The duel wasn't just an academy spectacle—it became a continental event.
Within hours, footage of Clayton's battle against Charles Edwards spread like wildfire across the net. What began as a minor upset turned into a media storm. Curious commoners tuned in out of intrigue. Noble houses paused their tea rituals. Even royal circles whispered Clayton's name over their golden goblets. From dusty taverns in the outer provinces to airship lounges hovering over capital cities, all eyes were on him.
Clips of the duel flooded every screen: the moment he predicted Charles's move, his fearless smirk before the dome sealed, and most of all—the infamous comment about Madam Ivory. Memes, remixes, and mock fanfiction appeared within hours. Some defended his boldness, others criticized him, but none could ignore him.
In a single day, Clayton's public follower count surged past fifty million. He trended across every major network. The media dubbed him The One-Hit Wonder, and by evening, merchants were selling enchanted shirts with glowing letters that read, "Just One Hit, Baby."
Even more unexpected was the impact on House Antigonus.
Traditionally a powerful but quiet trading family known for dealing in rare relics, potions, and magical contracts, the house saw a massive spike in influence. Investors flocked to their assets. Their brand image improved a lot. The ancient emblem of House Antigonus, a mystic wolf cloaked in shadow and stars, suddenly became one of the most downloaded sigils on arcane comm-orbs.
Clayton was now their poster boy—whether he wanted to be or not.
But beneath the celebration, Clayton felt a tightening coil of discomfort.
Lying on his bed in the dorm's tower wing, the night sky swirling outside his window, he replayed the apology video from Charles for the fifth time.
"I, Charles Edwards, sincerely apologize to Clayton Antigonus for my inappropriate behavior. I let pride cloud my judgment, and I acknowledge my defeat."
The video ended with Charles lowering his head in a sharp, rigid bow. Not overly emotional—but public. And that was what mattered.
The duel prize, a high-grade arcane stone, had arrived just ten minutes after the final blow. It now sat on his nightstand, humming with latent power. He glanced at it but felt no thrill.
Yes, he had won. But it wasn't satisfying.
He had barely survived the match—taking 2.5 hits in a duel where he only needed one to win. His plan had been clean and calculated. But reality proved far messier.
The truth was clear: he wasn't strong enough. Not yet.
He had come to this world with bold thoughts—thinking he could outsmart the game, stay low-key, observe quietly, and pull strings from the shadows. A spectator in the crowd, manipulating from the edge.
That plan was now in ashes.
Between Lily's provocations, Cynthia's duel, Charles's challenge, and a society addicted to spectacle, Clayton was yanked from obscurity and thrown into the spotlight. And like a seasoned player, he'd made the choice to embrace it.
"Play the hand you're dealt," he reminded himself.
If he had remained a low-ranking student with minor attention, enemies could've crushed him quietly. No one would notice. No one would care.
But now? He was a symbol. A trending topic. A lightning rod.
Hurting him now would raise eyebrows. Questions. Investigations. Public sympathy.
In this world—where politics, perception, and reputation could kill faster than a blade—that made him much harder to touch.
Still, the duel exposed his limits. His mental speed was sluggish compared to those born and bred for battle. His body was underdeveloped, more suited for long study sessions than magical combat. His soul—fused in a freak accident with someone else's memories—was unstable, unfinished.
"I need to train," he whispered, staring at the ceiling. "No shortcuts. Not anymore."
He stood and stretched, joints popping. On his desk, aside from the arcane stone, lay a list of upcoming tournaments. His name had been automatically entered into the Rising Talents Cup. Backing out now would just stir more attention.
He gritted his teeth. "Let them watch."
There was one silver lining to this chaos: money.
He had bet heavily on himself through the Antigonus Gambling House—one of the only establishments with more favorable odds on him. Rival houses took massive losses when he won. Rumor had it that a noble-run betting firm suffered a six-figure hit. Clayton's gamble paid off, both financially and strategically.
In the end, he'd done more than defeat Charles. He'd shifted the weight of the board.
He wasn't just a student anymore. He was a player.
And the game had only just begun.