Chapter 15: The Last Bruise Before the Real Fight (3)

My chest heaved with each breath, lungs burning.

Sweat dripped down my forehead, stinging my eyes.

The tip of my blade hovered just above his chest — close enough to draw blood if I pressed forward.

He lay sprawled on the ground, limbs trembling, breath shallow. His eyes were unfocused, blinking rapidly as if trying to make sense of what just happened.

The match was over.

And the result was obvious.

I won.

"Looks like it's my win," I said.

My blade lowered, the tension in my body slowly uncoiling.

He lay there, breathing hard — but smiling.

"Well, seems you still have it in you, Mr. Brightwill," he said. Tone formal. Polite. Almost too polite.

"Hmm… maybe you're right," I replied, offering him a hand.

He took it, and I pulled him back to his feet.

Once upright, he brushed the dust off his training gear.

"You alright?" I asked.

"Thanks for the concern, Mr. Brightwill. But it'll take more than that to leave a mark."

"Good. Yelena would probably be upset if I sent one of her subordinates limping back with a traumatized expression."

"Oh, you don't have to worry about that, Miss Yelen—"

He stopped.

Just a flicker. Barely a pause.

But I caught it.

"How'd you figure it out?" he asked, trying to keep his voice neutral.

"It wasn't hard," I said with a shrug. "Everyone else was actually training. You were just doing drills. Waiting."

I tilted my head.

"Strong build, good posture, uses a sword. Pretty much the exact type I needed to test myself against."

Then I looked at him.

"And that formal tone? Kind of hard to miss."

"Haha, you really are smart, Mr. Brightwill. I'll give you that."

I shrugged.

"Please. It didn't take Sherlock Holmes to figure you out. Even a five-year-old with half a brain could've done it."

"Uhh… who's Sherlock Holmes?"

I blinked.

"...Forget it."

Explaining cultural references to people from a different world wasn't worth the effort.

I shifted my grip on the sword, letting the moment settle.

"So? Did Yelena say anything?"

"Like what?"

"I don't know. A message, maybe? Or did she just send you here to check on me?"

He shook his head. "Just gave a few instructions. Nothing more."

"Hmm."

I gave a small nod.

"So, what now? Want to keep going?"

"No. That's enough for today," I said flatly. "Any more than this, and we won't even be able to stand straight for the combat evaluation tomorrow."

"Haha, you're right about that," he chuckled. "Kinda forgot in the heat of it."

"Hah… we should get going," I muttered, turning toward the exit of the training hall.

My footsteps echoed softly as I made my way across the floor.

Just as I was about to step out, I paused.

"Hey."

"Yes?"

I didn't turn around.

"Sword's not your main weapon, is it?"

A short silence.

Then, I heard a quiet chuckle behind me.

"You really are a keen observer, Mr. Brightwill."

I didn't say anything back. Just kept walking and left.

After that, I headed straight to the nurse's office.

Minor injuries, nothing serious — just some scrapes and bruises.

Still, that didn't stop the nurse from glaring at me like I'd committed a war crime.

"Didn't I tell you yesterday to take it easy?"

She didn't even wait for me to sit down before launching into a lecture.

I stood there, tuning out most of it.

Nods here and there. Occasional "mmhm." Didn't listen to a word she said, honestly.

Again.

Still, she treated the wounds anyway — muttering under her breath the whole time like I was some stubborn child.

Maybe she's right. But hey… I never promised I'd be obedient.

Once that was done, I made my way back to my room.

Ordered dinner from the canteen — something warm, heavy, and satisfying.

Then came a hot bath.

Thankfully, the bandages were waterproof. Small mercy.

The steam curled around me, the heat soaking deep into my sore muscles.

For a moment… it felt nice.

Calm.

Almost like peace.

"Tomorrow's the day, huh…" I muttered, running my fingers through my wet hair.

With a deep sigh, I rose from the bathtub — the water sloshing quietly around me.

I grabbed a towel, wrapped it around my waist, and used another to start drying my hair.

I stood in front of the large bathroom mirror.

Took a moment to observe myself.

Still on the skinny side — I need to put on some weight.

The dark circles under my eyes had faded a little. That was something, at least.

But the eyes themselves…

Pitch black. Blank. Cold.

Not the kind of eyes you can read. Not the kind most people can hold eye contact with.

There's something about them that makes others look away — like they're staring into something bottomless.

Not fear. Just… discomfort.

Like I remind them of something they'd rather not acknowledge.

Even the strong ones hesitate.

Except for a few.

As I stared, I reached up and slowly peeled off the patch from my nose.

The skin underneath was tender — a little raw — but manageable.

Another reminder.

Tomorrow's the day, after all.

After a final glance at the mirror, I turned, ready to step out.

But I didn't.

Because something shifted.

Suddenly, the warmth of the bathroom was gone — replaced by a strange, suffocating stillness.

The light dimmed. The color bled out from the world. Everything — the walls, the floor, the steam — turned a shade of gray.

Motionless. Silent. Frozen in time.

Except me.

I took a breath, but even the sound of that felt muted — as though the air had thickened. I turned back to the mirror.

And froze.

My reflection hadn't followed me.

It stood still, facing forward with the same towel, the same wet hair, the same blank face — but it didn't mimic me. It just stared.

Expressionless. Empty. Watching.

Something was wrong.

I stepped closer. The reflection didn't move. Didn't blink. It was like a still image — frozen… until its eyes lifted.

Slowly. Unnaturally.

And for the first time, it met my gaze.

Those eyes — pitch black. But darker than mine. Deeper. Hollow. Consuming.

My mouth went dry.

Then it moved.

Its lips began to shift, soundless, like a broken film reel playing on mute.

I leaned closer, trying to make out the words.

Ed… Edward…

Mak… make sure t—

Make sure to make tomorrow's duel brutal.

What?

Why?

I opened my mouth to ask — but no words came out.

Then its hand rose. Slowly. Deliberately.

And it touched the inside of the mirror.

But it didn't stop there.

The surface rippled — like water disturbed by a stone — and its hand passed through. No resistance. No sound.

I stumbled back, but… couldn't move. Something invisible held me in place. Tight. Unrelenting.

The reflection stepped closer, inch by inch, until its pale face neared the other side. Its expression didn't change. Still blank. Still watching.

Then… Its finger reached out — and touched my forehead.

Cold. Like frostbite. Like death. Like winter had been poured into my veins.

But beneath the cold, something else burned.

My eyes. A heat bloomed behind them — sharp and invasive — like someone was carving something deep inside with molten ink.

I grit my teeth, but didn't scream.

Then, the hand retreated, slowly slipping back into the mirror.

And for the first time, I heard its voice. Whispered. Echoed. Crooked.

"Make sure to use the gift… well."

A crack split across the mirror. A jagged line.

And in the blink of an eye — everything returned.

Color. Sound. Warmth.

I gasped and looked around.

The steam was back. The water still running in the tub. The faint scent of soap in the air.

I turned back to the mirror.

Just my reflection.

Only me.

But that jagged crack remained — right where the finger touched.

I raised my hand slowly, placing it against the fractured glass.

It shattered.

Not loudly — no dramatic crash — just a soft, fragmented sound, like ice breaking underfoot.

And in the silence that followed…

I felt something inside me stir.

I stood there for a moment longer, staring at the broken mirror.

No reflection. Just shards. Just cracks.

I could still feel the lingering cold on my skin — especially where that thing… touched me.

But the heat behind my eyes had faded, replaced by a dull throb. Like something had been left behind. Buried just beneath the surface.

I didn't sleep right away.

After I cleaned up the broken mirror and dressed, I found myself sitting at the edge of my bed, staring at nothing.

No thoughts. Just stillness.

My mind replayed the moment in the bathroom again and again. His eyes. That voice. The burning behind mine.

"Make sure to use the gift well."

I don't even know what the gift is yet.

But my instincts are screaming that I've already used it once before… and didn't notice.

Something had awakened.

Not fully. Not yet. But the surface was cracked now. Whatever was buried — it's close to rising.

And when it does…

No. That's a thought for another time.

Outside the window, the academy was quiet.

Not the kind of quiet that brings peace.

The kind that comes before something begins.

Something irreversible.

I lay back in bed and pulled the covers over.

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Author's Note:

Hey everyone, thanks for reading this chapter!

Quick question — how did you feel about the whole mirror scene and the darker, more psychological vibe this time?

Do you like this kind of eerie, mysterious theme mixed into the story… or would you rather I not go in that direction too often?

Let me know in the comments. Your feedback really helps shape where things go next! :)