When Giuseppe Castellano gets angry, he enters what Marcus calls one of three stages of Rage Mode.
Stage One: The Harassment / Insult Stage.
This is Giuseppe's version of being mildly irritated. It might be triggered by something simple, such as; bumping shoulders with him in the street, being happy around him without permission, etc.
You know, the usual cardinal sins.
One time, a barista got his order wrong at a café. Every single day, for 6 months—Giuseppe created a new account just to leave a bad review on that place. He single-handedly dragged down their rating from 4.3 stars to 2.1 stars.
The place had already shut down by month 4. But he continued.
He had never even tasted the coffee.
Stage Two: The Violent / Beatdown Stage.
This one is rather self-explanatory.
At this point, Giuseppe no longer wants to make a point—he wants to make a crater in your face. And he will fight the cause of his anger until he is satisfied.
Surviving this stage is the minimum requirement for earning Giuseppe's interest. If one really manages to impress him, he may even extend an invitation to become part of the most exclusive circle ever made.
His group of "subordinates."
(Also known as his friends. But he doesn't like calling them that because the fucker is allergic to positivity.)
And finally.
Stage Three: The Silent / Death Stage.
At this point, the cause of Giuseppe's anger is already considered dead. Because no matter what, he will not rest until his opponent is on the ground, lifeless.
No yelling. No trash talk. No theatrics.
Just…Silence.
***
Giuseppe lounged in the spectator stands like he hadn't just turned someone's skull into soup.
Blood still clung to his fists, staining the sleeves of his uniform and dripping faintly onto the floor. It looked more like a crime scene than an after-match cooldown.
The ever-helpful Tandav gave him a towel to dry off the rest of Ryan from Giuseppe's face and fist.
More like threw it at his face, calling him unsightly—but the details were unimportant.
Giuseppe caught it mid-air without a word, wiping his fist lazily.
He didn't seem offended. If anything, he looked… peaceful.
The others watched him in a mix of silence and unease.
Daniel exchanged a look with Tandav and Arthur. They all understood the same thing without needing to say it:
Giuseppe hated people who lacked what he called, a fighting spirit.
That wasn't new.
But they have only ever seen him enter the 'second stage' at most from those types.
'We thought we understood his thresholds,' Daniel mused grimly, 'but we underestimated what would happen if one of them challenged him directly.'
Contrary to their expectations, though, Giuseppe was feeling great.
He exhaled. Not a sight of exhaustion, but of blissful satisfaction.
He felt like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. Like he had finally scratched an itch that he didn't know was driving him mad.
A sense of exhilaration washed over him, easing into his heart with a feeling of relief and calm.
"Ahh~, that was nice," He murmured under the towel, his body slumped back into his seat as if he'd just gotten out of a relaxing bath.
The towel covered his face, but the others could tell from his slow, calm breathing—he had fallen asleep.
While he was relaxing, Mavena continued to announce the fights.
Betting had become pointless.
The moment anyone even thought about placing a wager, Giuseppe would glance up, mutter a single name, and without fail, that person would win.
Months ago, it was impressive. Now, it was just annoying.
So the rest of the students had given up entirely, slumped in their seats, spectating out of obligation rather than excitement.
As far as Giuseppe was concerned, nothing was worth watching. Not today.
Until one.
"Next," Mavena called out, her voice sharp and resonant. "Miiro Torman. Evelynne Pakhet. Step forward."
Giuseppe's attention, which had been drifting like a leaf in the wind, suddenly anchored itself to that name.
If asked what about it caught his attention, he wouldn't be able to answer, but something about that girl, Evelynne, made him interested.
His black eyes turn a shade darker as he closely scrutinises her, and even he finds himself slightly captivated.
Evelynne is a striking young woman with long, wavy black hair that cascades past her thighs, glimmering like liquid obsidian under the arena lights. Her fiery golden eyes burn like twin suns, radiating an intensity that captivates all who meet her gaze.
Her skin, kissed by sun and flame, wrapped tightly over a body built for war—sculpted abs, fluid strength in her legs.
She dresses in a stylish yet practical outfit—form-fitting grey jean shorts that accentuate her graceful curves. A sleek black shirt, and a flowing white long coat that billows with every step. It reminded Giuseppe of the coat a doctor or scientist would wear.
As he was inspecting her, Evelynne turned her head, and their eyes met.
But his vision wasn't focused on Evelynne alone.
Behind her, towered a colossal beast—a white and gold wolf with obsidian claws, coiled in slumber like a divine beast. It exhaled softly, dreaming of carnage.
Giuseppe's eyes widen, before a ferocious grin creeps up on his face.
'She has it too… A brilliant fighting spirit!'
The only thing on his mind right now was the desire to bring that beast out and wake it the fuck up.
He wiped the corner of his mouth, realising he was salivating. "I want to fight her…"
The others silently stare at Giuseppe with an unreadable expression.
'Did he just fall in love?'
'I honestly thought he was asexual,'
'I thought he was war-sexual,'
'True, I honestly wouldn't be surprised if he popped a hard-on during a fight,'
'Is that even a thing?'
'Probably not, but…?'
'Fair enough,'
The group seemed to telepathically communicate with their eyes.
Unaware of his friends' internal dialogue, Giuseppe was closely analysing Evelynne as she stepped into the arena to fight…He had already forgotten her opponent's name.
'Was it Frank? Maybe Mike? Or Ryan? No, that was my opponent,' He pondered, his eyes wandered to Evelynne's opponent.
Miiro was just as forgettable as his name—a short, wiry boy with messy ginger hair and plain brown eyes. A scattering of freckles dotted his face, giving him a perpetually boyish look. His posture was slightly hunched as if he were trying to make himself smaller, blending into the background with practised ease.
He wore a simple brown hoodie, a bit too big for his frame, paired with worn-out jeans and scuffed sneakers. Nothing about him stood out—just another face in the crowd, easily overlooked and quickly forgotten.
As the two fighters stepped into the arena, the Simulation Core hummed to life, recreating a small portion of a city within the coliseum-like arena.
Towering skyscrapers materialised, their glass windows reflecting the artificial sun hanging overhead. Neon signs flickered to life, casting a cyberpunk glow over the rain-slicked streets.
Vehicles lined the roads, a distant siren wailed, adding to the illusion.
Mavena glanced at the two fighters, who were picking their weapons from their respective racks.
Miiro picked out a simple Katana, his hand closing around the hilt. He gave it a brief, respectful glance before drawing it in a fluid motion, settling into a classic iaijutsu stance—low, focused, and ready to strike in a flash. There was no flair, no unnecessary movement—only a deep calmness, like a lake.
Evelynne picked out a massive two-handed sword that dwarfed her frame. The greatsword gleamed under the simulation's artificial sun, its long blade nearly touching the ground. With a single, practised motion, she rested it across her shoulders, its weight looked meaningless to her. The sheer difference between her elegant appearance and the brutal sword was staggering.
From the spectator stands, Giuseppe leaned forward, his eyes lighting up the moment he saw it.
'A Zweihänder? My favourite,' Giuseppe thought, a wide grin spreading across his face.
Mavena stood motionless, eyes narrowed, as she determined that they were ready to fight.
"Begin!" She announces.
Miiro vanished in a blur of movement. His katana flashed in a low light, the wind parting around him as he shot forward.
His opening slash came fast, low and aimed at Evelynne's midsection, a textbook quick draw meant to end the fight in an instant.
But Evelynne was already moving.
With a sharp pivot, she twisted her hips and brought the Zweihänder down like a hammer. The sword moved with heavy momentum, its weight turned into raw force by her well-timed swing.
The air cracked as metal collided—Miiro's katana intercepted the blade, but the sheer power behind it sent him skidding backwards, boots grinding against the simulated pavement.
He barely kept his footing.
"A weapon that big shouldn't move so fast," Miiro mutters under his breath, eyes flicking warily to her stance.
The Zweihänder, massive and unwieldy in the hands of most, was like an extension of her body.
She danced with it masterfully, each motion was calculated beautifully.
And during every brutal move, Evelynne glanced into the spectator stands, locking eyes with Giuseppe.
'Is she trying to impress me?' He thinks with mirth as he watches her beat up Miiro.
'If so, it's working~'
Evelynne shot toward Miiro with wide, sweeping arcs to control the space before transforming into sudden lunges and heavy downward chops that cracked the fake pavement.
Miiro darted around her, looking for an opening. But every strike was parried with the flat of her blade, countered with spinning slashes and even used the ricasso—the unsharpened base of the Zweihänder near the hilt—to half-sword, gripping it with one hand like a staff, and thrusting with surprising speed and control.
Miiro barely managed to slip inside her guard, his katana grazing her side in a shallow cut.
Just as he hoped that cut would be a turning point, she brought her knee up into his stomach, stunning him, and followed with a Mordhau—reversing her grip and slamming the crossguard of the sword like a hammer into his skull repeatedly.
Miiro's brain matter spread across the street wall as he fell to his knees, dead.
Evelynne stood tall, the Zweihänder resting casually across her shoulder again.
Mavena said nothing, but she knew that she was going to get an earful from the principal later if she continued to let all these students die just before the big day.
"She is pretty good. I can see why you like her," Marcus says to Giuseppe. He wasn't blind enough to miss those glances the two gave each other during the fight.
Giuseppe doesn't say anything, but the horrifying smile on both their faces was all Marcus needed to know that those two lunatics were perfect for each other.
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Author Note:
;)