The battlefield still rumbled even after Ragnar's match. Explosions echoed through the training grounds—bursts of flame, the snap of vines lashing through smoke, and the roaring cheers of students filling the air. The scent of burnt grass and ozone lingered, mixing with the faint sweetness of pollen from the plant-user's attacks.
Ragnar sat on the sidelines, elbows resting on his knees, head bowed low. His usually sharp, confident eyes were dull—buried beneath the weight of guilt. Dirt clung to his gloves, and his knuckles were still slightly bloodied from the fight. The sunlight cut harsh shadows across his face, as if even the world was judging him.
From across the field, Yuuki noticed. But what caught his attention more wasn't Ragnar—it was Lilia. She wasn't watching the fight like everyone else. Her gaze was fixed on Ragnar, filled with quiet disappointment and something softer… sorrow.
Yuuki hesitated before walking toward her.
"Lilia?" he said quietly. "Are you okay?"
She turned to him, blinking as if pulled out of deep thought. "I'm fine, Mr. Sato. Why do you ask?"
Yuuki looked toward the ongoing duel—a flurry of fire and vines clashing midair. "Because you seem distant," he said.
Her expression hardened instantly. "I told you not to defend Ragnar for what he did."
"I'm not," Yuuki replied calmly. "I'm here to tell you to stop pushing your ideals onto him."
The words hit like a strike of lightning. The air turned tense. Even the crowd noise seemed to fade for a moment.
Lilia's eyes narrowed. "I'm not pushing anything onto Ragnar."
Yuuki shook his head slowly. "Yes, you are. You're convincing him that just because he's strong, he has to be some kind of hero." He looked down, fists tightening. "But he's not. None of us are. That's why we defend him. Because we know what it's like."
Lilia's lips parted slightly, but no words came.
Yuuki's voice grew sharper, colder. "Ragnar didn't earn the title of Saint because he was noble or heroic. The kingdom gave it to him because he's powerful—nothing more."
His eyes burned with restrained anger. "And the same people who look up to us, who call us 'Saints,' are the ones who treat us like filth the moment we show emotion or make a mistake. But when we fight back…" He scoffed, bitterness lacing his tone. "…it's suddenly wrong."
"Mr. Sato!" Lilia snapped, her voice cracking slightly.
But Yuuki didn't stop. His tone deepened, laced with both sadness and venom. "That's all this world cares about, isn't it? Strength. Because strength equals power. Right?"
Lilia's expression faltered.
Yuuki stepped closer, eyes trembling with emotion. "Has it ever occurred to you that none of us had an easy life? We crawled our way here. Every single one of us. And even now, we're still crawling."
He clenched his fists harder. "Why should we be blamed because they forgot their place? Because they grew arrogant under our shadows?"
Lilia's lips trembled slightly. She could see it—the fire in Yuuki's eyes wasn't anger. It was pain.
"What Ragnar did to Thane…" Yuuki's tone softened just a little. "…was right. At least now he knows his place. We all have our struggles, Lilia. So stop pretending the Five Saints are some perfect gods above everyone else."
Lilia stared at him, silent, her gaze heavy with conflict.
Yuuki turned away, his final words cold but honest.
"We're tired of being treated like masks for people's hope. We're not their idols—we're reminders. And soon…" He looked back once. "We'll remind them exactly who they're dealing with."
With that, he walked away, leaving Lilia standing there amidst the echo of explosions and cheers.
She looked down at the dirt. Actually, she thought, if I'm being honest with myself… I know he's right.
She turned her eyes to Ragnar again. 'They're not heroes. They never wanted to be. That mask of confidence they wear—it's just to hide how scared and broken they really are.'
For a brief moment, she wanted to approach Ragnar—to say something, anything—but then she stopped herself.
'My job isn't to understand them,' she thought. 'It's to make them stronger. If they fall into the dark, then…'
Her expression darkened.
'Then I'll kill them myself. It wouldn't be the first time.'
The crowd cheered as another fight ended in a blaze of fire. But Lilia didn't clap. She just watched the Saints from afar, knowing better than anyone—those cracks in their masks were widening.
"Next match! Kael Draven versus Neron Vale!" Lilia announced, her tone steady again—but her eyes were anything but.
Kael walked forward with his usual confident smirk, his jacket hanging loose, flames flickering faintly along his hands. The crowd roared his name—Saint High's water Genius, the untouchable Kael Draven.
Ragnar, meanwhile, hadn't moved. He was still sitting where he'd been earlier, his head down, his eyes lost in thought.
Magna noticed. "You good, bro?"
Ragnar didn't answer immediately. He just stared at his palms, the faint marks of mana burns still visible.
"I thought I was," he finally muttered.
Light, leaning nearby with his arms crossed, gave a small grin that didn't reach his eyes. "You shouldn't overthink it, man. It's not like any of them would've gone easy on you either."
Ragnar gave a small, hollow chuckle. "Maybe."
Yuuki returned, keeping quiet, his earlier fire completely gone. He sat beside Ragnar without saying a word.
For a while, they just listened—the crowd shouting, the sound of metal clashing against water.
But even with his friends nearby, Ragnar felt… disconnected.
He watched Kael fighting like it was nothing—a blur of fire and steel. Magna cheering from the side. Light cracking a small joke. Yuuki analyzing every move.
And yet, even surrounded by the people closest to him, Ragnar felt like a stranger.
He sighed softly. 'Queen… you'd probably say something stupid to make me laugh right now.'
He tilted his head up to the sky—the clouds slowly drifting over the sun.
'You said I needed to learn to stand alone… but it's harder than I thought.'
A loud explosion erupted from the field as Kael ended the match with a fiery flourish. The crowd went wild, cheering his name.
But Ragnar didn't even flinch. He just stared blankly, his expression unreadable.
'Without you here', he thought, 'everything feels… quieter.'
He clenched his fists, nails digging into his palms.
'I wish you'd come back, Queen. It's lonely without you.'
Lilia moved on to the next bracket. "The next match is going to be Alys Voldric vs Camila Bloodworth."
The announcement hit the field like a bell. The crowd erupted — Class A's cheers swallowed everything else. This was the match that had started it all; every other bout felt like filler compared to this collision. Students shoved closer to the railings, voices raw with excitement.
Camila sauntered to her mark with a smile far too bright for sincerity. She dropped into a stance at the opposite end and, with a deliberate slow motion, lifted a hand to cover her mouth as if she were struggling not to laugh.
Her voice cut clean across the field. "You Saints really are pathetic. Aren't you supposed to be the textbook definition of perfection?"
Alys didn't answer. She stood like a blade in the sun — absolute stillness, long black hair braided tight behind her back, ocean-blue eyes fixed on Camila. The silence around her was louder than any roar.
Camila leaned forward as if sharing a secret with the whole school. "Look at you — always that grin, that posture, like you're better than everyone else. Newsflash: being loud about your prize doesn't make you noble. It just makes you loud." She spat the last word with practiced venom.
Alys's jaw tightened. For half a heartbeat her expression flickered — anger like a storm gathering behind glass — but she kept her composure. Her breath measured, shoulders locked.
Camila smiled wider, baiting now. "And oh — the way you lot got in over your heads with the Five Crowns? Classic. If I were you, I'd be embarrassed. Thought you were untouchable, huh? Thought your little halo meant you could walk over everyone. Turns out you're just… headlines without substance." She let the words hang, watching the crowd react.
Alys's eyes narrowed; the blue in them became a blade.
Her voice, when it came, was cold and controlled — the kind of voice that promised consequence. "You speak a lot for someone whose only talent is making noise." She stepped forward, the gap between them feeling suddenly smaller. "Talk all you want, Camila. I don't care about flattering your ego. I'm here to beat you. That's it."
Camila laughed — a sharp, clipped sound — and tried to push. "Is that all? You don't even—" She gestured at Alys's face, as if daring her to crack. "You don't even look like you care. Scared to show real anger, Alys? Scared you'll ruin your little image?"
The bait worked like a needle. Alys's fingers curled until the knuckles showed white. The air around her felt tighter; the students nearest the railings leaned in as if pulled by gravity.
Her voice dropped, quieter but far more lethal. "If you want to test whether I'll break my image for you — go ahead. When I finish with you, the only thing you'll be known for is whatever I make you remember."
Camila's smile faltered for a fraction. She rallied immediately, turning the falter into mock pity. "Ooh, threats. Cute." She tossed her hair, posture flawless again. "Let's see if your fists back that up."
The referee called them to their starting marks. For one breathless second the entire training ground was suspended — cheers, curses, the distant crackle of other matches all reduced to a single heartbeat.
Camila inhaled, as if waiting for the perfect moment to push again. Her eyes flicked to Alys, searching for any sign of weakness.
Alys did not give Camila that satisfaction. Her face was a mask — unyielding, ice-smooth — but when she exhaled, it sounded like a promise. The crowd's shout rose to a fever pitch as the bell rang and the match began.
Camila's baiting voice cut one last time through the noise, thinner now. "Show me, then. Prove you're more than a pretty face."