Clara Monitoring (2) {Fight?}

Three days had passed since that incident.

Rumors had started to swirl around the academy, ridiculous and wildly exaggerated ones. Apparently, someone had already seduced the kind-hearted Irish and the beautiful new transfer student.

And i was not even surprised as everyone looked at me with murderious intent.

To my horror, a new nickname had started spreading among the students like wildfire: "The Womanizer."

I had no idea how it even began. Seriously, how does interacting with two girls make me a womanizer? That's basic math, not harem-level nonsense! I sighed deeply, wondering how my life had spiraled so quickly.

To make matters worse, those three days in the academy had been pure torture. Clara and Irish never stopped clinging to me, sticking to my side like enchanted glue. Every other student looked at me like I'd just insulted their bloodline.

The murderous auras around me were real. Every glance felt like a dagger to the chest—or in more extreme cases, somewhere lower. I was supposed to be training, advancing my cultivation, maybe even meditating in peace...

Instead? I was having lunch with Clara and Irish. Again.

Looking at the two of them, I could only sigh internally. Clara, like a cunning fox, kept feeding me food—slice after slice, bite after bite. Irish, not wanting to lose ground, also tried feeding me lovingly, smiling as she offered me a spoonful.

I couldn't take it anymore.

"Okay, you two," I said, a bit more annoyed than I intended, "I can feed myself. Keep that to yourselves, alright?"

Irish pouted but obediently took the bite for herself, her cheeks puffed like a chipmunk. Clara just sighed dramatically, as if she were the victim of a great tragedy.

These two had been my entertainment lately—like characters in a romantic comedy where I was the unwilling main lead. I had to admit, it was kind of fun. Clara especially enjoyed provoking everyone around us. She yawned loudly and stretched her curvy figure right in the middle of the cafeteria, releasing a subtle waft of her perfume.

The result? Dozens of students gulped audibly. Her aura alone could melt steel.

Then, just as I was wondering how my life could get any weirder, a loud, obnoxious voice broke through the cafeteria.

"HEY, YOU PEASANT!"

Oh no. Not him again.

I turned around slowly to see him—the same arrogant nobleman I'd humiliated at the banquet. Greasy-haired, bloated like a whale with a noble crest pinned to his shirt, he looked like someone who bathed in expensive oil but forgot the water.

"I CHALLENGE YOU TO A DUEL!" he declared proudly. "WHOEVER WINS GETS CLARA AND IRISH!"

The cafeteria went dead silent.

I blinked, confused. "Wait, what?"

The nerve of this guy! First of all, who makes people the prize? And second of all, what kind of old-school fairytale logic was this?

Still, he was a 2-Star Knight, and he saw me as some weakling in Qi Refinement stage. He truly thought I was an easy win.

Then came the bombshell.

Clara raised a delicate hand and spoke, her voice loud and clear, "Sure. If you beat him, I'll be yours."

My eye twitched violently. She is truly evil.

The noble's already-fat face lit up like the moon. He looked like he'd just been told all the buffet tables in the world were his.

Irish turned bright red. "Clara!" she gasped, flustered and embarrassed. "You can't just—"

Too late. Everyone heard it. Everyone saw it. There was no backing out now.

I groaned and rubbed my temples. "Fine. Tomorrow at the arena. Ask a teacher to witness it."

By the time the next day came, the entire academy buzzed with rumors. The story had evolved tenfold. Now, apparently, I was going to fight a 2-Star Knight for the ownership of Clara and Irish. People were betting on me dying in under ten seconds.

But I... had other plans.

Diabolical plans.

So diabolical, they would haunt this academy forever. Plans that would ensure no one—no one—would ever dare challenge me again.

The day arrived.

The arena was packed. Hundreds of students sat in anticipation, their eyes hungry for drama. Even the teachers were watching from the elevated seats, curious about the outcome.

When I arrived at the arena gates, I carried two metal buckets. One in each hand.

The crowd burst into laughter.

"He brought buckets! What's he gonna do? Water the arena?" someone cackled.

But they didn't know. No one knew. Not even the gods could foresee what I had in store.

The noble, already red with rage, pointed at me. "Mocking me again?! You dare humiliate me twice?!"

The teacher raised a hand. "Begin!"

The fight started.

I activated Dragon Eye Technique, focusing my vision to slow his movements. His foot barely left the ground before I made my move.

With a grin—a diabolical grin—I opened the buckets.

A stench so foul, so vile, erupted into the arena that the entire front row covered their noses. Students started coughing, gagging, even climbing over each other to escape the smell.

"What the hell is that?!"

"It's—oh god—it's poop?!"

But not just any poop.

No, I had spent the entire night concocting a foul mix: beast dung, rotting herbs, and fermented egg yolk.

It was the poop of nightmares.

I summoned it with a flick of my hand using Grabbing Shallow Technique, and with perfect aim—years of dodgeball training finally paid off—I hurled the contents directly into the noble's face.

SPLAT.

Silence.

Then screams.

A brown explosion painted his smug, greasy face. He froze in place, his eyes twitching as the foul mixture dripped down his chin and into his mouth.

The entire crowd screamed in horror. Some fainted. One guy in the front row threw up on his boots.

Even the teacher took three steps back.

Clara? She burst out laughing, clutching her stomach.

Irish? Too stunned to move.

Me? I just smiled.

"That's what you get for calling people prizes, buddy."

The noble collapsed onto the ground, wheezing and crying, trying to scrape the poop off his face with his hands—only to smear it worse.