Under the dim starlight, the night sky spread like ink spilled across the horizon—dark, heavy, and impossible to wash away.
And yet, Aisaka Noya's expression was darker still.
Ranking among the top ten in the elite camp's evaluations was no small feat. Anyone with that level of performance could look forward to a bright future—most would graduate as majors at minimum. Even those in the mid-tier, if they never improved again, would still end up as captains stationed at headquarters.
Which meant, quite simply—Shia was strong.
Noya clenched his jaw. Unbelievable.He could accept a lovestruck girl suddenly confessing to him after secretly watching him for a year—but to find out that she was also that strong? That was just unfair.
If he could go back ten seconds, he'd smack himself across the face and come up with a smarter rejection excuse.
"Ahem, Miss Shia," he began carefully, searching for an escape, "rankings don't necessarily reflect real strength. Actual combat tells the truth, don't you think?"
He paused, then added as inspiration struck, "I'm best at close combat and swordsmanship—especially hand-to-hand. What about you, Miss Shia?"
"It's funny," she said softly, her blue hair glinting under the moonlight, "my strongest techniques are also physical arts. I've already mastered Rankyaku and Shigan."
"What about Soru?"
"Well…" She tilted her head slightly. "I can do it a little, but I'm still not very good at it."
"Perfect." Noya's eyes glinted. "Then let's make a bet. You can attack me however you like for the next ten minutes. I'll only defend and dodge—no counterattacks."
He tapped his chest. "If you can land even one clean hit here, I'll admit you're stronger than me—and I'll accept your right to… formally pursue me. But if you can't, then please stop disturbing me from now on."
"No problem," Shia replied immediately. Her voice was steady, her eyes gleaming with quiet determination.
That look sent a faint chill down Noya's spine. For some reason, her gaze reminded him of a hunter who'd already trapped her prey—and was now simply waiting to strike.
'Whatever,' he thought, brushing off the feeling. 'My plan's working perfectly anyway.'
He'd been looking for someone to help him test his new Intermediate Paper Art technique tonight. Now, not only did he have the perfect test subject, but he could also use this match to fend off a love confession.
Two birds with one stone. Brilliant.
A few hundred meters away, the headquarters' old clock tower loomed over the training grounds. Even from here, the hands were clearly visible against the moonlit face.
Noya and Shia stood about ten meters apart. When the clock struck nine, he raised his hand to signal the start.
Swish!
Before he could even lower it, a gust of wind split the air—rushing straight toward him.
An Arashi Kick.
The "Storm Kick" was a leg technique so fast it compressed air into a vacuum slash, creating a slicing wave sharp enough to cut through steel. Against someone without Tekkai or armament training, it could be deadly.
Noya didn't dare to take it lightly.
He focused, tracking the faint distortion in the air. At the very instant before it reached him, his body twisted sharply to the right—moving with such fluid grace that he seemed to melt into the wind itself.
The slash flew past, exploding against a sandbag several meters behind him.
Boom! Dust erupted, scattering across the ground.
Shia blinked in surprise—but only for a heartbeat. Her right foot hit the ground lightly, and in the next instant, her figure vanished.
Soru!
The air rippled.
A heartbeat later, she reappeared at Noya's side, her eyes razor-sharp. Her index finger gleamed as she drove it forward—
Shigan!
The attack was swift and precise, her finger like a bullet. The air whistled under the force.
But Noya's gaze tracked her every move. To him, the shifting air currents around her were as visible as ripples on water.
His body flowed with the motion of the wind, twisting away once again. The piercing strike cut through empty space.
"Eh?"
Shia's eyes widened. That was impossible. Her Shigan was fast enough to earn praise from Instructor Zefa himself. Yet this man had dodged it—effortlessly.
She gritted her teeth.
Refusing to give up, she accelerated her movements, chaining Soru steps together. Her form blurred and flickered as she launched a flurry of Shigan strikes from every direction.
But Noya—calm and unhurried—slipped through the storm of attacks as if walking through his own garden. Each dodge was smooth, precise, almost elegant.
With every passing second, his movements grew lighter, more natural—until even Shia could feel it.
This can't be real…
Her mind reeled. She knew Noya better than anyone in the elite camp. From all her observations, his specialties were endurance and dual-sword combat. He shouldn't even have mastered Kami-e yet!
Zefa-sensei had only started teaching the Six Forms two months ago. Even she had only grasped three of them superficially. Kami-e—the Paper Art—was still at the beginner level for her!
Yet the truth was right in front of her. Noya's movements weren't just controlled—they were refined, flawless.
Minutes passed. She couldn't even touch him once.
As the clock neared the ten-minute mark, a faint ache welled up in her chest. Watching Noya's faint, satisfied smirk as he dodged, Shia felt a sting of humiliation and sadness.
Is he really laughing at me?Is he that unwilling to even give me a chance?
To Noya, however, this was the perfect outcome.
Dodging each attack, he could barely suppress a grin. His Intermediate Paper Art was performing even better than expected—and his plan to test it while rejecting her confession was going perfectly.
"An intermediate version that works this well," he thought, "if I upgrade to advanced, I'll be on par with CP9's agents."
Totally worth the thousand points.
Unfortunately, Shia couldn't hear his thoughts. From her perspective, his faint grin looked mocking—arrogant.
Her chest tightened. She bit her lip, her eyes glimmering faintly.
When the tenth minute finally passed, she stopped. Her attacks ceased. The clock tower's chime echoed softly across the training ground.
Noya halted as well, lowering his guard.
"Time's up," he said calmly. "I win this round, Miss Shia. According to our agreement, from now on—"
He stopped.
Because when he finally looked up, Shia was standing there silently beneath the streetlamp—tears streaming down her face.
"Sh… Shia—"
Noya froze. He completely panicked.
He'd never been good at comforting girls—especially not crying ones. His mind went blank.
In his hometown of Higashi Umi, when he made Berumere angry, things were simple: she'd yell, he'd yell back, and before long they'd both be brawling under the orange tree until someone broke it up.
That kind of straightforward fight he could handle.
But this—this quiet, heartbroken crying—was entirely outside his experience. And to make matters worse, this was a girl he'd barely known for less than a year.
He had no idea what to do next.