"…So it begins," Mobius muttered, voice low—almost reverent. Her usual smirk was gone, replaced by a rare stillness. Her eyes, sharp and calculating, remained locked on the field as the settling dust slowly dissolved into the wind.
Beside her, Eden sat motionless. Her hands had clenched unconsciously around the fabric of her dress, twisting the silk between trembling fingers. Her breath caught in her throat as she stared forward—expression soft, but eyes glassy.
"What is?" Kiana blinked, looking around in confusion. Her earlier excitement faded as she noticed the way the others had gone quiet. "What's going on? Did something happen?"
Around her, students still whispered, laughed, and leaned in closer—eager to see who had come out on top. But their table? It felt like the eye of a storm.
The tension there didn't rise—it compressed, like something sacred had just been disturbed.
"..."
Yuzuki said nothing. His hand gripped his knee to stop the tremble. The other pressed against his chest, as though trying to cage the heartbeat that had started hammering the moment Victor's expression shifted.
His eyes…
They weren't eyes anymore.
"...Interesting," Bronya whispered from her seat. Her tone was monotone, but her brow was creased, and her lips had drawn into a tight line. Her grip on Etoile's hand tightened like a vice.
"Ghk—c-could you not—?" Etoile hissed under his breath, squirming in his seat. He tried to pry her fingers loose with his free hand, but she didn't even seem to notice.
At the edge of the group, Chris stood with arms folded, face unreadable—but his eyes never left the center of the field.
Not once.
___________________________________
The last wisps of dust scattered.
And the field came back into view.
Victor and Himeko still stood where the final blow had landed—like statues cast in tension.
Victor's body was twisted slightly from impact. His coat fluttered softly, disturbed by the blow—but his stance was rooted. Solid.
His face, however… was empty. Expressionless.
But his eyes—his eyes were sharp enough to cut sky.
Across from him, Himeko stood frozen mid-motion. Her lips were drawn into a tight grimace, and sweat dotted her brow. Her stance was solid… but wrong. Unbalanced. Hesitant.
Her claymore—lodged at the base of Victor's shoulder—had stopped completely.
It hadn't broken the skin. It hadn't even moved him.
Wrapped around the wooden blade, like creeping vines of pressure, Victor's arms had twisted unnaturally during the impact, locking the blade in place with almost casual force.
Himeko pulled.
The blade didn't budge.
She yanked again—nothing.
And then Victor moved.
Not his feet. Not his posture.
Just his arms.
Slowly. Deliberately.
He raised one hand. Placed it over the thickest part of the embedded blade—
—and clenched.
A sharp, sickening crack rang out across the field.
Wood splintered.
The blade snapped in half.
Gasps echoed. Someone dropped their phone. A freshman screamed.
That scream was the signal.
Not from Himeko.
Not from Mobius.
Not from any instructor.
It was from instinct.
Victor moved.
Not like a student.
Not like a sparring partner.
But like a man trained to end.
___________________________________
Himeko barely caught the shift.
He wasn't faster by any measurable speed. But his movement no longer held restraint.
There was no hesitation.
No tells.
No breath between intent and execution.
Just action.
She stepped back instinctively—
The first strike missed her by a hair.
A low sweeping kick meant to buckle her stance.
Not meant to land.
The second came high—a hammering fist, diagonal, fast. She ducked.
The third—
Followed immediately.
A heel drove down at her thigh. She blocked—barely—with her forearm, and felt the tremor race up her bones.
She realized then—
He wasn't just throwing attacks randomly.
He was building a net.
Every move wasn't meant to finish her.
It was to corner her.
To trap.
To end.
___________________________________
Around the field, students started backing away.
The air felt different. Dense. Like standing beneath thunder before the strike.
"... This isn't a spar anymore," Fu Hua whispered.
"He's hunting," Mobius murmured, her smile returning—but with an edge now. Something darker. "Finally."
___________________________________
Back on the field, Himeko dropped her stance.
No time for form.
She blocked the next three hits with her forearms—one, two, three—and barely stayed standing. Each strike rattled her bones. She could feel bruises blooming beneath her sleeves.
And every hit came with something else—a grab at the wrist, a lock at her elbow, a twist meant to break structure, not score points.
This was no longer a normal spar.
It was life or death.
Victor faked a rising knee to the gut.
She went to catch it—
He pivoted mid-motion.
The knee turned into an elbow aimed at her temple.
Her eyes widened—
He's improvising.
Not reacting. Reading.
She ducked—just barely—and rolled under the blow, planting her shoulder into his chest. A classic judo pivot.
She threw him.
Or tried to.
Because mid-air—
Victor twisted.
He rode the momentum—landed behind her.
She turned—
Too late.
An arm snapped around her throat—tight, seamless, perfect form.
The other yanked her collar up, choking off air, spine torqued at an unnatural angle.
Not a hold. A lock.
Not control. Execution.
Himeko's eyes widened—
Her hands shot up, scrabbling for leverage, nails digging into Victor's arm.
Nothing. No give.
His grip didn't tremble.
Didn't flex.
Just compressed.
The world shrank to static in her ears.
Veins bulged against her skin.
Her knees buckled—
Vision tunneling—
Lungs burned for air that wouldn't come.
This wasn't restraint.
This wasn't training.
This was intent to kill.
And Victor's eyes?
Dead.
Focused.
Predatory.
Seconds from blackout—
From a snap—
And then impact.
___________________________________
A flash of white.
A thunderclap louder than thought.
And Victor was gone.
Not vanished—ripped away.
Chris's fist caved into his chest with a force that bent the air.
Victor's body arced back, slammed into the ground—
The earth cracked.
A crater swallowed him, dirt and stone blasted upward in a shockwave that rattled the nearest walls.
And then—
Silence.
A beat later—
Himeko dropped.
Her knees hit the dirt with a rough, jarring thud. She clutched her throat, gasping, coughing, dragging air into lungs that had seconds left. The red drained from her face. Her breath came in wheezing bursts.
She had been seconds away from death.
Chris stood between her and the crater—body a wall, stance wide, one fist still low from the punch, the other twitching at his side.
Victor stirred at the bottom of the crater—
Coat torn open, dirt and blood on his cheek, breathing hard. He pushed himself up—slowly, shaking—as if he was struggling for control.
A shadow raced down the slope.
Eden reached him first, catching his shoulder just as his legs gave way. She braced him gently, whispering something soft as his head slumped forward. Her hand moved to his chest, glowing faintly with harmonic energy.
"Easy… You're alright now."
Footsteps crunched behind her—slow, deliberate.
Mobius.
Leisurely as ever, hands in her pockets, not a hair out of place. She strolled past Chris with a smirk and a nod.
"Good punch," she said in passing, like commenting on a decent cup of coffee.
Chris didn't respond.
A few seconds later, Kiana jogged up, eyes wide, mouth open halfway to a question that didn't quite form.
She stopped beside Chris, looked down at the crater, then up at him.
"…Are you a gorilla?" she asked.
Deadpan. Sincere.
The silence after was deafening