The late afternoon sun blazed overhead, casting a golden hue over the courtyard.
A hush fell over the students gathered around the dueling stage.
This was it.
The final match.
The last two standing — Arin of Class A and Kaelen of Class A.
Arin stepped up onto the stage, his heart pounding in his chest.
His body still ached faintly from the match against Sera, but his spirit was sharp.
Across from him, Kaelen stood with his arms folded, his expression as unreadable as ever.
There was no arrogance in his stance, only calm precision.
He was like a blade — polished, sharp, waiting for the right moment to strike.
Arin tightened his fists.
He couldn't afford even a single mistake.
The instructor raised his hand, voice ringing out clear and firm:
"Begin!"
Kaelen moved instantly.
Like a shadow, he closed the distance between them with frightening speed.
Arin barely brought up his arms in time to block a sharp strike aimed at his ribs.
The force of the blow sent him skidding back across the stage, boots scraping against the stone.
Before he could recover, Kaelen was already moving again — a blur of motion, pressing the attack.
Arin gritted his teeth.
He wasn't faster.
He wasn't stronger.
But he still had his instincts.
He shifted his weight, letting Kaelen's next strike glance off his side, and countered with a low sweeping kick.
Kaelen leapt lightly over it and retaliated with a swift downward strike aimed at Arin's shoulder.
Pain flared as Arin blocked, the shock running through his bones.
The spectators leaned forward in their seats, silent, watching with wide eyes.
This wasn't like the earlier matches.
This was a real fight.
High above, on the viewing platform, the principal watched closely.
Beside him, Elder Maren murmured, "Kaelen is refined... already moving like a second-level cultivator."
The principal said nothing, his sharp gaze fixed on Arin.
There was something unfolding on that stage — something not easily measured by strength alone.
Arin panted, sweat dripping down his forehead.
He couldn't win by matching Kaelen blow for blow.
He had to find another way.
He remembered Sera's relentless attacks.
He remembered Derrin's wild, unpredictable style.
And he realized — sometimes, survival itself was a kind of victory.
He changed his rhythm — stepping back, dodging at the last possible second, making Kaelen miss by inches.
Kaelen's attacks grew sharper, faster, more frustrated.
A tiny crack appeared in his perfect rhythm.
Arin seized the moment.
He feinted left, forcing Kaelen to commit to a heavy strike, then spun low and slammed his palm into Kaelen's side with all the spiritual energy he could muster.
Kaelen stumbled — just a little — but enough.
Arin pressed forward desperately, striking again and again.
Their movements blurred together, a whirlwind of light and shadow.
The students watching held their breath, some even forgetting to blink.
At last, with one final push, Arin knocked Kaelen off-balance.
Kaelen hit the ground, one knee down — disqualified by the rules of the duel.
The courtyard exploded into cheers and gasps.
Arin stood there, panting heavily, barely able to keep himself upright.
The instructor raised his hand, voice loud and clear:
"Winner — Arin, Class A!"
Sera was the first to reach him, grabbing his arm to steady him.
"You idiot," she said, half-laughing, half-scolding.
"You look like you're about to fall over."
Derrin barreled into him from the side, nearly knocking them both down.
"You did it!" Derrin shouted, eyes wide with excitement.
"You actually did it!"
Arin just grinned, too tired to speak.
Above, the principal smiled faintly.
Elder Maren exhaled slowly.
"You were right," he said.
"He's rough... but he's got something."
The principal nodded.
"Potential. True potential."
He turned away from the stage, his voice carrying a final, quiet command:
"Prepare the invitations."
Something new was beginning.
And Arin had just taken his first real step into a much larger world.