The sky above Wolfram Academy was overcast with layered gray clouds, as if the heavens themselves held their breath for what was about to unfold.
Held once every year, the Standoff wasn't just a test of strength. It was where legends began. Where unknowns made names for themselves and titans confirmed their reign.
Victory here could fast-track a student into the world's elite circuits—or break them before they ever left school grounds.
The main field had been split into ten circular arenas, each about fifty meters wide, each lined with shimmering transparent barriers reinforced with GeneTech kinetic damping fields.
At the highest seat of the viewing gallery, positioned on an elevated metallic podium like a war tribunal, stood two figures watching over the massing crowds of students, instructors, and observers.
One was Herr Direktor Klaus Eisenwulf, the headmaster of Wolfram Campus.
His face was worn like battered stone, his silver beard sharp enough to draw blood. He stood with arms crossed behind his back, his gaze sweeping across the arenas with a cold pride.
Beside him was the more eccentric Professor Dietrich Faulkenrath, Wolfram's most decorated combat theory instructor.
His coat was a patchwork of hybrid animal hides and artificial bone plating—souvenirs from Rift expeditions. His monocle glowed faintly with scanner data as he muttered into his voice recorder.
"All ten rings reinforced. We'll separate by classrooms, but mix combatants randomly across divisions. Avoid repeat matchups. Let the savagery bloom," Faulkenrath chuckled to himself.
Below them, hundreds of students gathered. Each wore the insignia of their class—bronze, silver, gold, white or black—representing their academic classroom.
The elite were here too: Classroom 1, the domain of the academy's top-tier talents, and Classroom 2.
Whispers rippled through the crowd as Siegfried Krämer stepped into view.
His presence alone hushed a dozen conversations. Word had it he already cleared five high tier rifts solo this year.
In that same moment, from a less crowded side gate, Ottokai Von Seraphis entered the first arena.
Most students barely noticed him.
His gear was patched, practical, and built for function—scarred leather plates, a custom harness that clicked into his gene interface module, and his signature lean build that made him look more like a hunter than a soldier.
His name wasn't famous.
"Ottokai Von Seraphis," a terminal announced from above. "Classroom 5, Rank 24."
No opponent had stepped into his ring yet. The system hadn't assigned one.
Kai moved through the crowd like a shadow slipping between walls.
The deeper he went into the ring compound, the heavier the air felt. Not from pressure—these weren't monsters. But from presence. One wrong step here and you were a target.
Classroom 2 and 1 students stood everywhere. Some leaned casually on barriers, watching others with the calm of practiced killers.
Kai ignored them.
Then he saw him.
Alric Alrone stood near the far corner of the arena grounds, wearing that same silver-blue jacket with the crest of House Alrone stitched into the shoulder.
A few other top-tier students were with him, standing in a loose formation. They weren't posturing—they were the type who didn't need to.
Seren was there too. She stood behind Alric, not too close, not too far. Her face didn't show anything.
Kai's breath caught, just for a second.
So you're sticking to him even now...
He stepped forward, breaking from the crowd.
"Hey!" he called out, voice sharp, loud enough to turn heads.
Alric glanced over lazily, then looked away.
Kai kept walking, then shouted again.
"You're running from me?"
That made Alric stop.
People began to turn. The noise around Arena One slowly dimmed as students realized something was about to happen.
Even those prepping for their own matches paused.
"Alric," Kai said, stopping ten meters away. "You humiliated me. So why don't you fight me again?"
Alric looked over his shoulder. "I don't waste my time with bottom-feeders."
"Then what do you call yourself if you're too scared to finish what you started?"
The crowd murmured.
Alright... My plan is working.
One of Alric's friends stepped up. "You think you can just bark in front of Classroom 3 like that?"
"I'll bark, bite, and tear through all of you if I have to," Kai shot back. "But I'm not here for any of you. I'm here for him."
He pointed straight at Alric.
Seren finally moved. She stepped forward, her eyes locked on Kai.
"Kai... stop it," she said, voice tight. "This isn't the time or place."
"No, it is," Kai said. "You're standing beside the guy who beat me once and then ran from the rematch. I'm not asking for a duel. I'm dragging him into one."
Alric turned to face him fully now, lips curled into a smirk. "You really think a public tantrum will make me care?"
"I don't need you to care," Kai said, stepping into the open.
The crowd widened into a full circle now. Students from all five classrooms had gathered.
Akari was watching from behind a barrier. Her eyes narrowed, arms crossed. She didn't move to stop him.
Seren raised her voice, more urgent now. "Kai, this isn't the way. I didn't choose anyone, okay? This—this isn't about me anymore."
"No," Kai said, eyes still locked on Alric. "But I'm making it about me. So I'm taking back what I lost, starting with his pride."
Alric chuckled. "You're seriously still clinging to that? She walked away, lowest rank. Maybe you should too."
"I don't walk," Kai said. "You'll see."
Then he raised his voice and pointed again.
"Fight me right here, or admit you're a coward in front of everyone."
Alric's eyes narrowed.
Then the system buzzed.
[Arena One: Challenger Identified – Ottokai von Seraphis] [Awaiting Response from Opponent…]
"Holy crap, is that really Ottokai? The one you invited?" Marin leaned over the rail, brows raised.
Akari didn't answer. She was already standing, arms crossed, lips pressed thin.
Sylvie blinked slowly, then muttered, "He's actually doing it… dragging Alric into the spotlight. That's suicide."
"No, that's spite," Marin said.
Akari exhaled. "He's serious. I don't think he'll back down, even if it kills him."
"Honestly," Sylvie added, "if he actually lands a hit, I'll buy him dinner for a week."
Meanwhile, on the opposite ledge, a few elites from Classroom 1 leaned forward with vague interest.
"That's Ottokai, right?" One of them adjusted her parasite-linked visor.
"Hmph," another scoffed. "He's not even top 50. This isn't a challenge."
But one boy in a dark-blue mantle grinned. "No… it's a challenge. Because if Alric refuses, he loses his reputation. It's a smart play."
Alric's eye twitched. He hadn't moved at first, but now his hands clenched behind his back. The crowd, the whispers, the lingering gaze of Seren—it all crawled under his skin.
He stepped forward.
"Fine," he said, voice like a blade across glass. "Thirty minutes. You better not run."
The arena pulsed.
[Combat Pair Registered: Ottokai von Seraphis vs Alric Alrone. Countdown Initiated.]
Alright, step one finished...Kai didn't smile. He simply nodded and turned away.
"Kai, do your best," Seren said beside him, her voice quieter now.
"I'll win," he said, not looking at her. "I'm bringing you back. Sir Albrecht might get angry at me if I told him someone took you.*
They stood side by side in silence as the first match was called.
"Combatants, enter: Emric Blau vs Lothar Kriege."
The crowd half-laughed. Emric's name wasn't feared. It was barely remembered.
Lothar, a smug student from Classroom 4, strutted in and cracked his neck. "Seriously? This guy? Did they run out of warm bodies?"
Emric just walked in slowly, adjusting his new jacket. It didn't quite fit.
Kai leaned against the railing. Alric and Seren stood nearby. He could feel the tension humming between them like a live wire.
"Your friend's got guts," Alric muttered.
Kai replied without turning, "He's not the only one."
The bell rang. Lothar lunged.
And Emric… didn't dodge.
He just stood there, arms at his sides, as something pulsed beneath his skin—something he hadn't shown anyone yet.
Lothar's fist slammed into Emric's chest—and passed through nothing.
"What the—?!"
The boy's body disintegrated mid-blow into a flurry of black feathers. They scattered like smoke, cold and unnatural, drifting in a slow spiral around the shocked Classroom 4 student.
Then Emric's voice echoed, distorted, overhead.
"You underestimated the wrong man."
A blur shot across the arena.
The crow.
A large, jet-black bird twisted midair, flapping hard, then dove. Lothar had barely turned his head when Emric reformed behind him in a burst of shadowed wind—his hand slashing forward like a blade of sharpened feather.
Lothar cried out as blood flew from his arm, the cut shallow but precise.
The crowd collectively gasped.
"Wait, isn't that guy from Classroom 5?"
"Emric Blau? I thought he was the lowest ranked?"
"He is! Or was!"
"What's going on?! He was always quiet!"
"This… this is why we do the Standoff. It's not just for rankings—it's to correct them."
In the stands, Marin leaned forward, blinking rapidly. "What the hell…?"
Sylvie frowned. "He was holding back this whole time?"
Akari didn't say a word, her eyes locked on Emric, who now hovered above the battlefield in partial transformation—half-human, half-crow, black feathers laced along his arms and cheekbones like armor.
Below, Lothar stumbled, panic rising in his eyes. "You freak—what the hell are you?!"
Emric's expression twisted—not shy, not hesitant, but blank and terrifyingly cold.
"I was invisible," he said. "Now I'm not."
Then, he vanished again—just feathers spiraling in his place.
A breath passed.
He reappeared behind Lothar, a single black feather clutched between his fingers. It had sharpened into something deadly—long, thin, glinting with edge. It hovered a mere centimeter from Lothar's throat.
"Die," Emric whispered.
Before anyone could react, Lothar jerked, gasped, and collapsed.
From his mouth spilled a torrent of crows—shrieking, flapping, clawing out of him like black mist turned flesh. They poured from his mouth, his nose, his ears, even his eyes.
Screams erupted from the crowd.
"Is he—? Oh my god!"
"He's dead?! Did he just—?!"
From the observation booth, the Headmaster shot to his feet. "Stop him!"
Three high-ranking students from Classroom 1 shot forward in a flash of energy, descending like meteors. The air snapped with power.
One grabbed Emric's arm.
Another sealed the arena gates.
The third unleashed a containment field.
It took all three of them to hold him.
Emric blinked like he was waking from a trance. His feathers receded. His mouth opened slightly, confused.
Then he looked at his hands.
And dropped the bloody feather.