The quiet Ordinas Clubroom was filled with the scratch of quills gliding across parchment. They had picked up light lunches from the cafeteria and were now immersed in research, surrounded by half-empty teacups, parchment scrolls, and scattered snacks on the table.
“By the way.”
Kyle suddenly spoke up.
“Yes, go ahead.” Adrian responded without lifting his gaze from the parchment he was writing on.
“I mean… I’m a fourth-year, graduation’s around the corner, so I get why I’m holed up in here on festival day. But what about you? Isn’t this your first Serichane Festival?”
“I can’t stand noise. I prefer this.”
“Really?”
Kyle tilted his head in confusion at Adrian’s reply. He was pretty sure Mikhail had feelings for Adrian. Well, maybe Adrian himself didn’t know. But still—was he wrong about that? He had assumed Mikhail would definitely invite Adrian to the tournament finals.
“Mikhail didn’t invite you to the finals today?”
“…….”
The rapid strokes of Adrian’s quill came to a sudden halt at Kyle’s question. Finals? Slowly, he lifted his head and stared desperately at Kyle’s face across the table. Please, please don’t let it be today.
“……Don’t tell me—the martial arts tournament finals are today?”
“Yeah. What have you been doing all this time?”
Adrian cursed silently in his head.
The school broadcast, which was usually annoyingly loud and nonstop, had conveniently decided to go silent on this important day? He shot up from his seat. The chair screeched backward with an unpleasant grinding sound.
“They haven’t started yet, right?”
Kyle glanced at Adrian’s face, then flicked his eyes toward the wall clock in the clubroom. He scratched his chin.
“It probably started a while ago…”
Shit. Adrian patted his uniform jacket to make sure the ticket was still inside and muttered, “I’ll be back tomorrow.”
***
…He still hasn’t shown up.
Mikhail sat on a bench in the waiting room, eyes fixed on the screen of the magic device displaying the audience seating. The arena was ablaze with excitement. He could even see the expressions of the front-row students clearly—either those who had bought the most expensive seats or were gifted tickets by finalists.
Among them, one single, glaringly empty chair stood out.
He’s really not coming?
A cold glint flashed in Mikhail’s eyes. Just then, the screen of the magic device shifted. Someone was slowly walking out onto the podium.
“Well then…”
SCREEECH—a loud screech of feedback echoed across the stadium as the microphone volume adjusted. All the students chatting in the stands immediately went silent.
So did the finalists waiting in the prep room.
“Shall we now call forth the main players who will be competing in this year’s long-awaited martial arts tournament finals?”
Clack. Mikhail unsheathed his sword, then slid it back into the scabbard. He didn’t like that Adrian hadn’t shown up—but right now, the only thing that mattered was this tournament. Above his head, the number 209 glowed brightly, spinning with a sharp whirr.
***
“……Excuse me. Pardon me, I’m just going to squeeze through.”
Adrian, who was taller than most students, bowed his head repeatedly as he carefully made his way through the packed center section of the spectator seats, trying not to disturb anyone. 12, 11, 10—his eyes darted quickly, scanning seat numbers to match the one on his ticket.
“Adrian! What took you so long? I thought you weren’t coming!”
Hans was seated right beside him. Adrian let out a long sigh and collapsed into his chair, feeling like he’d used up every ounce of energy just getting there. From the looks of the arena, a match had just ended, and it was break time.
Thank god. He exhaled in relief, greeted Hans, and asked what he needed to know.
“Hey. Did I miss a lot?”
“Of course you did! Mikhail’s first match in the finals ended ages ago. He even won the next one too… Though for some reason, even after winning, he kept glaring daggers over here like he was going to kill someone.”
Ugh, even thinking about it gives me chills. Hans shivered slightly as he spoke, the memory of Mikhail’s icy stare making his skin crawl.
“……Really?”
Adrian clicked his tongue in response to Hans’ commentary. So Mikhail could see this empty seat from the arena? Rubbing the back of his neck, Adrian shook his head lightly.
“Still, good thing you made it—this is the final match.”
“The final?”
“Yeah. Ten participants each fought once in today’s finals. The five who lost were knocked out of the tournament. After three more rounds, we’re down to just two. Now it’s time for Catherine and Mikhail to go head-to-head in the championship!”
Hans explained the current situation with the same resolute expression you’d expect from someone actually in the tournament. Adrian nodded along and responded, “I see,” just as—
SCREECH—a screech of mic feedback echoed across the arena, likely from adjusting the volume. The chatter in the stands came to an abrupt halt. Someone audibly gulped, loud enough to be heard from where they sat.
“Shall we now call forth the stars of this year’s grand martial arts tournament finals?”
WOOAAAAHH!!
At the center podium of the arena, Pinyata announced the beginning of the match with his usual peppy voice. The students in the stands stomped their feet and whistled, kicking off the finale with wild enthusiasm.
Swish— Wearing a horse mask, Pinyata raised one arm high into the air. As if by magic, a large transparent sphere floated upward, big enough to be seen even from the upper levels of the arena. Inside it were two white balls.
Why even bother drawing lots when there are only two left? It’s already decided, Adrian grumbled inwardly. Still, Pinyata, faithful to tradition, dramatically raised his arm to spin the massive orb.
At the same time, the students began a loud countdown—“Ten!”—and the white balls inside began to clatter violently, crashing into each other like they were scrambling to escape first.
Pinyata lightly manipulated the giant orb, making the balls inside spin even faster. The students, now fully caught up in the momentum, chanted louder and louder as the countdown continued.
Clunk! One white ball got caught in the chute, then rolled out and hit the arena floor with a soft thud. The second ball followed immediately after. Pinyata checked the fallen balls, then grinned widely.
“This year’s tournament is absolutely thrilling! To think we’d get to see these two face off in the finals! This first participant is the most talked-about fighter in Amber right now. She didn’t even participate in last year’s tournament, but this time she’s become the darling of every mage in the academy!”
As if everyone had already guessed who it would be, the crowd erupted in a roar.
“Number 38, Catherine Esteban!”
Pinyata held up the ball with “38” written on it and waved it toward the audience in sync with their cheers. Instantly, every student in the crowd shouted her name in unison.
“Catherine! Catherine!”
Next to him, Hans waved his arms excitedly, eyes gleaming. So Catherine Esteban made it to the finals too, Adrian thought as he glanced around the electrified arena with an indifferent expression. That’s when Pinyata picked up the second white ball. A magic device flew in and projected the number across the giant screen in massive letters.
Naturally, the number was 209.
“And next up… the rookie from Basamiel! Number 209—Mikhail Luce Inehart! Would both finalists please step out from the waiting room!”
The crowd roared with thunderous applause. From opposite ends of the circular arena, the two finalists stepped out with measured, confident strides. As they approached, the noise from the stands faded into a tense silence—so complete that the sound of shifting seats echoed across the stadium.
Even from a distance, Mikhail’s shining silver hair sparkled under the sunlight. Adrian’s eyes naturally followed the left side of the arena where Mikhail was emerging.
Then—flash. Mikhail’s crimson eyes flicked toward him, locking on with searing intensity. They churned, blazing like fire. Adrian, who had just happened to be looking that way, narrowed his eyes slightly.
What, you mad I showed up late? Pathetic.
