," Martha added. "Those bandages suggest severe burns. If he chooses to withdraw, no one will judge him. So—what's your decision?"
"I came here to prove I deserve to stand as a protector!" I shouted. "To prove Silius Clyde didn't choose me for nothing! How do I quit now—when I'm this close?!"
The crowd stirred.
Just like that—
they forgot.
Forgot the dead.
Forgot the ones who burned.
They wanted a show.
That was all.
Something twisted inside me.
The heat surged again—
violent—
hungry—
I forced it down.
Locked it deep.
Closed my eyes—
then turned.
Scott Roy wasn't even looking at me.
His gaze was fixed on Blocking.
Of course.
"Then—begin!"
The first strand of force I sent out missed.
On purpose.
I wasn't trying to hit him.
I needed to see how he moved.
How fast.
How sharp.
And for someone his size—
he wasn't slow.
Not even close.
Which meant—
I had almost nothing over him.
Roy's ability was wrong.
A single stream—
splitting instantly into dozens of razor-thin blades.
They spun.
Fast.
Too fast.
At first glance—chaotic.
No pattern.
No order.
Like a swarm.
Like something alive.
Each blade moving on its own—
cutting—
hunting—
tearing through anything in its path.
Dodging them, I forced myself to focus.
Not on the heat.
Not on the pressure building under my skin.
Just this.
Movement.
Distance.
Angles.
Protect vital points.
Find an opening.
Strike.
But every strand I sent—
every single one—
was shredded before it got close.
Cut apart.
Erased.
His blades tore through everything.
No gaps.
No hesitation.
No weakness.
I couldn't get close.
Couldn't break through.
Couldn't even touch him.