Friends or Enemies?

"The students will be selected based on a series of rigorous trials designed to test not just their strength, but their strategy, endurance, adaptability, and control over both mana and martial skill." Kael announced, his voice cutting through the noise like a blade.

"These tests will not be easy. They will push you beyond your limits. Only those who can endure—only those who can rise—will earn the right to represent Astarst Academy."

He paused for effect, letting the weight of his words settle over the crowd.

"Those who pass will move on to face students from the most elite institutions across the continents. You'll fight not just for personal glory, but for our Academy's pride, honor, and future. The Continental Martial-Mana Tournament is more than a battle of strength—it's a stage where legends are born, alliances are forged, and the weak are forgotten."

The courtyard, moments ago buzzing with energy, was now filled with focused silence.

"Prepare yourselves." Kael announced, his voice resonating through the hall. "Because the trials begin in three days. And once they do, there's no turning back."

Dinner that evening was a strange mix of nerves and excitement. Students filled the mess hall, huddled in groups, plates of food barely touched as strategies were exchanged in hushed, intense conversations. Talk of formations, mana control, weapon preferences, and sparring partners buzzed in the air like electricity.

Elias Astiars sat quietly at the end of a long table, poking at his food with the tip of his fork. He watched the others with mild detachment, their animated voices seeming distant.

Three days. That wasn't enough to become good at both martial combat and mana manipulation. Not for someone like him. He didn't have the years of training or the dangerous instincts half these students carried in their bones. He sighed, lazily chewing a bite of lukewarm stew.

What am I supposed to do? he thought. Be the underdog who suddenly awakens some secret potential and shocks the world? That's not me. I'm meant to fail. I created this world… and I made sure someone like me wouldn't stand a chance.

A movement across the table drew his gaze.

A group of students had taken the seats directly opposite him. They looked relaxed, confident. Familiar in that way people become after you've seen them in your own writing a thousand times, yet… Elias couldn't place them. Not entirely.

His eyes settled on the girl sitting at the center of the group.

Serelith Arwena.

Golden hair falling freely past her shoulders. Calm blue eyes that seemed to study him with more curiosity than judgment. Her smile was warm—genuine even—and for a moment, it unsettled him more than any glare would've.

Beside her sat two other students, watching him with the same easy interest.

"So, are you planning to compete in the tournament too?" Slain asked, leaning forward slightly.

Elias blinked, pulled out of his internal spiral. The question didn't register at first. He looked at the boy, confused.

"Oh right." The boy chuckled, catching the look. "You probably don't know us. We've never really talked." He gestured toward himself with a small grin. "I'm Slain Minasta. This guy here is Kaelrix Vornan. And she—" he nodded toward the girl beside him. "—is Serelith Arwena."

Serelith... why do I feel like I've forgotten something important about her? Elias's mind raced. She was supposed to be a supporting character. Just a name I dropped in. But why do I feel like she had a bigger purpose? Something I wrote… and then buried? He thought before nodding slowly.

"Uh… Elias Astiars."

"Oh, we already know." Kaelrix said, smirking.

Of course they know, Elias thought dryly. I'm famous. For absolutely nothing.

No talent. Nothing. Just the guy people used to knock around when they were bored. A reputation built on bruises and silence.

Slain's grin stretched even wider, his energy infectious, as he leaned in across the table. He looked moments away from bursting with excitement.

"We saw you take out Zaden and his crew. You were so cool."

Elias blinked.

Oh. That's right.

That fight—or whatever that chaos was—felt like a blur to him. A moment where he simply snapped, where the usual numbness faded just long enough to throw a punch that actually landed.

"So, are you also taking part in the tournament?" Slain asked, his tone hopeful, like he genuinely wanted Elias to say yes.

Elias hesitated. His fingers gripped the edge of his tray, the warmth from his food long gone.

Was he? He hadn't decided. The trials were just three days away. He didn't stand a chance, not really. But something about the way they were looking at him… like he wasn't just the school's favorite punching bag… it felt strange. Disorienting.

"Um… I don't know. Maybe." Elias finally replied, his voice low.

Slain lit up like he'd just been told he'd won a lifetime supply of mana cores. But it was Serelith who spoke next.

"Then you definitely should." She said, her voice calm and clear, but filled with certainty. "We all can train together and try out for the tournament. It'll be more fun that way."

Before he could respond, Serelith reached across the table and gently placed her hand over his.

The contact was so sudden, so unexpected, that Elias froze.

Her fingers were warm against his skin, soft but steady. Not just a casual touch—something about it felt intentional. Kind. Familiar, even.

His breath caught in his throat, and he quickly pulled his hand away, as if burned.

"Uh… yeah… yeah sure." The words stumbled out before his brain could fully catch up. His ears felt hot.

Serelith didn't seem offended. She just smiled, that same calm expression never wavering, and nodded like everything was perfectly normal.

Elias sat still for a moment, his heart thudding just a little faster than before.

What the hell is happening?

Why were people being friendly all of a sudden? Slain, Kaelrix, Serelith—they were treating him like he belonged, like he was part of something.

Was this a part of the story he forgot to write? Or had the world begun writing itself now?

He glanced at Serelith again.

Something about her… it tugged at the back of his mind, like a memory sealed behind fog. Like he had written her with more purpose than he remembered—and now, she was stepping into that purpose whether he recalled it or not.

And that scared him more than anything else.