Match one: part 2.

Alexander twisted his torso as he watched the flags be planted by the staff.

Three in the center.

Followed by two on Loire's half of the field and two on François's half of the field—making 7 in total. 

A man dressed in gray marched onto the center of the field. 

He was draped in gray and flanked by two others.

The whistle around his neck—the stern and impartial expression, all pointed to him as the referee. 

"Captains, on me!" The referee bellowed, raising a bright yellow flag. 

Raphael straightened his posture, jogging forward. 

His grip tightened around the shaft of his scythe as he held his head high. 

Across the field, Elara did the same.

Her trident rested on her shoulder as she lazily approached. 

The referee narrowed his eyes, but said nothing.

When the two captains met in the center circle the referee lowered his flag. 

"This is a standard six-round match. Seven flags, the first team to capture five wins immediately. 

Otherwise—the team holding the most flags at the end of a round wins. 

Keep all hits legal. Any violation of the rules results in disqualification, understood?"

Raphael nodded curtly.

"Not my first time, let's keep it moving." 

Elara's yellow eyes gleamed with amusement. 

"Eager to lose, are we?" She taunted.

Raphael ignored the taunt, extending his hand. 

"Hurry up."

Elara grinned—taking his hand.

The crowd went wild with cheers.

"Loire! Loire! Loire!" 

The referee put his hand above theirs, squeezing them. 

"May the best academy win."

He then stepped back—both captains returning to their side of the field.

The announcer boomed through the stadium once more. 

"Two minutes until the Pathfinder showdown! Grab your snacks, place your bets, and don't you dare take your eyes off the field."

Raphael began barking orders. 

"Aloïs, gather your squad and move up!" 

Aloïs nodded as he and his team moved to the edge of the second contact line. (The space between the center and backfield.)

"Lucie, I want your squad behind him. When he breaks their center—rush!"

Lucie marched her squad to the right of Aloïs, slightly behind him. 

Raphael then pointed at Alexander. 

"First-years, on me!"

Alexander snapped to attention. 

His grip firmly around his spear—Karl and Jules flanked his sides. 

Joining up with Raphael, Alexander caught Josephine's glance. 

She was flanked by two other first-years. 

Raphael scanned his squad like a general inspecting his troops before battle. 

"We're the last line of defense," he began. "If Aloïs can't break the center, we must join the fight." 

His voice was low and direct, cutting through the noise like a knife. 

"Otherwise, stay close to me. No heroics. When I give the order to advance, we'll march to hold the center. Understood?"

The group nodded in unison.

"Outstanding." 

Raphael turned his attention across the field.

Loire had splintered into three groups—all poised to take the center.

Alexander wondered if Aloïs could hold off 15 players with a squad of three. 

But then he remembered Aloïs did far more with less. 

He felt a sense of confidence wash over him. 

"30 seconds!" The announcer exclaimed.

The referee and his two officials jogged off the field. 

The crowd's roars swelled, and in the private booth at the top of the arena—Elizabeth clapped with a smile.

"Players, on my mark!" 

The referee's voice boomed through a brass megaphone—while one of his officials raised a green flag. 

Lucie slowly crept forward. 

"Get set!"

Alexander's pulse thundered in his ears.

"Go!"

The official threw down the flag—the match sprang into action.

Aloïs and his squad barreled towards the center.

His squad mates swiftly secured the center flags—just as Loire's three-pronged attack crashed against him. 

The four seniors were pressed back to back, encircled but not outmatched.

Wooden weapons clashed and mashed. 

Alexander watched with anticipation as more Loire players crashed against Aloïs. 

He was barely visible—lost in a sea of blue and gold.

Elara still hadn't engaged yet.

She held the second contact line while twirling her trident.

Watching as the center brawl unfolded. 

"Man, Aloïs is holding his own." 

Alexander mentioned to Karl, who watched with narrowed eyes. 

Karl nodded. 

"A four-man defensive formation with Aloïs as its center. The only way you beat that is with speed. Loire shouldn't have let him reach the center." 

Alexander nodded.

One by one, Loire players were knocked out of the match. 

Some were knocked off their feet with a sweeping hammer attack.

Others charged into a spear and were knocked back by a powerful thrust. 

When the sixth player collapsed, Elara rushed to join the fight. 

"Enough of this!"

She raised her trident high—before slamming it against a François player.

The weapon crashed against his chest, forcing him to keel over and breaking the formation.

The rest of the squad was swarmed. 

Alexander's eyes bucked as he turned his attention to Raphael. 

But to his surprise, Raphael was grinning.

What the?

"Lucie, now!" He barked. 

Lucie and her squad sprinted for the backfield, ignoring the chaotic center. 

She swiftly secured the first flag, before passing it off and blitzing for the next. 

By the time Elara noticed what was happening, 

Lucie was reaching the final flag. 

"No!" 

She sprinted out of the center circle, but was yanked back in by Aloïs. 

Elara struggled against him, forced to watch as Lucie snatched up the final flag.

She waved it with a triumphant grin.

Just like that—the round was over.

The crowd fell silent as the referee raised a checkered flag. 

"Round point, François academy! Score 0-1."

Alexander could hardly believe it.

We… We won the opener?

He looked around to see the other first-years equally surprised.

The announcer's voice boomed once more. 

"Oooh, that's gotta burn. Loire played riskily and lost big. Props to François, giving Loire a taste of its own brutal medicine."

Raphael's grin grew as the scattered cheers of François supporters broke the silence.

His scythe rested on his shoulders like a man who won the lottery without buying a ticket. 

"That's how we do it." 

He barked—Aloïs and Lucie jogged back with equal grins. 

Though Aloïs was more reserved.

The team huddled up, same as Elara regrouping with her teammates—barking orders with flaming fury.

Alexander found himself standing next to Raphael, able to smell his pine cologne.

"They're rattled but not broken," Raphael began.

"Don't expect them to make the same mistake twice. They'll pull back on the aggression and move with speed."

He pointed a finger at Aloïs. "I'm sending Jules and Karl to reinforce the center. They'll grab the flags, you focus on protection."

Aloïs nodded. "You got it."

He then pointed a finger at Lucie. 

"She's not going to leave her flank open again, so I want you running a screen for Aloïs. Keep 'em occupied but don't over-commit."

He then gestured towards Josephine. "You're going with her." 

She nodded.

The team murmured affirmations—fists clenched as adrenaline lingered. 

"Round two—positions!" The referee shouted, his officials resetting the flags. 

As the team dispersed into squads, Alexander watched his friends jog toward the second contact line. 

He then glanced at Raphael, his expression conflicted. 

"What are we going to do?"

He asked.

Raphael stared straight ahead. "Hold the rear—that's your job, little brother."

Alexander frowned, gripping his spear as he looked across the field. 

Elara paced in front of her newly positioned team.

Two squads of six angled towards the center.

Two players are guarding the rear flag.

And she remained steadfast in the center.

Her relaxed smirk was now replaced by a grim expression.