Chapter 18: Combat Evaluation (3)

The aftermath of the duel still lingered in the air.

I didn't bother to look back at the defeated Robert as I stepped out of the ring.

Let him lie there and rethink his life choices.

As I stepped off the dueling platform, the buzz of voices followed me.

Students whispered as I passed, their eyes flicking in my direction. Some tried to pretend they weren't looking. Others didn't even try. Their expressions ranged from vague curiosity to barely hidden surprise — and maybe, just maybe, a hint of something else.

Confusion? Wariness?

Doesn't matter.

The fight had been easy. Too easy, honestly.

Maybe Robert was just that weak. Or maybe I was stronger than I gave myself credit for.

Either way, it didn't change anything. I still had three more matches left today — and chances are, they wouldn't all be as laughably simple.

Still… I'll take the lucky draw. Starting the day off with a delusional idiot swinging a katana like he was in a stage play? That's a win in my book.

A staff member with a clipboard and a faintly glowing crystal badge gestured toward the resting zone — a shaded area on the far end of the arena, outfitted with benches, enchanted cooling fans, and

enough water to hydrate a small army"

I nodded, gave a polite half-wave, and made my way over.

The further I walked, the less the noise reached me.

Eventually, I found a quiet spot near the edge, away from the clusters of students already seated. I dropped down onto a bench and finally let myself breathe.

One down.

Three to go.

Across the arena, the clang of steel and the shouts of effort echoed through the air. Dozens of duels still raged on, each ring its own battlefield. Some students were holding their ground. Others… not so much.

Compared to them, I'd finished embarrassingly fast.

Or maybe impressively fast, depending on who you asked.

I leaned back against the cool stone wall behind the bench, letting my eyes drift lazily across the arena.

Some fighters moved with sharp discipline. Others relied purely on brute strength. And a few just flailed their weapons around like toddlers wielding foam bats — all motion, no form.

I watched what I could. The view from the resting area wasn't bad, but not good enough to see every duel in full detail. Just scattered glimpses through the open gaps in the crowd.

So, after a quick sip from the water bottle handed to me, I stood up.

I wasn't tired. I wasn't injured. And frankly, there was no point lingering in a space meant for people catching their breath.

I decided to move.

The spectators' gallery was packed with students — buzzing with whispers, side conversations, and occasional laughter. Some were leaning forward, keenly analyzing the fights. Others were just enjoying the show like it was a mid-week festival.

Eventually, I found a spot — not too crowded, with a decent view of a handful of ongoing matches. No familiar faces in sight, but that didn't bother me.

In the middle row, a girl caught my attention — blonde, focused, bow in hand. Her arrows moved like she'd threaded her thoughts into each shot. Clean, fast, and deliberate.

One strike clipped her opponent by the leg — a calculated shot that brought him down mid-lunge. A direct hit without being lethal.

Interesting.

I watched a few more exchanges unfold. Let the noise and motion of the arena bleed around me.

Then — I felt it.

Someone approaching. No hostility, just… presence. Quiet and subtle, like a breeze shifting direction.

"You finished your match quite fast."

The voice was casual, almost too casual.

I turned slightly and saw a boy standing beside me.

Plain face. Black hair. Brown eyes. Average in every way — the kind of student you forget minutes after meeting them.

No presence. No pride. No sharp edge of competitiveness. Just… there.

And yet, the way he'd appeared beside me — quiet, unnoticed — made me raise a brow.

I didn't reply. Just gave him a slight nod, waiting to see what he wanted.

He didn't speak right away.

Just stood next to me, arms folded, gaze fixed on the dueling grounds below.

"You know," Kevin said eventually, "I was a bit surprised when I saw your match."

I didn't look at him. My eyes stayed on the arena.

"Don't take it the wrong way," he added. "It's just... people talk. Rumors fly. That you've fallen from grace. That you're dead weight for Class B. The guy who doesn't contribute in anything remotely related to class rankings."

His tone wasn't cruel. Just matter-of-fact. Like he was reciting announcements from a bulletin board.

"So," I said, "when's your match?"

"Third round. First set."

"Hmm. You confident?"

"If my opponent's weak, yeah. Otherwise… not really."

No nervous laugh. No awkward pause.

Just straightforward honesty.

It caught me off guard.

Compared to our past conversations, he seemed strangely composed. Like something had shifted. But I wasn't interested in digging into that.

Not now.

Instead, I glanced at him again and asked what had been sitting in the back of my mind since yesterday.

"Hey," I said quietly, just enough for him to hear, "when I asked about Leon's performance during the dungeon break..."

Kevin tilted his head.

"...Why did you exaggerate it?"

He blinked once, then gave a small shake of his head — not in denial, but like brushing off a fly that landed on his thoughts.

"Well, I didn't," he said, eyes still fixed on the arena below.

The first round had just wrapped up. New students from the second round were making their way onto the stage.

"I just said what I believed was true," Kevin continued. "If Leon always had that kind of strength, why didn't he show it from the beginning? Why wait until the perfect moment, like it's all part of some staged performance?"

He paused, hands slipping into his pockets.

"You know, Mr. Brightwill… I find myself envious of people with real strength — the kind of strength that can change things. But I've never understood why so many of them choose to hide it."

There was no bitterness in his voice. Just quiet curiosity. A touch of something thoughtful beneath the usual plainness.

After a short silence, he added:

"Let's say you had that strength, Mr. Brightwill — the kind that could shift the outcome of everything."

His head tilted slightly, not quite looking at me.

"Would you hide it too?"

"Or would you use it from the start?"

I looked at him, expression unreadable.

"You're asking the wrong person."

Kevin gave a small laugh. "Haha… that's not true."

"Well, if you say so," I replied, shifting my gaze back to the arena. The second round had already begun. New pairs clashed under the sun, blades ringing out faintly in the distance.

I let the silence linger before speaking again.

"I think… strength isn't always a blessing. Especially when it first appears."

He said nothing, just listened.

"Strength draws attention. Envy. Expectation. And sometimes… jealousy wrapped in fake praise."

I paused.

"People don't like it when someone they underestimated climbs faster than them.

Especially when it's someone they never expected to succeed."

I glanced at him, then added after a moment of thought,

"The answer to your question?"

"If I had the kind of strength you're imagining… yes, I'd use it."

"But I wouldn't flaunt it like some fool. I wouldn't paint a target on my back before I got stronger—before I learned how to handle the fallout."

Kevin's eyes flicked my way.

"You have unique thoughts, Mr. Brightwill."

"Says the guy who asks all the unique questions."

He smiled. "Fair enough."

Then he straightened, brushing invisible dust from his sleeve.

"Well… it was nice talking. But I should get going. Third round's about to start."

I gave him a small nod.

And just like that, he walked off — quiet steps, fading into the crowd like he'd never been there at all.

My eyes drifted back to the arena.

They settled on a particular figure.

A boy with golden-blonde hair and sharp blue eyes.

Leon.

He moved effortlessly, his strikes clean, efficient — his stance too perfect to be anything but trained. His opponent looked competent… but it didn't matter.

Leon wasn't fighting seriously.

He was still holding back. I could see it. No — I could feel it.

If he wanted to end the match, he could. Right now. In one clean, decisive strike.

But he didn't.

He was waiting.

Watching.

Calculating.

Kevin's earlier question echoed again in my mind.

Should we hide our strength?

Or use it from the start — even if we don't know what consequences might follow?

Maybe neither.

Maybe it's not about what strength can do.

Maybe it's about how long you can carry it without losing something in the process

And in the middle of it all…

We're just trying to survive.

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📝 Author Fun Fact™

Did you notice? Edward has a habit of skipping details in his narration — not because he forgets, but because he thinks they're not worth mentioning.

Like how he never bothered to tell you which class Robert was from…

Or how, when he saw Leon's little friend group, he only described three of them — and completely skipped the other two boys.

Classic Edward behavior. Selective narration at its finest. 🙃