Chapter 25: Snacks and fight buddies

Mr. Huo raised his voice again—like we were stationed on opposite mountaintops.

"PAIR ONE—GET UP TO THE PLATFORM! Three rounds, then rotate!"

No pause. No acknowledgment needed. Matches began.

One after another, students stepped up to the sparring ring—twelve teams total. Each match followed the same rhythm: a quick offensive flurry, wild defensive scrambles, and the occasional overdramatic collapse that got a few snorts from the crowd.

This was human-only sparring. No beasts. Not yet.

The first few bouts? Hot messes. Half looked like toddlers fighting over a foam bat. But a few flickers stood out—bait moves, shaky coordination, rare moments of actual strategy.

Match One? A masterpiece in disaster.

Mr. Huo shouted, "BEGIN!"

They leapt—if you could call it that. Mostly just flailing.

One kid tried to cast a fireball. Got a puff of smoke and a wheeze. The other attempted a wind slice, cut nothing but the air in front of their own face.

They dodged anyway. Just in case.

"What are they dodging?" Maxius murmured.

"Each other's imagination," Lufei replied, delicately licking spicy powder off her hoof.

Then came the world's slowest punch—a shoulder tap followed by a full-body lunge that missed entirely. Momentum betrayed them. They collided, arms windmilling—

—and tripped over each other.

A perfect beat of silence.

Then they tumbled off the edge, tangled and groaning.

Mr. Huo facepalmed. Loudly.

"Double disqualification!" he barked. "You tripped each other off the ring!"

The class erupted. Some clapped. Which made it worse.

I didn't laugh. I zoomed in on my phone.

"Dodged empty spells. No core control. Zero posture," I muttered.

"Elegant chaos," Maxius noted.

"Four out of ten," Lufei judged. "Minus three for footwork. Plus one for the fall."

Jin Minhe leaned over. "That punch was a friendship tap."

I nodded. "The kind before you betray someone in the cafeteria line."

The next students were called.

If this was the standard, it'd be a long—but very educational—afternoon.

Still, I recorded every match. Arms folded. Hawk-eyed.

Match Two had promise.

Mr. Huo barely shouted "Begin!" before the green-haired kid surged forward. Low stance, eyes locked.

His opponent—taller, stiffer—mirrored late.

They met mid-platform, fists flying. This time, the hits landed.

The green-haired kid ducked an uppercut, jabbed twice into the ribs—clean technique, faint qi shimmer around his arms. Speed enhancement. Sloppy but there.

The taller one swept out a leg. Green-hair stumbled—then backflipped into a palm strike.

Thump.

I leaned forward. "Finally. Core engaged."

"Palm strike was decent," Maxius noted. "Timing's still off."

"Six out of ten," Lufei said through a crisp. "Heels, not balls of feet. Tsk."

Then—bam. Elbow to the temple.

Taller kid dropped like wet laundry.

Gasps. Then silence.

"Winner—Qin Fei!" Mr. Huo announced.

Green-hair turned, panting, gave a sheepish thumbs-up.

Real applause.

I paused my vid and noted:

"Qin Fei. Efficient qi channeling. Wild elbow timing. Recreate arc angle. Opponent: poor guard maintenance."

I peeked at Jin Minhe's notes.

"Green-hair spins. Hits hard. Avoid elbows."

I grinned. "We're gonna get along fine."

Match Three?

Wind girl. Jet Gale. One blast. Opponent yeeted. Game over.

"Wind types are fast and rude," I muttered.

"Not elegant," Maxius sighed.

"But effective," Lufei grinned.

Match Four?

A sleepy-eyed robe boy tossed enchanted scrolls. Opponent started dancing. Badly. Then chicken-strutted off the platform.

"Winner… Zhou Jin?" Mr. Huo said, unsure.

We howled.

Even I cracked a smile. "Dumb. But I respect it."

I zoomed in. Mental disruption threads, scroll casting speed.

"Would that work on Mystic?" Lufei asked.

"Only once," Maxius replied.

"Mystic would punt that wizard into next year," I added.

Matches 5–10 blurred.

Some punches. Flame bursts. One guy misfired himself into oblivion. Mild chaos. Early learners. Not contenders.

Match Eleven?

Art.

An eleven-year-old girl with snow-white braids. A copper-skinned boy with stormy eyes.

They didn't rush. Just stared.

Tension built.

Mr. Huo, unusually calm: "Next round… begin."

She moved first. Qi-coated legs. Low slicing kick. He neutralized it—not dodged, just slid back precisely.

Palm. Elbow. Shoulder feint. Retreat.

"Footwork's clean," Maxius murmured.

"She favors momentum," Lufei whispered. "Watch her ankles."

Then—

Ice spear.

Eight feet. Exploded into the floor. The temperature dipped.

She used it like a launchpad. One-leg jump. Flying.

He ducked and countered with a lightning dagger. It nicked her arm—blood trickled.

She grinned.

Spun the spear like a baton. Low squat. Sweep kick. He fell—rolled—counter-kick to her gut.

She grunted, but caught him mid-lunge.

Arm around shoulder. Legs around neck.

Twist. Lock. Tap.

Whistle.

Crowd: explosion.

I stood. Fist pump. "That was so clean!"

"Proper match," Maxius said.

"She baited with pain," Lufei added. "Blood sharpens the field."

Saved vid. "Ice user. Agile. Grapples. Boy's lightning fast. Reaction speed: high. Both = sparring material."

Even Jin Minhe looked impressed.

I grinned.

This world?

Full of weird, wonderful talents. I wasn't the only anomaly. That mattered.

And I'd learn from all of them.

Even the dancing curse guy.

Especially him.

Lufei nibbled a sugar-dried lotus petal. Maxius ruffled his feathers—the real wing shifting, phantom one still cloaked.

"This isn't break time," I said firmly. "Full analysis later. Positioning, timing, scroll use—everything."

Maxius gave a low whistle—reluctant agreement.

Lufei nodded, stately and unbothered.

"Good," I said. "Because if you zone out mid-duel thinking about snacks—"

"Like Jin?" Maxius muttered.

"He has strategy," I deadpanned. "His strategy is snacks."

Jin Minhe nodded like I'd quoted scripture.

The eleventh match ended in a failed backflip faceplant. Iconic.

Then—

"FAN YUMEI. JIN MINHE. TO THE PLATFORM. NOW!"

Jin blinked, then walked forward like this was a grocery run.

I rolled my shoulders, cracked my neck, followed.

Lufei and Maxius stayed with their snack pile—but their eyes tracked us.

They knew.

The real match was about to begin.

And so did I.