Duskveil Infirmary Wing.
The room smelled like sterilized mana and iron.
Darin Vale lay propped up against the bed wall.
Chest wrapped.
Crystal stabilization brace embedded over his sternum.
His mana core hadn't shattered fully.
But it cracked deep.
It would take months to stabilize.
Months to rebuild output.
On the wall above him—
The ranking board projection flickered.
Jareth's name climbing brackets.
Tier E cleared.
Tier D advancing.
Level 6.
Darin's jaw tightened.
"He's not that good," a visiting student muttered from the doorway.
Darin didn't answer.
He replayed the match in his head instead.
Every exchange.
Every moment.
The turning point wasn't strength.
It wasn't speed.
It was endurance.
By the fifth minute—
Darin had felt it.
His mana thinning.
His core heating.
His breathing tightening.
Jareth?
Still steady.
Not fresh.
But not fading.
That wasn't normal.
⸻
Flashback — Arena.
That final exchange.
Darin had thrown a perfectly timed Pulse Impact.
Execution flawless.
But his mana dipped mid-release.
Jareth capitalized instantly.
Not lucky.
Calculated.
Back to present.
Darin clenched his fist weakly.
"…He waited."
That realization hurt more than the fracture.
He wasn't outclassed in talent.
He was outpaced.
⸻
In the arena—
Jareth stepped into the Tier D final bracket.
Crowd louder now.
Tier C students watching from higher tiers.
His next opponent:
Lysa Meren
Level: 12
Combat Type: Precision striker
She stepped into the arena calmly.
Eyes sharp.
Breathing controlled.
No trash talk.
Just quiet assessment.
Jareth noticed that immediately.
"…You're different."
She didn't answer.
Barrier activated.
Match started.
First exchange—
Fast.
Lysa didn't rush.
She probed.
Small strikes.
Quick retreats.
She wasn't trying to overpower.
She was testing.
Jareth adjusted.
Mana flowed evenly.
They clashed mid-arena.
Fist met palm.
Reinforcement against reinforcement.
The impact cracked stone beneath them.
This wasn't street-level anymore.
This was structured combat.
In the infirmary—
Darin watched the projection.
Eyes locked.
Lysa moved cleanly.
Technical.
Efficient.
No waste.
Jareth smiled slightly.
"…Finally."
The fight escalated.
Lysa feinted low.
Struck high.
Jareth blocked late.
Her elbow connected with his cheekbone.
Sharp.
Precise.
He tasted blood again.
Crowd reacted.
She followed immediately with double-step burst.
He barely redirected.
Her mana output was lower than his opponent before—
But her efficiency was higher.
This wasn't brute force.
This was control.
Back in infirmary—
Darin leaned forward slightly despite pain.
"Don't rush," he muttered unconsciously.
On-screen—
Jareth didn't rush.
He slowed.
Matched her rhythm.
Minute three.
Minute four.
Neither dominating.
Minute five—
Lysa's breathing remained steady.
But micro-flickers began at her shoulders.
Her output had a limit.
His didn't.
Darin saw it first.
"…There."
Jareth did too.
He pressed slightly harder.
Not explosive.
Gradual.
Lysa's guard slipped for half a second.
That was enough.
Short step-in.
Hook to ribs.
Palm strike under chin.
She staggered.
He didn't overcommit.
He waited.
She attacked again.
Desperate burst.
Mana dipped.
Jareth pivoted.
Reinforced straight punch.
Impact.
Lysa dropped to one knee.
Barrier deactivated.
Match ended.
Silence in the arena.
Then applause.
Not loud.
But respectful.
Status flickered.
Jareth Nocturne
Level: 8
Tier Promotion: C Candidate
He blinked once.
"…That was better."
Back in infirmary—
Darin exhaled slowly.
He wasn't angry anymore.
He was focused.
He looked down at his cracked crystal.
Then back at the screen.
"…Fine."
His voice steady now.
"I'll just get stronger."
That was the moment.
Not hatred.
Rivalry.
⸻
Above in observation—
Elder Kael spoke quietly.
"They will push each other."
Maerin nodded.
"If neither dies."
⸻
END OF EPISODE 5