Alyss's POV
She didn't expect it to feel like this.
Victory was supposed to feel clean. Cold. Like a line drawn in sand that no one dared to cross.
But as Alyss stood there in the aftermath of the match—sword lowered, breath steady, hair clinging to the side of her cheek—she didn't feel victorious.
She felt… wrong.
Something about the way he dropped, the way his body folded when her strike landed—it bothered her. It looked real, sure. Even the blood. The sound of his shoulder cracking against the tile. The little metallic tang of mana distortion still hung in the air.
But it was too easy.
Too quiet.
Too… controlled.
No aura? No burst? Not even a twitch to counter?
Across the sparring hall, students whispered as Noven was helped up by a staff medic. His legs didn't buckle. His arms weren't trembling. He moved slowly, but not like someone who was hurt—more like someone making sure he looked hurt.
Stop.
She shut her eyes for a second. Took a breath.
He bled. You saw it. He's not invincible. He just… underestimated you. That's all.
That should've comforted her.
It didn't.
Because when she opened her eyes again, she saw him.
Noven.
Still standing.
Still quiet.
Still watching her.
Those red eyes—dull, bored, emotionless—stared at her like she was a puzzle with a piece missing.
He didn't look angry.
Or humiliated.
Or even surprised.
Just… curious.
Like he was already dissecting the next ten seconds.
And that made something inside her twist.
She looked away.
Don't give him space in your head. Don't.
She walked off the platform without a word.
The crowd clapped—some polite, some enthusiastic—but she didn't hear it. It sounded muffled. Like her mind was somewhere else. Stuck in a loop. Replaying the moments that shouldn't matter but somehow did.
The way he parried her first blow without stepping back.
The way he didn't flinch when she grazed his ribs.
The delay in his eyes—like he was holding back. Or waiting. Or thinking three steps ahead of her even as he took the fall.
But… maybe he wasn't.
Maybe she was just imagining it.
Or maybe—
She ran a hand through her hair.
I don't know what to think anymore.
Later That Day — Observation Terrace
Alyss stood alone at the edge of the upper floor balcony, overlooking the main campus square. Students moved below her like ants, scattered across cobblestones and garden walkways, laughing, shouting, moving on with their day.
She wasn't moving on.
She leaned against the railing, her blade sheathed at her hip, coat fluttering softly in the breeze. Her golden eyes stared down at the stone fountain in the center of the courtyard, but she wasn't really seeing it.
She was thinking about him.
Again.
Why am I still thinking about this?
It wasn't the loss that bothered her—she didn't lose.
And it wasn't guilt. She didn't regret hitting him. He accepted the duel. He knew the risk.
It was the way he lost.
The blank stare. The loose posture. The complete absence of defense. Not out of cowardice… but something colder. Stranger.
It was like he allowed it to happen.
And yet—
She'd seen the blood. The spit. The small tremble in his hand when he got back up. That wasn't fake.
Right?
"Hey."
She didn't turn.
Kaien's voice drifted over from the side as he stepped beside her. He held a steaming mug in one hand and a dataslate in the other. As always.
"You're still thinking about him," he said casually.
Alyss didn't respond.
"I'm surprised," he continued, sipping his coffee. "You've never dwelled on a match before."
"I've never fought someone like him before," she muttered.
"Oh?" Kaien raised an eyebrow. "Weak?"
"Unsettling."
He smiled faintly. "You don't usually get unsettled."
"That's because most opponents make sense."
"And he doesn't?"
Alyss exhaled through her nose. "He fights like someone who's never trained formally. No standard footwork. No burst patterns. His guard's wide open half the time."
"So he's just bad."
"No," she said sharply. "That's the thing. He's not bad. He dodged my second strike before I even fully committed. You don't do that by luck."
Kaien tilted his head. "So… you're saying he's faking being bad?"
She paused.
Then shook her head. "I don't know."
"You think he's stronger than he lets on?"
"I thought that. But then—he bled. He staggered. He let himself take the hit."
Kaien looked down at the dataslate. "You're overthinking it."
"I'm not."
"Alyss." His voice softened. "You won. Let it go."
She turned her head slightly.
"No. That's exactly why I can't."
Evening — Dormitory Rooftop
The sky was a dull, bruised purple as evening settled over the academy. Clouds moved low across the horizon like creeping shadows, and the faint scent of ozone drifted in from the distant storm.
Alyss sat on the edge of the roof with one knee pulled up, hair tousled by the wind, her coat draped beside her. She had changed into a loose academy shirt, but still wore her boots.
She couldn't sleep.
The match wouldn't leave her mind.
Neither would those eyes.
Red eyes.
Too intense. Too blank.
She hated that color now. Hated the way her chest tightened every time she remembered the way he looked at her. Not because it was menacing. But because it wasn't.
It was… empty.
Detached.
Like nothing she did mattered to him.
She ran a hand down her face.
"Damn you," she whispered. "Who are you?"
The sound of a door creaking open made her freeze.
Soft footsteps.
She turned slightly—
—and saw him.
Noven.
Same uniform. Same hair. Same eyes.
He didn't say a word. Just walked to the opposite end of the rooftop and sat down with his back against the far wall, arms draped over his knees.
Alyss stared at him for a long second.
He didn't look at her.
Didn't glance.
Didn't even acknowledge her.
Just sat there, staring up at the sky like nothing mattered.
She didn't know what came over her, but she stood.
Marched halfway across the rooftop.
Stopped.
"…You should've blocked that last strike," she said.
No response.
"You saw it coming. I know you did."
Still nothing.
"Why didn't you fight back?"
He turned slightly.
Their eyes met.
A soft breeze pushed his hair aside just enough to fully reveal those crimson irises.
And her breath caught.
Just a little.
Just enough for her to hate herself for it.
His voice came low and slow. "You wanted to win. So I let you."
Her chest tightened.
She took a step closer.
"No," she said, trying to keep her voice calm. "You don't get to do that. You don't get to mess with me like this."
He blinked once. "Wasn't messing with you."
"You were," she snapped. "You are. I don't know if you're weak or strong or stupid or terrifying. One second you're passive, the next you're impossible to read. I can't tell if you're faking, or if I just want you to be faking."
Silence.
The wind brushed between them.
And then—
She stepped back.
Her hands clenched.
"I don't know what to think anymore," she whispered.
Then she turned.
Walked away from him without looking back.
"The sky's beautiful today," he murmured, almost to himself, eyes fixed on nothing in particular.
The faintest trace of a smirk ghosted across his lips as she walked away.
To Be Continued.