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Russell wasn't surprised that Lucian could identify his field card. The sudden manifestation of [Seireitei] had been impossible to conceal—a fortress-city materializing from dimensional space tended to draw attention. Just as Russell prepared to press his overwhelming advantage, Lucian recalled his cards with fluid efficiency and laughed loudly.
"Russell, that's enough. Let's end this battle here."
The casual dismissal caught Russell off-guard. He glanced toward Coach Carter on the sidelines, finding the man watching him with an unreadable expression. After a moment of tense silence, Russell recalled Unohana and Artoria, their forms dissolving back into card energy with obvious reluctance.
The crowd erupted immediately:
"What's going on? Why did they suddenly stop fighting?"
"It looked like Russell was about to win. Is Lucian scared?"
"Did you see that lightning strike? That was insane!"
"Field cards are supposed to be gold-level power. How does a freshman have one?"
Lucian ignored the commentary entirely, striding across the arena toward Russell with the confident gait of someone accustomed to controlling situations. "You're quite capable, Russell. The Battle Club welcomes you."
He spoke like a gracious host welcoming a guest to his manor, the presumption of authority so casual it might have been natural.
Russell raised an eyebrow, his mind immediately cataloging the power dynamics at play. "Is this what it means to join the club?"
"I test the strength of every new member who joins the main team," Lucian explained with the patience of someone stating obvious facts. "If they're nothing special, there's no need to communicate much later."
Interesting phrasing, Russell thought. 'Nothing special' suggests he's used to disappointment. How many potential members has he dismissed with this same test?
After a short silence, Russell allowed a slight smile to curve his lips. "So how is my strength? Is it enough? After all, I believe I had a good chance of winning if we had continued."
The challenge was subtle but unmistakable. Russell wasn't just asking for assessment—he was pointing out that Lucian had retreated from a disadvantageous position.
Before Lucian could respond, Sonny's voice cut through the moment: "Tsk, Lucian still has a card he hasn't used yet!"
Ah, Russell realized. The third card. The one Heath mentioned.
But Lucian raised a hand, silencing his teammate with casual authority. "I lose, so what?"
The admission should have been gracious, but something in Lucian's tone suggested calculation rather than honest concession. Russell felt his internal cynicism stirring as he processed the undercurrents.
"You're joking, Senior," Russell replied, injecting just enough deference into his voice to maintain appearances while his mind raced through implications.
How convenient, he thought with growing irritation. All four of these main members are incredibly arrogant. It's an official school rule that successfully challenging a main member allows replacement, but now Lucian's created his own unwritten hierarchy.
The pattern was becoming clear. If Russell hadn't performed good today, the others would have marginalized him regardless of his official status. Moreover, Lucian had initiated the confrontation and unilaterally decided its conclusion. The power to start and stop conflicts was the power to control outcomes—a lesson Russell remembered from corporate politics in his previous life.
But I'm not interested in playing house with you people, he thought with carefully concealed disdain.
"Then, Seniors, I'll head back first," Russell said aloud, maintaining the polite facade while internally withdrawing from their social games.
Lucian nodded with magnanimous approval. "Just don't forget the practice match this weekend."
Russell waved acknowledgment and turned away, but his mind was already analyzing what he'd observed. The Northgate Battle Club didn't have an official president, yet Lucian clearly considered himself one. Coach Carter's tacit acceptance suggested either approval or simple pragmatism—easier to let a strong personality manage team dynamics than deal with the responsibilities himself.
So Lucian's final card must be genuinely powerful, Russell concluded. Otherwise Carter wouldn't tolerate this informal hierarchy.
As he walked toward the mountain path, Russell reflected on the empty nature of student leadership positions. In his previous life, student union roles had promised influence but delivered only busy work and political headaches. Here, at least, power had more tangible foundations—raw magical capability could enforce decisions in ways that committee positions never could.
Behind him, Sonny's voice carried clearly in the evening air: "Lucian, this junior doesn't seem very convinced by you."
Russell didn't turn around, but his hearing caught Lucian's response: "If you were Director Blake's disciple, if you had his talent, you could be like him. If you don't, just shut up. Don't think I don't know what you're thinking."
Sonny's awkward laughter followed, then Jean's quiet voice: "I'll leave first." Her footsteps moved away quickly, suggesting discomfort with the confrontation.
"Lucian, look at Jean..." Yuna's voice took on a coquettish tone that made Russell's skin crawl with secondhand embarrassment.
"Let's not talk about topics that aren't conducive to unity," Lucian interrupted smoothly. "As long as he passed the test, he's one of us."
One of us, Russell repeated mentally as he descended the mountain. As if belonging to their little club matters beyond tournament preparation.
The following days passed without contact from Lucian, confirming Russell's of the confrontation's true purpose. The fight had been a power display—a demonstration that even newcomers with impressive ability's needed to acknowledge existing hierarchies. Stopping after the field card's appearance had been tactically sound; continuing would have forced both sides to reveal their complete arsenals, potentially creating genuine embarrassment regardless of outcome.
Better to maintain mystery than risk definitive defeat, Russell acknowledged. Especially when facing a freshman as a sophomore. The optics alone would be damaging.
Unfortunately, it didn't end with the battle itself. Strange rumors began circulating through the cardmaking department within days:
"Lucian stopped the fight to save face for the freshman."
"Russell was clearly exhausted by the end."
"Field cards are impressive, but they drain energy fast. He couldn't have maintained that level much longer."
Russell found the whisper campaign both predictable and irritating. While some students defended his performance—pointing out that he'd held the advantage when fighting ceased—those voices were consistently drowned out by more numerous contrary opinions.
"So much drama in such a small pond," Russell muttered, rubbing his temples as he processed another day of sideways glances and murmured conversations.
He wasn't naive about social manipulation. Someone was orchestrating this narrative shift, though identifying the specific culprit required more investigation than Russell felt the situation warranted.
Probably not Lucian himself, he concluded after reviewing the evidence. Too direct for someone with his instincts. More likely one of the other three members playing games.
The entire situation reminded him of university student government in his previous life—petty power struggles over positions that offered minimal real authority. Here, at least, magical power provided genuine advantages, but the underlying psychology remained depressingly familiar.
People who can't improve themselves focus on tearing others down, Russell reflected with the cynicism of someone who'd navigated multiple bureaucratic environments. But this is an extraordinary world. The strongest voice carries the most weight, not the most popular one.
Better to focus on genuine improvement than waste time on powerplay theater.
Saturday arrived with the crisp clarity of autumn morning, sunlight filtering through dissipating mist as Russell made his way toward the Battle Club facilities. Today marked Coach Carter's arranged practice match against Southeastern University—a chance to observe team dynamics under actual competitive pressure rather than internal assessment scenarios.
A Shadowkhan emerged from the shadows to escort him, the dark figure's presence drawing fewer stares than it had initially. Students were adapting to his dramatic arrivals, though Russell noticed some still maintained distance from his supernatural servants.
Good, he thought with satisfaction. Intimidation without hostility. Exactly the image I want to project.
As the Battle Club building came into view, Russell found himself genuinely curious about how his teammates would perform under external pressure. Internal conflicts were one thing, but facing outside opponents required genuine coordination rather than powerplay.
Time to see if they can actually work together when it matters.
(End of this chapter)
THROW POWERSTONES.