By the time classes ended after that spar, a talk of the sparring match had already swept through the whole Combat Division.
The corridors buzzed with half-heard gossip.
"Did you see it? Kang Jisoo lost!"
"To an E-rank, no less—how?"
"Instructor Baek was actually watching. That's serious."
Jiwoo heard the whispers as he left the hall. Students passing by gave him quick glances—some curious, some impressed, others just wary—but he paid them little mind.
Minjae jogged to catch up beside him, grinning wide.
"Bro, you realize you just became an urban legend, right? E-rank slays S-rank, no mana used—boom! Instant myth."
Jiwoo didn't even slow his pace. "It was just a spar."
"Yeah, and I'm just a comedian performing to a bunch of mana-junkies," Minjae said, deadpan. "Seriously, you need to work on accepting praise."
"I'll pass," Jiwoo said.
They stepped into the courtyard. Afternoon light cut between the spires of the academy, glinting on the glass channels where mana flowed underfoot. For the first time since the match, Jiwoo finally exhaled. The tension in his shoulders loosened, though his mind was still replaying each movement, each breath.
The cafeteria buzzed louder than usual at lunch.
Trays clattered, mana lights hummed, and the smell of pepper rice and soup mixed with the low roar of conversation.
Jiwoo and Minjae sat by the window, the sunlight cutting soft lines across their trays. Minjae was halfway through his food, recounting how he'd "heroically survived" Baek's morning lecture, when a shadow fell over their table.
Both looked up.
Kang Jisoo stood there, tray in hand, that easy half-grin on his face.
"Mind if I sit here?"
Minjae blinked. "Uh… sure? Unless this is round two, in which case I'd like to move to another table."
Jisoo chuckled, sliding into the seat across from Jiwoo. "Relax. I'm not here to pick a fight."
"Good," Minjae muttered. "Because I bruise emotionally."
Jisoo ignored that and leaned his elbows on the table facing them, eyes on Jiwoo.
"You really haven't changed," he said. "Still quiet. Still annoying to fight."
Jiwoo took a bite of his rice without looking up. "You're still loud."
Minjae glanced between them. "Wait, you two know each other?"
Jisoo smirked. "Your friend here used to crush people in Kendo tournaments."
Minjae froze, spoon hovering midair. "Wait. What?"
Jiwoo sighed. "That was years ago."
"Years or not, everyone in the Seoul Youth Division knew your name," Jisoo said, almost proud. "Back to back regional champion — until you vanished."
Minjae gawked. "You never said you were a national-level swordsman!"
Jiwoo shrugged. "Didn't seem important."
"Didn't seem—?" Minjae dropped his spoon dramatically. "You're ridiculous. I brag about winning an arm wrestling match last week, and you were out here ending childhood dreams at twelve."
Jisoo laughed, shaking his head. "That's what's irritating about him. He acts like it's nothing."
Jiwoo finally looked up. "Because it is."
For a moment, silence hung over the table — not awkward, just heavy with a kind of quiet familiarity that came from old rivals and unspoken respect.
Then Jisoo stood, picking up his tray. "Guess I'll see you in training tomorrow. Try not to vanish this time."
He turned to leave, but paused mid-step, glancing over his shoulder.
"Oh, and Jiwoo?"
Jiwoo raised a brow.
"This time, I'll make sure I'll win this time."
He left before Jiwoo could respond.
Minjae stared after him, then turned back to Jiwoo, wide-eyed.
"Bro… how many secret skills are you hiding? Don't tell me you play piano too."
Jiwoo took a sip of water. "No. Violin."
Minjae blinked. "…You're kidding."
Jiwoo didn't look up. "I'm not."
Minjae slumped forward. "I swear, I'm just a background NPC in your story."
Jiwoo gave a faint smile. "You talk too much for a background character."
Minjae groaned. "Even the protagonist's roasting me now. Great."
Evening fell quietly over Eclipse Academy.
The training hall was empty except for Jiwoo. LED lights flickered overhead, casting a soft glow across the polished floor. Each swing of his training sword echoed — steady and unhurried, like a heartbeat in the silence.
One strike. Two. Three.
The rhythm was precise, unbroken — the form of someone who had long since learned discipline the hard way.
At the door, a voice cut through the silence.
"You're still here."
Jiwoo stopped mid-swing and turned. Instructor Chang Soomin leaned against the doorway, clipboard in one hand, her usual composure softened by the faint light.
"Instructor Soomin," Jiwoo said, lowering his sword.
Soomin stepped closer, her heels tapping lightly against the floor.
"You practice even after hours. Not many first-years bother."
"I like quiet places," Jiwoo said simply.
Soomin tilted her head, a hint of a smile ghosting her lips.
"How's life in the academy so far?"
"It's fine," Jiwoo answered.
"Classes, training, same thing every day."
"Even with half the school whispering about you?" she asked, amused.
"They'll stop eventually."
"Confident," she said.
"Not really," Jiwoo replied. "They just get bored fast."
Soomin chuckled softly. "Fair point." She circled him slightly, hands behind her back. "What about being the brother of the number two in the academy? That can't be easy."
Jiwoo paused, resting his practice sword against his shoulder.
"I'm used to it."
"Used to being compared?" Soomin pressed.
Jiwoo remembered a vivid flashback to the days when his sister would always defeat him in kendo.
***
The sound of bamboo swords filled the air — quick, sharp strikes against the wooden floor.
A younger Jiwoo — twelve years old, shorter, sweat-soaked — faced his sister Jiwon under the soft light of their home dojo. Their grandfather's voice echoed faintly in the background, reminding them to focus on their stance.
"Again," Jiwon said, her voice firm but encouraging. "You dropped your shoulder."
Jiwoo gritted his teeth, raising his shinai again. They clashed, wood snapping through the air.
He lost again.
"Point, Jiwon," their grandfather said calmly.
Jiwoo's breath came ragged. His grip trembled.
Jiwon smiled — not mockingly, but gently. "You'll get there, Jiwoo. Just don't stop."
He met her gaze, chest heaving, and nodded once. "Then I'll keep chasing you."
***
He gave a faint smile. "She's always been ahead. Since we were kids."
Soomin's eyes softened. "She sounds like a good sister."
"She is," Jiwoo said quietly.
Soomin studied him for a long moment. "Most kids your age would crumble being compared to someone like her. You… treat it like fuel."
Jiwoo wiped the sweat from his forehead. "I just don't like losing."
Soomin chuckled, genuinely. "Even better."
She turned toward the door, stopping halfway. "Keep training. You'll need it soon."
Jiwoo frowned lightly. "For what?"
Soomin just smiled, a cryptic glint in her eyes. "You'll see. Big things are coming."
The door closed softly behind her, leaving Jiwoo alone again with the hum of the mana lamps and his quiet breathing.
He exhaled slowly, lifted his sword again, and resumed his stance.
One strike.
Two.
Three.
The sound echoed, steady and sharp, cutting through the still air.
He didn't know yet — but the days of quiet practice were almost over.
Soon, the academy would begin to move again.