After a few minutes of that so-called "dance," irritation started creeping in.
Then it spiked.
Which was bad.
Really bad.
Trying to keep the fire inside me contained meant I wasn't fighting—
I was stalling.
Blocking.
Deflecting.
Dragging it out.
Useless.
After a few more failed attempts to land a hit, something inside me snapped.
I stopped.
Then surged forward.
Fast.
My right hand lashed out, striking aside the spinning blades—the razor-sharp tops aimed for my throat, my eyes.
The rest—
I ignored.
They hit.
Sliced into my legs.
My arms.
My shoulders.
Sharp.
But shallow.
…Too shallow.
The thought flickered—
and vanished just as fast.
Didn't matter.
Roy was already gathering his power again, preparing another wave—
I cut him off.
A strand of force snapped out—
coiling around his wrist—
and I yanked.
Hard.
He lost his footing.
Nearly went down.
That was enough.
His control slipped.
Every blade embedded in my body dissolved at once, leaving behind torn fabric and thin lines of blood.
Silence.
No swarm.
No pressure.
My turn.
Another strand shot out—
wrapped around his other wrist.
I tightened.
His face twisted as pain hit, sharp and immediate, while he struggled to break free.
I didn't let him.
I lifted him—
then slammed him down.
Hard.
Concrete cracked beneath him.
A dull, wet impact.
The air left his lungs in a broken sound.
He tried to push himself up—
collapsed face-first.
And stayed there.
Didn't move.
Didn't try.
…Too easy.
I looked up.
Blocking.
Watching.
Smiling.
Like everything was unfolding exactly the way he wanted.
A cold sensation crept up my spine.
Something was off.
"Unbelievable!" Samir's voice rang out. "I was certain the win would go to Blocking Academy! No offense, Martha—"
He didn't even let her speak.
"I know Holivan is your favorite, but he had no business winning this! Roy outclasses him in strength, experience—and barely falls behind in speed or agility!"
"And yet," Martha replied calmly, "Holivan continues to prove otherwise. The winner of this match is Alan Holivan."
The crowd erupted.
Cheers.
Boos.
Shouting.
A lot of people didn't like what they just saw.
Good.
That only made my smile stretch wider.
Sharper.
Ugly.
Because I knew.
That wasn't a fair fight.
I wouldn't have beaten Scott Roy like that.
Not head-on.
Not clean.
Part of me burned with anger.
How the hell did Blocking force his own student to throw the fight?
Why?
But—
it didn't matter.
That win pushed me into the final round.
One against five.
And if I won—
I'd get the prize.
One wish.
Anything.
For that—
Specials killed.
Crippled.
Betrayed each other without hesitation.
And I wasn't any better.
I'd step over a rigged fight.
Over a broken opponent.
Over anything—
if it got me what I wanted.
I wanted to watch the rest of the matches.
But the moment I stepped out of the arena—
I was redirected.
Straight back to that same room.
The one where we took the temporary oath.
Someone was already there.
Him.
The same bastard who had killed that girl without hesitation.
He glanced at me—
then looked away.
Good.
I didn't feel like talking either.
Better to sit.
Breathe.
Not too deep.
Not enough to leave myself open.
I didn't trust him.
Didn't trust any of them.
Right now—
we were all enemies.
I let out a quiet breath when the last finalist stepped in and the door shut behind him.
Matthew.
He took a seat across from me.
Turned away.
Something about him felt off.
Like he was hiding something.
Then again—
so was I.
Not even five minutes passed before the directors entered.
And with them—
Robert.
His arm.
His leg.
Moving normally.
Just a few burns.
Nothing serious.
He shot a surprised look at Matthew before dropping down beside me.
Four from Gordinstreet.
One from Grandina.
And—
for some reason—
Blocking.
"Congratulations, Miss Gordinstreet," Seimus Ball said, stepping forward. "You've trained impressive students."
"Well done," Amelia said with a small smile. "But don't relax yet. The fifth trial begins in a few hours."
"A few hours?" the Grandina student frowned. "Why aren't we getting a break like usual?"
"That decision has changed," Grandina's director said through clenched teeth. "Originally, the fifth trial was scheduled for tomorrow. But due to our… guest…"
Her expression darkened.
"You'll participate in an off-site trial. Once transport is ready, you'll leave with your directors. Food and clothing will be provided."
"I don't like this," Robert muttered once we finished eating.
"You saw what that 'guest' did," I said quietly. "I'm not surprised they'd rather entertain him than deal with what happens if he gets bored."
"That was the one who burned the medical building?" he asked.
"He's a demon."
That was enough.
No more questions.
We barely finished eating before the door opened again.
Five members of Administration security stood there.
"Directors. Transport is ready. Apologies for the lack of comfort."
No one argued.
We stepped outside.
A bus was waiting.
Grandina had three bodyguards.
Gordinstreet—Pavel.
Blocking stood alone, as always.
Six security officers.
And when I stepped inside—
I saw Clyde.
Kristina.
I hesitated.
Just for a second.
Then I saw Robert take a seat next to Vilis.
"Little Al," a voice murmured near my ear.
A hand pressed lightly against my back.
Guiding.
"We'll sit up front."
I didn't resist.
Didn't have the energy.
"Holivan!" Clyde's voice cut through the bus.
Sharp.
Irritated.
But honestly—
I was grateful.
I didn't want to sit with them.
Not like this.
Not while lying straight to their faces.
"Little Al needs his medication," Blocking said casually. "Surely you don't want him collapsing from shock in the middle of the trial, Lord Silius?"
"He can take it here. Blocking—"
"Silius Clyde," Gordinstreet interrupted firmly, "that's enough. Director Blocking assisted our student—at the cost of one of his own top candidates. The least we can do is allow him a moment to speak with Holivan."
Clyde fell silent.
He had no choice.
The engine started.
The bus moved.
Security spread out among us—
attaching cameras to each candidate.
So that was it.
The next trial—
wasn't going to be in the arena.