"The Student Council, huh..."

Faced with the choice given by Celicia, Moen fell into a brief silence.

At Santa Maria College, known for its liberal atmosphere, the Student Council held immense power. Even the attendance checks for first-period classes were the responsibility of the Student Council, a testament to its influence.

Moreover, the Student Council carried significant prestige among the students. Joining the council would undoubtedly dilute, if not completely erase, the "scumbag" reputation Moen had been carrying. It might even allow him to shed the biases others had placed on him and finally become the "good student" he had always dreamed of being.

It was clear that this was precisely Celicia's intention.

No matter how you looked at it, it seemed like an excellent opportunity.

But...

"Do I even qualify for the Student Council as I am now?"

Moen looked into Celicia's eyes and asked seriously:

"Or... is this a special privilege you're giving me, Celicia?"

"At this moment, whether you excel or not doesn't matter."

Celicia lowered her gaze, staring into the cup of coffee in her hands:

"What matters is whether you have the will to become excellent. Moen Campbell, don't you think you have it?"

"Of course I do, but it has nothing to do with the topic we’re discussing right now."

The unique status of the Student Council meant that annually, countless students desperate to join it would go to great lengths. Thus, those who were accepted had to be the elite from every grade.

Take Ariel Bugard, for example. If she wanted to join the Student Council, no one would raise an objection—largely because anyone who had dared to oppose her had essentially been taken out in physical confrontations last semester.

But Moen Campbell was different.

Moen Campbell was notorious across the grade—a scumbag, a poor student, a playboy.

He had only managed to learn one magic spell in a year, and it was the simplest one: the Lighting Spell.

His "Introduction to Basic Magic" exam from last semester? Just three points.

If someone like him suddenly joined the Student Council, everyone would undoubtedly label it as favoritism.

Especially given his engagement to Celicia, the current Student Council President.

That would only incite more public resentment and hostility.

"This will become a blemish on you, Celicia."

"You think I care?"

Celicia arched her elegant brows, the corners of her lips curling into a playful smirk:

"Let people say whatever they want—I’ve never been the one to..."

"But I care."

Moen cut her off and said earnestly:

"I care."

"..."

Sunlight streamed through the pale blue curtains, casting radiant outlines across Moen's face. Caught in an unguarded moment, Celicia stared blankly at the man before her, her wide eyes showing a rare trace of astonishment.

"I’ve already tainted your name once before, so don’t let me carry that burden of guilt again. Please."

Moen gently set down his empty coffee cup on the table, offering sincere praise:

"The coffee was excellent."

"…Thank you," Celicia replied.

"Well then, I'll be going now. Goodbye."

"Mm."

Moen stepped out of the Student Council room, quietly closing the door behind him.

The light in the room dimmed slightly.

In contrast, the emotion shimmering in Celicia's eyes became even more pronounced.

"Hah..."

Exhaling a soft sigh, Celicia rested her chin on her hand and gazed into the void.

Suddenly, her exquisitely beautiful face softened into a delicate smile, like snow melting with the arrival of spring.

"Moen Campbell..."

"You really have changed, haven’t you..."

...

...

"President! President!"

Celicia's reverie was interrupted as Weier, sporting her signature bun hairstyle, sprinted into the room, panting.

"I brought the thing you asked me to keep an eye on!"

Still catching her breath, Weier leaned on the desk for support. She then noticed the coffee cup resting there.

"Huh? Did someone come by just now?"

"Is it unusual for someone to visit the Student Council?"

Celicia tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "So? Where is it?"

"R-right here!"

Weier handed over a stack of newspapers to Celicia, her eyes brimming with excitement as she gushed:

"The content this time is absolutely explosive. It blew my mind—I mean, who would’ve thought that behind Moen Campbell’s alleged history of dating *thirteen boats at once*—oops, no, make that fourteen—there’s even more scandalous drama hidden!"

"Didn’t I tell you already? Stop reading so many of these stories." Celicia took the newspapers, her tone vaguely reproachful. "The content in these things isn’t as real as you think it is."

"Well, um, it’s because the headlines were just too catchy! I couldn’t help but skim a little..." Weier scratched her head sheepishly.

"..."

Knowing full well this curious girl standing before her couldn’t resist her impulses, Celicia chose not to press the matter further. She directed her attention to the newspapers instead.

The headline immediately jumped out at her:

—"The Sinking of the Dreadnought-Class Warship: The Triumphant Revenge of the Virgin Slayer!"

"So they even dare spin tales about the teachers now? The audacity is impressive."

Celicia only glanced briefly at the headline before losing interest entirely.

She stood up, heading toward the door.

"Huh? President, are you heading out?"

"There’s something I need to handle."

"But what about all these files?"

Weier gestured to the mountain of documents piled on the desk, her voice filled with unease:

"These are pretty urgent, you know."

Celicia turned back, her gaze calm.

"Secretary?"

"Eh?"

"Aren't you the Student Council Secretary?" Celicia asked.

"Y-yes?"

"Then those will be under your care for now."

"Huh?"

Weier froze on the spot, her face written with despair.

So. Many. Files.

This was beyond overwhelming—it could kill someone!

"Good luck, Secretary."

Celicia gently patted Weier's shoulder, leaning closer to whisper in her ear:

"Oh, and by the way, if I come back and find you’ve been mishandling things... well, you’ll *never* see the new volume of *Dominating Dark God Falls For Me* again."

"Y-you’d throw my novels away?" Weier whimpered pitifully.

"No, I’d personally ensure the publisher *never* prints such books again," Celicia retorted, cold as iron.

"T-that’s so cruel! President, you’re too cruel!"

...

...

The Newspaper Club.

"Mint! Goth! Senior!"

Ariel slammed a stack of newspapers onto the desk, yelling furiously at the garishly-dressed young man lounging in a recliner:

"Explain to me what the hell all of this nonsense in your paper means!"

"Oh? If it isn’t the one and only Ariel Bugard."

The president of the Newspaper Club, Mintgoth, with his garish dyed-green hair, was meticulously filing his nails. He only cast a lazy glance up when Ariel erupted in anger, his expression otherwise indifferent.

"What brings such a prestigious guest here to grace our humble clubroom? Truly an honor."

"Don't play dumb!"

Ariel picked up one of the newspapers, jabbing at the bold, highlighted headlines as she fumed:

"'Dreadnought-Class Warship?' 'Moen Campbell’s Ex-Girlfriend?' 'Abortions?' 'Stealing Men?' Do you even take responsibility for the garbage you publish?"

"Oh, that."

Mintgoth gave the headline a glance and sneered:

"It’s just tabloid gossip. Don't all the publications have this section?"

"Even gossip needs to be based on factual information!"

Ariel slammed her fist on the desk, incensed. "Your entire article is made-up nonsense!"

"Which is why..."

Mintgoth finally straightened up a little, grabbing a copy of the newspaper and flipping it over. He pointed to a tiny disclaimer at the bottom of the page and grinned smugly:

"I *did* include a note: 'This content is purely speculative, meant for amusement only, and does not reflect real events.'"

Ariel leaned closer, glaring at the fine print before realizing it was practically invisible.

"Who could even notice that!?"

Her fury reignited, Ariel growled: "You're doing this on purpose!"

"What’s that now? Ariel Bugard has an issue with me?"

Mintgoth smirked, meeting her glare with calculated condescension.

"So what do you want?"

"Retract all these newspapers and publish an apology clarifying the truth to everyone affected by your lies!" Ariel snarled through clenched teeth.

"Ah, I see. That’s what you want."

Mintgoth nodded in mock understanding before replying casually:

"But that's not happening."

"...Why not!?"

"Retract my papers? Apologize? That might as well mean shutting down the Newspaper Club for good. No way I’d agree."

"So you’re just fine infringing on others’ reputations like this!?"

"Hmm, I suppose it’s a little questionable."

Mintgoth rubbed his chin, pretending to think deeply before suddenly offering:

"How about this? I’ll give you 10% of the profits from the paper’s sales. Deal?"

"..."

"Think about it. The papers sold really well—it’s not a small cut, even if it’s just one-tenth. A little reputation for a pile of cash? Isn’t that a win?"

"You bastard... how can you reduce a person’s reputation to nothing more than a price tag!?"

Ariel’s nails dug deep into the surface of the desk as she glared at the man, her entire body trembling with rage.

"I don’t care about your damn money! But you’d better retract every paper and apologize to every single person your lies have harmed!"

"Sorry, not gonna happen."

"You—!"

"Oh? Are you planning to attack me, Ariel?"

Mintgoth remained unfazed, even as Ariel visibly teetered on the brink of punching him. If anything, his smirk only grew wider.

"By all means, give it a shot. After all, it’d be headline-worthy material—a second-year student challenging a sixth-year senior? More good press for me! But... are you sure you could win, Little Miss Second-Year?"

"..."

Ariel’s line of sight burned as though it might set him aflame. But ultimately, she didn’t act.

Because she knew she wasn’t his match yet.

Not him—a sixth-year, someone even famed amongst the sixth-years.

While Ariel had the ability to surpass her level in fights, there were limits.

For now, her limit remained firmly drawn at four years ahead.

Unless...

But no, using *that power* against human scum like him would be a waste.

"Don’t get too cocky..."

Ariel’s body shook with anger, her voice grating as she whispered through clenched teeth:

"Tendency would converse after years—don’t you dare underestimate a girl who..."

“Knock, knock...”

A knocking sound interrupted Ariel’s harsh words mid-sentence.

Without awaiting any response, a silver-haired figure entered the room.

"What’s going on? Didn’t I say no one is allowed in without my permission—"

Mingoth turned his head in annoyance, ready to scold the subordinate guarding the door. But when he saw the silver-haired figure, he froze in place.

“Pre—President?”

“Hello, Senior Mintgoth.”

Celicia gave Mintgoth a cold nod before turning to Ariel and greeting her, “Good afternoon, Ariel.”

“Celicia, what are you doing here?”

Ariel blinked a few times, and then, realizing the impropriety of her stance as she slammed the table moments ago, she quickly straightened up, coughed lightly, and asked with an overly curious tone:

“Isn’t it the beginning of the semester? Are you sure the Student Council’s work isn’t overwhelming?”

“Don’t worry, someone’s helping me handle that. As for why I’m here…”

Celicia glanced at Mintgoth, her tone growing icy.

“Senior Mintgoth should know the reason well enough.”

“Um…”

Mintgoth’s cheek twitched.

Faced with the woman before him, cold as a towering glacier, even he found it hard to keep calm.

Of course, Mintgoth knew why Celicia had come.

And he knew she’d come sooner or later.

But he didn’t expect her to show up this quickly!

Wasn’t this supposed to be the busiest period for the Student Council at the start of the semester? How did she have time to meddle in his affairs?

No matter. Stay calm. Don’t panic.

He had anticipated this scenario long ago and was fully prepared for it.

The school regulations had been carefully combed through no less than ten times; he was confident he hadn’t violated any rules.

The accounts for the News Club had already been fabricated; even if she examined them, no flaws would be evident.

His subordinates had been briefed fully, and the apology materials for the teaching staff were on their way.

All he needed to do was hold his ground.

Yes, hold steady.

Even if she was the Student Council President—heck, even if she were a princess of the Empire—within the confines of the academy, she was just a fourth-year student.

As long as he hadn’t broken rules, what could she possibly do to him?

With that thought, Mintgoth’s mildly tense heart began to settle.

Stay calm. The advantage is mine!

Let’s see her first move!

“So, you already know why I’m here. I’ll skip the formalities.”

Celicia pulled a chair across from Mintgoth, dragging it to face him directly, and sat down.

Her legs crossed neatly, her hands intertwined and resting on her lap, her posture impeccably poised; she resembled a meticulously programmed machine, calculated and composed.

For an moment of desperate silence, Celicia’s icy gaze bore into Mintgoth, and then she spoke:

“Mintgoth Raymond,

You—do you want to die?”

“Wh—What?!”

At that moment, even Mintgoth, a sixth-year veteran, couldn’t help but lean back in his chair. The sheer pressure of Celicia’s sharp aura was overwhelming, compounded by the shocking nature of her words.

In an instant, all of Mintgoth’s painstakingly crafted defenses crumbled like paper.

But Mintgoth was no weak-minded fool. He quickly recovered and, surging with anger, retorted:

“President, are you saying this as the Student Council President? Or as Her Highness, the Princess?”

“And which identity matters? Does your question have any meaning?”

Celicia’s gaze remained frosty, her expression composed. It was difficult to imagine that just moments ago, someone so calm had uttered the word "die."

“Her Highness the Princess matters? Or the President matters?

Even if I discard both these titles and address you as merely Celicia herself—so what?

Does it matter? No, it doesn’t.

Because regardless of the identity, I have every right to say these words to you.

And I could say them not just once—but as many times as it takes for them to sink in.”

Word by word, as though carving them into Mintgoth’s soul with blood, Celicia spoke with a chilling voice:

“Mintgoth Raymond, do. you. want. to. die?”

At that moment—

A young woman sat bathed in twilight.

Frostbitten aura in the air.

...

...

“Just as expected from Celicia!”

In the hallway, Ariel gazed at Celicia in awe, showering her with genuine praise:

“When you said those two lines earlier, you were so cool! Just two sentences— and that senior from the sixth year caved and apologized to me. Gosh, you were amazing!”

“Not a big deal.”

Celicia tucked a strand of silver-white hair behind her ear, her tone indifferent. “Dealing with someone like Mintgoth, if you try reasoning, he’ll just twist your words to his advantage. You have to be firm.

Besides, part of it is him feeling guilty deep down. Otherwise, there’s no way he’d get scared so easily.”

“But still! That was epic!”

Ariel felt as though stars shone in her eyes.

Oh no—Celicia seemed even more attractive now. Ariel could barely resist running up to hug her.

Wait a second...

For her to show up at such a perfect moment, could it be that...

Ariel touched her slightly warm cheeks, letting her wild imagination take hold.

"Ah."

Lost in thought, Ariel suddenly bumped into Celicia, who had stopped in her tracks.

“What’s wrong?”

Rubbing her nose, Ariel followed Celicia’s gaze.

And saw someone she least wanted to see.

Under a tree not far away, sitting in the shade, a blonde boy named Moen was immersed in reading a book whose title Ariel couldn’t make out.

Occasionally, he furrowed his brows, seemingly stuck on a difficult problem, and scribbled notes in a small notebook.

Other times, he’d crack a satisfied smile, as if solving a long-standing issue, his expression as dazzling as sunlight.

Throughout, he remained completely focused, undisturbed by his surroundings. Even when people walked past him, he stayed deep within the world of his book.

"Is he actually reading? And looks this serious while doing it?"

Ariel stared in disbelief, her expression akin to seeing a pig fly. Then she scoffed, curling her lips in disdain.

"Knowing how he is, I bet it’s just a fleeting interest."

"Ariel."

Celicia withdrew her gaze, casting a chilly glance at Ariel.

“He’s trying. You shouldn’t ridicule him.”

“But that’s Moen Campbell we’re talking about! Celicia, you know what he was like last semester. There’s no way he’s genuinely working hard,” Ariel protested.

“That has nothing to do with who he is—or what he used to be.”

Celicia turned her head, resumed walking, her steps noticeably lighter—

Perhaps to avoid disturbing the reborn young man.

“Effort, no matter whose, shouldn’t be mocked.”

...

...

“Is today combat training class?”

After his usual morning routine of a cold shower following a run, and a quick breakfast at the cafeteria, Moen headed off to class.

This time, he felt much more at ease.

Compared to theoretical courses like Magic Basic—where he had zero foundational knowledge—practical combat training played to his strengths.

After all, although he squandered much of last year, his dear father’s rigorous training had left him with a solid foundation.

And besides—

“I haven’t slacked off at all recently.”

Clenching his fists, determination flashed in Moen’s eyes.

“Perfect. I’d love to see where I rank among my peers based purely on martial skills.”

...

...

The combat training class took place not in a classroom but in a massive arena.

Built for student duels, these arenas—or sparring rings—were under constant teacher supervision. Reinforced by magical arrays, they ensured duelists could unleash their full potential without any reservations.

By the time Moen arrived, the class was mostly gathered.

To his relief, the “rough nature” of such classes meant few girls attended. With fewer girls around, there was less gossiping.

But that tiny sigh of relief was quickly drawn back.

Because Ariel was also present.

Fortunately, this time, Ariel only shot Moen a frosty glance without saying anything.

Moen scratched his head, deciding against greeting her. She looked kind of... not in a good mood.

"Oh, everyone’s here."

As class began, the physically imposing combat instructor, Mr. Kaid, surveyed the students with the air of a predator sizing up prey.

"Same old routine. First day of the new semester? Randomized pair duels. Let’s see if you brats slacked off during the break!"

"Yay!"

Small cheers rippled through the crowd, as students eagerly welcomed the opportunity. Nothing compared to the excitement of a duel, which let some loaf while others played spectator—far more enjoyable than rote drills.

"Heh, laugh now. If I catch wind of anyone backsliding, you’ll see my wrath!"

Kaid sneered while issuing his warning, then produced a box filled with lots for drawing numbers.

Each student stepped forward in turn.

"Number one?"

Moen blinked, staring at the number.

Was luck always this cruel?

He’d been hoping to observe his classmates first.

“Well, never mind. Just give it a best shot.”

Smiling wryly, Moen flexed his hands and stepped toward the ring at Kaid’s call.

His opponent across the arena was a towering, muscular fellow whose broad chest seemed ready to burst through his uniform.

"Um, I think I remember you..."

Moen scratched his head, digging through faint memories.

"My name’s Raine," the brawny student offered.

"Raine, that’s right."

Moen’s recollection clicked.

From the original Moen’s memory, Raine was renowned in their year for being one of the strongest one.

Especially with his rigorously maintained muscular frame. His strength and explosiveness were so exceptional even Kaid often praised him.

Not to mention, he’d advanced to Martial Tier Two early last semester, placing him at least mid-range of Tier Two by now.

"Looks like a tough match."

Moen rubbed the back of his neck, then grinned a bit wryly.

“Well then, Raine. Please go easy on me.”

Raine paused a moment before nodding emphatically.

"I will.”

...

...

"That guy’s the first to fight?"

Watching Moen Campbell step onto the ring, Ariel arched a brow.

A sly grin crept across her face.

"Perfect. Let’s see you get crushed."

Earlier, trying to act cool reading in front of Celicia? Pretending to “work hard”?

Oh, I can’t wait to witness the earth-shattering fruits of your so-called effort.

"Place your bets! Place your bets!"

From the crowd, a monkey-faced student enthusiastically rubbed his hands, motioning others over:

“Moen Campbell versus Rayne—an epic showdown you won’t want to miss! Anyone looking to place a bet?”

“No way, sir. Are we seriously betting on something this predictable?” A nearby classmate leaned over, a peculiar expression on his face.

“Exactly! I mean, we’re talking about Rayne here! Moen Campbell spent the entire last semester slacking off. Sure, he’s got some basics, but not even giving Rayne one hand would let him win.”

“Be more confident—he wouldn’t win even if Rayne lost a hand and a foot!”

“Even more confident—he wouldn’t win even Rayne lost both hands and both feet!”

“Both hands and both feet? That’s too much. What next? Rayne has to use his head to fight Moen Campbell?”

“I think even using his head, Rayne wouldn’t lose to Moen Campbell, haha…”

“...”

“Don’t worry, don’t worry.”

The monkey-faced classmate chuckled slyly, his expression one of complete forethought. “I know the gap between the two is massive, but when did I say the bet was on who would win or lose?”

“Oh? What do you mean?”

“Time, you fool. How long can Moen Campbell last before it’s over—or in other words, how quickly will the duel end? Five minutes? Ten? Closest guess wins it all, and the rules couldn’t be simpler. Anyone looking to play?”

“I’m in!”

A few voices chimed in enthusiastically.

Spending all day at the academy studying was dull enough. Why not seize this rare opportunity for entertainment?

“I bet 100 Aimeil coins—it’ll end in five minutes!”

“Five minutes? Conservative guess.”

Someone threw a crumpled-up 50 Aimeil note onto the table. “Three minutes.”

“Calling that conservative but putting down only 50?”

An aristocratic-looking young man sneered with disdain, dramatically tossing out: “One thousand. One minute.”

“Wow, you traitor! Weren't you the one sucking up to Moen Campbell before? This bet is savage!”

“Heh, I tried to be buddy-buddy, but it didn’t work out. Moen Campbell only welcome the seniors as his lackey.”

...

“Should I join in too?”

Watching her classmates place bets with heated fervor, Ariel suddenly found herself tempted.

Not only could she enjoy watching Moen Campbell get humiliated, but she might make some pocket money in the process. Why not?

Still, being perpetually broke, Ariel couldn’t act recklessly with money. So naturally, she called upon her all-knowing master for advice.

“Master, what do you think?”

“Moen Campbell’s strength, you ask? I don’t know much about fighters, but it appears he’s... somewhat different from last semester.”

“Different?”

“Looks like he’s advanced a level.”

In Ariel’s mind, her master’s voice rang uncertainly before confidently transitioning to: “Indeed, he’s advanced.”

“I see now. Advanced, has he? Moen Campbell, you sneaky rat. Almost had us fooled!”

Ariel gritted her teeth viciously, glaring daggers at Moen up on stage.

This guy undoubtedly plans to outshine everyone with his hidden upgrade.

Thank goodness for her wise master. Had it not been for her, she might’ve bet on one or two minutes, losing her meal money in the process!

“I bet ten minutes!”

Determined now that Moen was a second-tier fighter, Ariel walked over fiercely and staked her week’s entire food budget—worn-out and crinkled 200 Aimeils.

She had no choice—markets were closed, and she'd blown the rest of her cash on materials. She was broke.

But...

She glanced at the clueless classmates who hadn’t noticed Moen’s concealed strength, still betting heavily on times like under two minutes. Ariel couldn’t help but curl her lip into a smirk.

Moen Campbell was now a second-tier fighter; while he still couldn’t defeat Rayne, lasting around ten minutes seemed likely.

And when that happened, she would undoubtedly win.

“Hehehe.”

Ariel rubbed her hands together gleefully, already dreaming of dining with extra chicken legs every meal:

“Here comes my new life~.”

...

“Please choose your weapons,” the instructor Keid said.

Since it was a duel meant to showcase genuine skill, he sent the pair to the prearranged weapons rack to grab whatever suited them.

Moen naturally chose his familiar twin short daggers, while Rayne opted for an imposing colossal blade.

“Daggers?”

Watching Moen’s choice, Kaid’s eyes flickered in surprise. “Weren’t you using a sword last semester?”

“Ha, the sword doesn’t suit me, I prefer daggers now.”

Moen laughed casually.

There was no way he could admit he’d spent months learning new techniques from an assassin, completely forgetting the sword techniques Kaid had taught him.

“Never mind—you can use whatever you want.”

Kaid didn’t make much of it. After all, Moen hadn’t been serious with his sword last semester anyway.

If it was all for fun, why bother asking?

“All right, get ready,” Kaid instructed, telling them to warm up while retreating to allow them space to fight.

“Got it.”

Moen stretched his body before glancing at Rayne, who was sizing up the feel of his massive blade.

“Rayne,” Moen suddenly spoke.

“Hm?” Rayne responded curiously.

“Your muscles are truly enviable. You must’ve worked hard over time.”

“...Started from childhood.”

“I see.”

Moen nodded thoughtfully before continuing his inquiry. “Actually, I had no real intention behind talking; I’m just curious.”

“?”

“Well, I remember someone once saying, ‘Moderate exercise attracts the woman while excessive exercise attracts the man.’ By that logic, with your muscles... Could it be—"

Moen leaned forward with a sly smile:

“No girls had crush on you in all these years, right?”

*Crack.*

Something shattered audibly.

Rayne froze, his forehead veins pulsing furiously while his eyes turned red with rage.

What the hell?! We’re fighting here, not rubbing salt into wounds!

No girls like me? So what?! At least I’ve got my beloved weights to keep me company!

Do you even understand the joy of lifting iron every day?!

At that moment—

“Begin!” Kaid announced the start of the duel.

Instantly, Moen shot forward like a hunting predator.

**Shadow Step!**

Moen vanished from his original position.

When he reappeared, he was right in front of Rayne.

The twin blades gleamed, shadowing his advance.

Rayne’s eyes widened in shock.

Caught off guard by Moen’s taunt-induced fury, he temporarily lagged in reaction—a disadvantage that cost him the initial momentum.

Faced with Moen’s slashing blades, Rayne could only hurriedly raise his colossal sword for defense.

The sheer bulk of the sword played its advantage here, blocking almost all of Moen’s attack paths with one lift.

But not all of the paths.

Moen’s gaze sharpened.

Suddenly, he shifted tactics, stepping hard on the colossal blade’s wide surface.

Leaping backward with force, he hurled one of his daggers forward, aiming at the gap left by the blade—Rayne’s exposed face.

Rayne quickly ducked aside, narrowly evading the flying dagger.

But just as he dodged, Moen stepped hard on the ground and surged forward once more.

Rayne looked flustered.

He realized being forced into Moen’s continuous fast-paced offensive meant inevitably losing.

He needed to push Moen back to reset the pace.

Stabilizing his breath deeply, Rayne began condensing energy.

**Iron Mountain Shock!**

A technique that causes a sudden burst of energy to repel all nearby enemies was perfect for close-quarters situations like this, as well as crowd control.

The only downside: It had a brief startup time.

And before the skill activation completed—

Moen had already closed the gap.

Except this time, no blades.

His empty hand flexed into claw-like formation.

Suddenly, like an explosive storm—

The reverberation hit!

Rayne immediately felt his internal energy surge erratically.

The almost-finished buildup of his technique was forcefully canceled.

This particular move hadn’t dealt significant physical damage but left Rayne briefly dazed.

“Well-earned title for interrupting mastery,” Moen murmured appreciatively, his approach unfazed.

Reaching Rayne calmly, he struck with a firm punch against his cheek.

The duel was over.

Silence blanketed the space.

Everyone stared in stunned disbelief.

Only when Moen glanced at Kaid’s frozen form—staring at the involuntarily halted stopwatch—did the instructor finally snap out of it, announcing loudly:

“Time taken: Ten seconds. The winner... Moen Campbell!”

The crowd remained quiet.

Moen, unfazed like a gentleman, offered a gracious bow toward the defeated Rayne lying sprawled:

“Thank you for teaching me, Rayne. And all the nonsense I said early? Don’t dwell on it. Even if no girls fancy you, I believe you’re still a charismatic man.”

Moen smiled kindly. “Being dedicated to fitness is a joyful way of life, isn’t it?”

Rayne: “...”

Please stop talking if you don't know how to talk.

It’s even more demoralizing now.

Moen turned briskly, heading back to his seating.

“Wait.”

Kaid called out, uncharacteristic fire lighting his gaze—as if seeing Moen anew for the first time:

“Well… shouldn’t you say something? Thoughts or something?”

“Thoughts?”

Moen mulled briefly over the duel’s experience before replying earnestly:

“It went... easier than I expected.”

“...”

Just as Rayne had begun trying to wobble upright, hearing this plunged him straight back onto the ground.

...

...

Not until Moen left the stage did the audience atmosphere erupt.

“No way! Moen Campbell *won*?!”

“I must be dreaming! Someone hit me—ouch—not dreaming!”

“Ten seconds? Is Rayne high? My grandma doesn’t move that slow!”

“Moen Campbell came back *this* strong after one break? Did he cheat or what?!”

“So... who won the bet?”

Someone finally raised the question, drawing everyone’s eyes to the monkey-faced classmate.

He gulped nervously, glancing at the bet records before announcing:

“Since it's about end time rather than who lost or won, the winner is whoever bet closest to ten seconds.”

This meant the jackpot winner turned out to be some random student who casually took part by betting on fifteen seconds, thinking it was outrageous enough, throwing down one single coin.

With odds of 1 to 5,000, this improbable victory became legendary at Saint Mary Academy for years.

After Moen's match, it was time for other classmates to face off.

Compared to Moen's ferocity, precision, and decisiveness, the other students' matches felt much more ordinary and flashy. Their overly theatrical moves, flying all over the place with little practical effect, almost made Moen want to rush forward and shout, "Stop fighting! The fight like this couldn't even hurt anyone!"

The only thing that surprised Moen was Ariel.

She defeated her opponent even faster, taking only seven seconds.

She seemed to be holding back a surge of intense energy, her moves every bit as lethal as they were swift, which left Teacher Cade visibly shaken on the sidelines.

"Without realizing it, have I become this strong too?"

Moen rested his chin on his hand as he watched his classmates' intense battles in the arena, his expression tinged with reminiscence. When he first crossed into this world, he was so weak that he could accomplish nothing.

Like a coward, he had been powerless to resist the mockery of fate.

But after more than a month of tireless struggle and learning, battling day and night against the records in the Black Book, he finally, in this moment, felt the tangible progress within himself.

He was no longer the worthless young master.

He had grown stronger.

And he would grow even stronger still.