The remaining eight elite students fixed their gazes on Freya, fighting spirit flaring in their chests.

All they could think of now was avenging Jelo and Dolly—and restoring their school’s honor.

Yet their ranks were a tier above Freya’s. A real fight would invite whispers of bullying, an unfair victory.

Freya, standing calmly in the arena, seemed to read their hesitation.

“It doesn’t matter if your rank is higher,” she said. “I accept your challenge.”

Her words sent the eight students shifting uneasily.

A burly black-haired youth leaped onto the platform.

“I’m Gray! Peak Silver rank—I’ll test my skills against yours!”

He swung a towering battle-axe from his back.

But before the weapon fully cleared its strap, Glot’s voice cut in:

“Gray, stand down. Winning brings no glory. Losing? Unthinkable shame.”

Glot saw it clearly: Gray might delay Freya briefly, but defeat was inevitable. A peak Silver losing to mid Silver? Catastrophic. Winning? Hollow.

“But…” Gray hesitated, feet rooted to the stone.

Just then, a bright voice chimed:

“Mr. Glot, I’m also mid Silver rank. Let me face her.”

All turned. A golden-haired girl with a high ponytail landed lightly in the arena.

A collective breath caught. Her beauty was arresting—porcelain features, ethereal yet mischievous, like a fairy stepped from legend.

Glot blinked. “Eileen… you’re not even our student. No need to step in.”

Eileen smiled faintly, unmoving. “I’m not here for you. I seek a worthy fight.”

Glot sighed. “Fine. But wear my substitute doll. If harm comes to you, the blame falls on me.”

He handed her the doll. She clipped it to her waist and faced Freya.

“Need a moment to rest? I won’t take advantage.”

Freya opened her mouth to refuse—

—but Karl rushed in, gripping her arm.

“Freya, step down. I need to speak with you.”

Bewildered but trusting, she followed him off the arena.

“Freya, you cannot fight her.”

“Why?”

“I can’t explain… just don’t.”

The instant Eileen appeared, Karl had glimpsed flashes of his death:

[Freya losing to Eileen.]

[Freya, bitter, branding Eileen an enemy.]

[Freya rebelling after Eileen becomes Captain of the Royal Guard.]

[Freya—and himself—falling by Eileen’s hand.]

Fragmented, yes. But enough to confirm his death flag.

If Freya lost today, resentment would fester. Rivalry would escalate. Rebellion. Ruin.

He couldn’t tell her. If she dismissed him as delusional? Useless. If she believed him? She might weaponize his visions.

*Just like that villainous woman would.* Karl shuddered.

Freya frowned. “Refusing a challenge is rude. It makes me look cowardly.”

Mia nodded beside her. “Yeah, brother-in-law! It’ll seem like Sister’s scared. Bad for the Sovani name.”

Karl paused. “Then I’ll fight her. You watch.”

Freya’s eyes narrowed. “Why can *you* fight her… but not me?”

“Because you’d hold a grudge if you lost. I *will* win.”

“……………………”

Freya fell silent.

“Fine. Go. But if you lose?” She pressed the substitute doll into his hand. “You’ll never hear me play the recorder again.”

Mia tilted her head. “Sister… I’ve never seen you play recorder. Does it… *mean* something?”

Freya shot her a cool glance. “When you grow up.”

“I *am* grown up!!”

“Your chest needs to grow first.”

Mia glanced down, flushed crimson. “Mean sister! Smelly sister!! Bullying me again! Brother-in-law—punish her!!”

Karl fastened the doll to his waist. “Sorry. Too risky. Farewell.”

*(If I side with Mia, Freya stops playing recorder… Unless Mia plays for me? Nah. Not worth the trouble.)*

Karl strode onto the arena, facing Eileen.

She blinked. “Wait—wasn’t Freya my opponent?”

“Freya needs rest. I’m stepping in. Or… are you hesitant?”

Eileen’s lips curved. “Trying to scout my strength first?”

Karl wagged a finger, smiling.

“No. I’m here to defeat you.”