Match one: part 3.

After the first blitzing round neither side managed to break the other. 

As a result, both teams slug it out in the center. 

Wood clashed against wood—players were eliminated and flags switched hands.

Neither side could capture all three flags to advance. 

Lucie would blitz if Loire had two.

Elara would blitz if François had two. 

Alexander tapped his foot as he watched the flags constantly switch hands. 

The eagerness to join was strong.

I could secure the third flag, I know I can.

Alexander glanced up at Raphael—who stood like a statue with narrowed eyes. 

"Can I join?" Alexander asked again.

Raphael ignored him. 

"Time!" The referee shouted, blowing his whistle. 

15 minutes were up—and in the end it was Loire with two flags. 

"Round point, Loire academy! Score 1-1."

Raphael frowned, shifting on his feet. 

"Hm, she's good." 

He held a hand over his mouth, massaging his chin.

The crowd roared back to life—banners waving high as they chanted. 

"Loire, Loire, Loire has 'em shakin'—"

Elara flashed a grin as she jogged backwards, waving to the crowd. 

The following rounds blurred into a drawn-out back-and-forth.

And all Alexander could do—was watch from the back lines with Raphael.

Flag drop—scramble for the center.

15 minutes later, the score was called.

"Round point, François academy! Score 1-2."

Flag drop—15 minutes later…

"Round point, Loire academy! Score 2-2."

By the fifth round, Alexander had had enough.

He plopped down on the ground, elbows in his lap—chin resting in his palms. 

He noticed a few pictures being snapped of him, bright flashes emerging from the crowd.

Great, now the world knows how unless I am. 

How convenient. 

Raphael glanced at Alexander, his eyes narrowed. 

"Pay attention." 

"I am," Alexander grumbled, rolling his eyes. 

"Not much else to do." 

Raphael nodded. 

"Good, I'm quizzing you after this."

Alexander slowly glanced up, his golden eyes narrowed. 

"You're joking."

Raphael smirked—the kind that said, 'you wish.'

The green flag rose again, and the teams jogged into position. 

Everyone moved with slower steps—heavier breaths.

But as the flag dropped, the match began with the same intensity.

And after fifteen minutes, the round was called. 

"Round point, François academy! Score 2-3."

Alexander prepared for the final round with a sigh—when a familiar voice shouted from the stands.

"Alex, you got this, buddy!" 

Alexander shifted his attention, spotting the familiar figure.

Or to be more precise, figures.

The du Nova family.

André, Béatrice—and Louise.

All sat close to the field on the front row.

André was waving a large François banner, while Béatrice watched with an aloof expression. 

Louise meanwhile, was holding his gaze. 

Her red eyes burned into his.

Alexander swallowed hard as he stood up, quickly averting his gaze.

Shit. Why are they here?! 

Before anything else could happen—the green flag dropped and the round began.

The two teams crashed in the center, but unlike the last few times.

Raphael began jogging forward. 

"Guard the rear." 

He ordered—before breaking into a sprint, his scythe trailing behind him.

Alexander blinked. "H-huh?"

By the time Alexander realized what was happening—the crowd went wild.

"And what's this?!" The announcer boomed, "Captain Raphael, finally joining the battle!"

Elara's trident clashed against Aloïs's hammer with a crack, and the two were lost in a fierce duel.

Then, in the corner of her eye—she spotted a red blur darting towards the center.

Her eyes went wide as she barked orders. 

"Fall back, regroup!" 

But it was too late, Raphael crashed into the fray like a storm. 

He whipped his scythe like the Reaper incarnate.

Snatching up Loire players and throwing them onto the ground. 

He grabbed one by the neck—kneeing the player in the stomach while swinging his scythe to chop down another player. 

The François team snatched up flags as Loire broke under Raphael's pressure.

Elara gathered her remaining teammates and retreated to the second contact line. 

"Defensive formation!"

Raphael gritted his teeth—his eyes frosty with a cold intensity. 

"Aloïs, Lucie! On me." He barked, his voice slicing through the chaos. 

Both vice-captains dropped their assignments and flanked Raphael.

As the trio charged Elara and her crumbling line, Alexander stepped forward. 

"Come on." 

He whispered.

The two clashed—Elara locked weapons with Raphael, pushing hard. 

"Finally decided to play, pretty boy?!" 

She hissed, half angry—half panicked. 

Sweat rolled down her forehead as her lips formed a snarl. 

Raphael chuckled darkly. 

"Night-Night, princess."

He surged forward—sweeping Elara's feet and pushing her to the ground.

"Out!" An official called. 

The remaining Loire players rushed back to defend the final flag.

Just four players left.

Raphael sighed as he handed off the flag to Aloïs. 

"No need to push, we'll run the clock out." 

The vice-captain nodded, forming a defensive hold.

Back in the center circle, the rest of the team began to relax and lounge. 

Jules waved for Alexander and the remaining first-years to push up. 

Meanwhile, Raphael tossed his scythe aside and sat next to Elara—who lay flat on her back.

"You… bastard." She wheezed. "I'll get you next time, that's for damn sure."

Raphael leaned his head back and laughed. 

A deep, rumbling sound. 

"Ah, you and your delusions of grandeur." 

He crossed his legs casually, as if chatting up an old friend. 

"Tell me, did you truly think I wouldn't join?"

Elara frowned, propping herself up on her elbows. 

"I don't know—figured you were just overconfident."

Raphael smirked. 

"How can I be overconfident when I'm simply better?" 

He winked.

Elara rolled her eyes. 

"Dick."

"Time!" The referee's whistle pierced the air, sharp and final. "Final score, 2-4! François victory!"

The arena erupted, red and gray confetti shot up—blanketing the blue and gold that still lingered on the field. 

The announcer's voice boomed with thrill. 

"What an upset folks! Loire fought tooth and nail, but will leave today with a record of 1-1! And give it up for our currently undefeated team, with a record of 1-0!"

He then snickered.

"Let's uh… let's hope they can hold on better than Loire academy, huh?"

The crowd booed overwhelmingly as attendees stood up to leave.

The announcer cackled.

"What? Why are you booing me? I'm right!" 

Alexander stood amongst his teammates. 

Confetti swirled in the chilly wind as players hugged and high-fived each other. 

Alexander felt outta place. 

He hadn't swung his weapon once—not a single flag captured.

And yet Karl and Jules cheered with him all the same.

Ugh… is this how bench warmers feel?

Raphael sauntered towards the center, his scythe slung over his shoulder.

His expression was unreadable—but his eyes gleamed. 

"I'd say congratulations are in order, but you haven't done anything worth celebrating." 

He continued, his voice calm and commanding. 

"Winning a battle doesn't win the war—it makes your enemies desperate and clouds your judgment."

"The playbooks are already shifting, we need to move faster." 

Then, he stepped away—waving a hand in a circular motion. 

"Let's move."