The perimeter torches fred to life, casting long flickering shadows over the sand. Christopher stood in the center like a commander overseeing a duel of honor, arms folded behind his back. Daniel and Kael sat casually on the benches while Ravyn leaned silently against a nearby pilr, watching with hawk-like attention.

  Celica stepped onto the field with focused calm, each step deliberate and sure. Her usual uniform jacket was gone, repced by a fitted combat tunic and lightweight training pants that allowed for full mobility. The outfit hugged her frame just enough to hint at the athletic build beneath—toned legs, defined arms, and a graceful, upright posture that spoke of disciplined training. She was strong, but not bulky; her physique was that rare blend of power and elegance. Her long, wavy blonde hair—normally tied back in a low, practical ponytail—was today braided close to the scalp at the sides and gathered into a high tail that swayed like a banner behind her. Her sky-blue eyes were sharp with purpose, and her spear, strapped across her back, completed the image of a knight-in-training ready for battle.

  Across from her stood her opponent—tall and striking, with a confident aura that turned heads the moment she stepped into the arena. Brisa Thornvale. Her copper-brown hair was cut in sharp yers that framed a strong yet undeniably beautiful face, with piercing amber eyes that gleamed with challenge. She had the kind of figure that combined power with elegance—lean muscle, sculpted arms, and long legs built for battle but carrying the grace of someone who knew how to move. She rested a broadsword casually on one shoulder, a crooked smirk pying on her lips like she was already enjoying the thought of the fight.

  After confirming both fighters had taken their positions, Christopher stepped forward, his voice clear and steady.

  “Today we’re here to decide who will cim the final vacancy on our team for the upcoming tournament against the Royal Academy. This duel will end when one fighter is either incapacitated, yields voluntarily, or I determine that continuing poses a serious risk to their life. There is no time limit. Understood?”

  Both girls gave a firm nod.

  Christopher raised his hand. “Begin on my count.”

  “Five...”

  Brisa rolled her shoulders, flexing her fingers around the hilt of her broadsword.

  “Four...”

  Celica’s grip on her spear tightened, eyes locked on her opponent’s center of gravity.

  “Three…”

  Ethan leaned forward from the benches, tension coiled in his spine.

  “Two…”

  A hush fell over the arena.

  “One… Start!”

  They moved at once.

  Celica struck first, using the superior reach of her spear to drive a quick thrust toward Brisa’s midsection. A clean, precise opening blow—but Brisa anticipated it. She twisted her body, the spearhead grazing past her ribs, and closed the distance in a fsh.

  Before she could swing, Celica reacted. The shaft of her spear cracked sideways, catching Brisa hard in the side with a sharp, audible thunk.

  Brisa grunted, but powered through the hit. She raised her sword high and brought it down in a heavy arc. Celica darted backward, narrowly avoiding the blow that left a deep gouge in the sand.

  The crowd murmured—already impressed by the opening csh.

  Brisa pressed forward, swinging with brutal precision. Celica ducked, spun, countered with a sweeping strike meant to trip—but Brisa leapt, twisting mid-air and nding with a grunt.

  “She’s not just strong,” Kael muttered from the sidelines. “She’s fast too.”

  “And reckless,” Ravyn noted. “Celica can use that.”

  And Celica did. She baited Brisa into another heavy swing—an overcommitment. As the broadsword came down with crushing force, Celica spun to the side, perfectly timed, and delivered a clean sweep with the shaft of her spear right to Brisa’s legs.

  Brisa’s footing vanished. She hit the ground hard.

  Before she could rise or even brace, the sharp tip of Celica’s spear was at her throat.

  The fight was over.

  In raw power and sheer endurance, Brisa may have had the edge—but in control, precision, and combat sense, Celica was undeniably in a league of her own.

  “It was a good match,” Celica said calmly, extending a hand to her fallen opponent.

  Brisa looked up, wiped a bit of dust from her lip, and gave a crooked smile. “Nah. I just made a fool of myself.”

  Christopher stepped forward, voice clear. “Victory goes to Celica Ward. Thank you, Brisa, for your time—and sorry you couldn’t join us.”

  “It’s fine,” Brisa said, standing with Celica’s help. “I had fun. And it’s only right—the winner stays, the loser steps aside.”

  “Don’t sell yourself short,” Celica said, offering genuine praise. “Once you train a bit more, I think you’ll catch up.”

  Brisa ughed under her breath. “Catch up? Maybe. But I doubt I’ll ever surpass you. I’ve got a nose for talent, and yours is something else.”

  “You’re still underestimating yourself,” Celica insisted, but Brisa just gave her a friendly shrug.

  “Nah. I just know when I’m outmatched—and when it’s time to pick different battles.” She gave a casual wave to the others. “Thanks for everything. I’m heading out.”

  And just like that, Brisa walked away from the arena—alone, but with her head held high.

  “So, what now?” Daniel asked with a grin. “Is Christopher buying us dinner to celebrate the team’s new addition?”

  “Free dinner? I’m in!” Kael chimed in immediately. “Christopher, we’re counting on you!”

  Ravyn let out a quiet sigh and shook her head at the two, clearly unimpressed by their priorities.

  Christopher crossed his arms with a ft look. “No way. Thanks to you people, my wallet’s already empty. If you want food—buy it yourselves.”

  Daniel clutched his chest in mock betrayal. “You wound me, sir. Deeply.”

  Kael ughed, already heading toward the exit. “Guess I’m buying dinner for myself tonight.”

  As Christopher unched into an expnation of the team’s training regime with Celica, Ethan took the hint. No reason to hover. He quietly stepped away, catching sight of Ravyn also heading off on her own.

  He quickened his pace.

  “Ravyn, just a second.”

  She turned, one eyebrow raised. “Yes?”

  “Nothing much,” Ethan said with a casual smile. “Just… thanks for the advice you gave me earlier. I finally managed to cast the spell. Couldn’t have done it without you.”

  Her expression didn’t change, but the faintest hint of approval flickered in her eyes. “Gd to hear it. Which spell?”

  “That,” Ethan said, fshing a grin and winking, “is a secret.”

  She stared at him, unamused.

  “Oh—one more thing,” he added. “Because you taught me, the person who was supposed to teach me didn’t get her fun. So… you might be due for a little revenge. Expect it during the tournament.”

  “What?”

  “Really sorry about that! Then, I'm going now!”

  Before she could press further, Ethan turned and sprinted off, leaving a very confused—and slightly annoyed—Ravyn in his wake.

  "What the hell was that!?"

  Tuesday passed without incident—another morning spent honing Mana Manipution in css and another productive afternoon brewing potions in Professor Corbin’s b. Ethan made a modest profit again, not as fshy as before, but enough to slowly rebuild the funds he’d lost after his eye incident.

  Then came Wednesday.

  After the usual bruising round of Physical Education, it was time again for Weapon Training. A css Ethan had started to dread.

  Over the past several weeks, Professor Rhea had drilled the css relentlessly on the fundamentals—stance, weight distribution, bance, striking forms, recovery motions. She was brutal, thorough, and left no room for compromise. And the frustrating part?

  Ethan already knew most of it.

  He could perform the sequences cleanly, maintain his bance, and follow the rhythm of motion better than half the css. Yet each time she evaluated him, she waved him off with a simple, “Not yet.” Meanwhile, others—clearly less precise—were moved to the group B, allowing them to start working on low difficulty missions every Saturday.

  And with each passing week, time was slipping through his fingers. The deadline for first-year mission quotas was approaching, and if he didn’t get promoted to group B soon, he’d have no choice but to cram multiple missions into every weekend just to keep up, or worse, fail to do so and be forced out of the Academy.

  He couldn’t let that happen.

  So as soon as css ended, and the sweat-soaked students began filing out, Ethan approached Professor Rhea with a purposeful stride.

  “Professor Rhea,” he called out, brushing a bit of hair off his brow. “Do you have a moment?”

  She turned, arms crossed. Her sharp silver eyes narrowed slightly. “Let me guess. You want to talk about your group pcement?”

  Ethan didn’t flinch. “Yes. I need to move up, and I think I’ve earned it.”

  Rhea exhaled heavily—an unmistakable sigh of someone who’d been expecting this conversation for a while. Still, she nodded.

  “Alright. Let’s take this to my office.”

  Without waiting for a response, she turned on her heel and began walking briskly across the training grounds, her boots crunching in the sand.

  Ethan followed, his jaw tight.

  As they arrived at her office, Professor Rhea opened the door and stepped aside to let him in. Inside, the space was spartan—just a desk, two chairs, and a few training diagrams pinned to the wall.

  “I don’t have anything fancy like tea or coffee,” she said bluntly, pouring a gss of water from a ceramic jug. “But you can have this.”

  Ethan took the gss with a nod of thanks and sat in the guest chair. Rhea sat across from him, arms resting on the table, her expression as direct as always.

  “Look, Ethan. I know this is frustrating. Frankly, based on your technical skill alone, you should’ve been pced in Group C weeks ago.”

  Ethan’s eyes widened. “Then—”

  “But,” she cut in firmly, “you’ve got no stamina, no agility, and barely any strength. I can’t, in good conscience, approve you for combat when your body starts failing five minutes into a fight. Missions—even the easiest ones—require endurance. A sharp mind and good technique won’t carry you if your legs give out halfway through.”

  “Ugh…” Ethan exhaled, slumping back slightly in his chair.

  “I’m guessing you’re worried about the mission quota, right?” Rhea went on, her tone softening just a hair. “That’s understandable. I spoke to Alric—he said you’ve been taking your Dark Magic lessons seriously. But even if you're progressing well, that kind of training takes time. You won’t see practical gains for at least another semester.”

  She leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms. “I also brought the matter up with the Principal yesterday. Whatever happened between you two… well, he agreed to make some concessions. As an apology.”

  Ethan blinked. “What kind of concessions?”

  “It’s simple,” she said. “For your first year, you’re exempt from the mission quota.”

  His brows lifted. “Really?”

  “But,” she added, raising a finger, “that total will be added to your second-year quota instead. You’re not escaping the work—you’re just deferring it.”

  Ethan groaned softly. “Do I even have a choice?”

  “You do,” Rhea replied. “You can sign a waiver stating that you accept full responsibility and start taking missions right away. I strongly advise against that, but it’s your decision. And of course…” she paused, then said ftly, “You can also walk away.”

  He looked up.

  “Not everyone needs to be an adventurer,” she said, not unkindly. “Over half the kingdom’s popution are non-combatants. There’s no shame in choosing a safer life—one where you’re protected, instead of the one doing the protecting.”

  Ethan looked down at the water in his hands, silent for a moment. Then, “Can I think about it?”

  “Of course. Take your time,” Rhea said, standing and walking him to the door.

  Ethan left her office with his thoughts churning. The sunlight outside felt dimmer somehow.

  Maybe he had been too na?ve—imagining all goblins to be as easy as the ones he’d faced before. He hadn’t truly considered how exhausting a real mission could be. He couldn’t even finish stamina training without colpsing. No wonder Professor Rhea didn’t pass him.

  Now he stood at a crossroads.

  Take the path of debt, where the burden of tomorrow grew heavier?

  Take the path of risk, charging into danger with a weak body?

  Or… accept the path of safety—of stepping back?

  He clenched his jaw.

  Eliza was strolling back to the dorm, chewing the st few bites of the sandwich she’d picked up for dinner. The evening air was crisp, the garden path dimly lit by nterns. As she neared the central courtyard, she noticed a figure sitting alone by the fountain—silent, still, a little too motionless for comfort.

  Not wanting to interact with a stranger at this hour, she instinctively veered toward the outer path to circle around the garden. But the moment she turned, something stopped her.

  A presence. A familiar warmth in the air.

  She froze.

  It wasn’t sight or sound—but something subtler. A faint pulse in the atmosphere, barely perceptible to anyone else. But to her?

  It was unmistakable. It stirred something inside her.

  A thirst that was impossible to satiate. A kind of longing. A compelling pull. Something that shacked her reason turning her into a fool.

  Since the day he had accidentally cast that spell on her, she’d become attuned to his presence in ways she didn’t entirely understand. His mana called to her in the quietest yet most undeniable way. She could pick it out of a crowd without even trying. And when she did, she would unconciously chase after it.

  It was the most cruel form of mind control. One that didn't force anything but made the subject willingly accept any order on their own.

  Eliza herself was well aware of it. But she couldn't break free. She didn't want to break free.

  Just a touch.

  Just a sip.

  Just a...

  Eliza! You're losing your mind!

  Eliza sighed, trying to shake off the sensation. “This is ridiculous,” she muttered to herself.

  Still, her feet turned of their own accord, carrying her back toward the garden instead of away.

  As she drew closer, she confirmed it—Ethan—seated on the edge of the fountain. His gaze was tilted skyward, eyes quietly scanning the stars above. The moonlight caught faintly in his hair, and the stillness around him made the whole scene look like a painting—soft, reflective, distant.

  Eliza lingered by the hedge for a moment, conflicted. Part of her wanted to walk away and ignore it. The other part… just wanted to sit beside him.

  "Hey," she called softly, her voice barely louder than the breeze.

  Ethan turned, blinking in surprise. Then he gave a tired smile. “Eliza. You’re out te.”

  “You’re one to talk,” she replied, stepping closer.

  He gnced back up at the sky, the stars reflected faintly in his eyes. “I wanted a quiet pce to organize my thoughts.”

  “I see…” Eliza murmured, her voice trailing off.

  Who cares about that!? Give me some mana! There's no way I can say that! Ugh!!!

  She could feel it again—his mana. So close, so warm, so tasty... It was driving her crazy! She had to find a natural way to ask him now! If she didn't, she feared she would suddenly jump on him!

  “Hey,” he said, causing her to tremble, “I’m having a bit of a problem and could use a second opinion.”

  “Y-Yes?” she answered, caught off guard.

  He shifted his weight slightly. “You know I’m in Group A for Physical Ed, right? So… I talked to Professor Rhea about moving forward. She gave me a choice.”

  Eliza nodded silently, listening.

  “I can either ignore her advice and start taking missions right away—which she really doesn’t recommend—or I can dey things and take on extra quota next year. Basically trade risk now for more pressure ter.”

  He exhaled through his nose and gave her a small, sideways gnce. “What do you think I should do?”

  Ugh! Why are you making me think while I'm like this!? Can't you take the clue!? I'm begging you!.... Fine! I will answer! But after that, you better notice something about me!

  Eliza took a moment before answering, her gaze steady on Ethan, even as he looked back up at the stars. The tension that lingered in the air slowly faded into something more grounded—something thoughtful.

  “Well,” she said at st, her voice even, “what do you gain by rushing into missions now?”

  Ethan raised an eyebrow. “Experience. Freedom. Maybe a few silver coins.”

  “And what do you risk?” she asked, folding her arms.

  He hesitated, then sighed. “Getting hurt. Failing. Making things worse.”

  “Exactly.” Eliza stepped closer, not out of hesitation, but out of habit—like she was stepping closer to a problem that needed solving. “You’re good at thinking your way out of trouble, but you’re not ready to throw your body into danger. Just st week you already almost died once pying hero. Do you want to repeat that again!?”

  He winced. Fair point.

  “So take the debt,” she said bluntly. “You can pay it off ter—assuming you’re still alive to do so. Missions aren’t just chores. They’re real. And if you walk into one half-prepared, you won’t walk out.”

  Ethan chuckled dryly. “That’s cold.”

  “It’s realistic,” Eliza replied, her tone softer but firm. “You have too much potential to waste on pride.”

  Then, after a pause, she added quietly—almost offhand, but not without weight, “And I wouldn’t know what to do if my master suddenly went and got himself killed.”

  Ethan blinked, surprised by the phrasing. “Your… what now?”

  “My contractor,” she corrected quickly, folding her arms tighter. “Technically, you’re still the one who cast that stupid familiar spell on me, remember?”

  He opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, she went on.

  “If you’re pnning to go die in a dungeon somewhere, at least have the decency to fix my body first. You’re the one responsible for the contract. If you suddenly vanish, who will feed me with mana!?”

  And now that I said that, reward me with mana! Come on! Can't I be more obvious!?

  Her voice was calm, matter-of-fact, but the message was clear—and somewhere behind that calm logic, there was something else. Not quite panic. Not even vulnerability. Just the faintest tremor of something she didn’t want to name.

  Ethan looked at her for a moment longer, his usual smirk fading.

  “…Right,” he said quietly. “I’ll try not to die, then.”

  “You better not,” Eliza muttered, turning her eyes away—pretending to study the moonlight dancing on the fountain’s surface.

  My mana! Give! Me! My! Mana!

  A quiet moment passed between them, filled only by the faint trickle of the fountain and the distant chirp of insects.

  Gah!!!!! You leave me no choice! Damn you, Ethan! I hate you! Once this is all over I'll beat your ass!

  Then Eliza shifted. Not much—just a shuffle of her feet—but it was enough for Ethan to notice. She looked conflicted, her lips pressed into a thin line, arms crossed tighter than before.

  “I gave you advice,” she said suddenly, voice low.

  Ethan blinked. “Yeah. Good advice.”

  She nodded once, avoiding his eyes. “Right. And good advice… isn’t free.”

  “…Come again?”

  “I said it’s not free,” she repeated, a little more forcefully. But her tone wavered—ever so slightly. “You… have to pay me.”

  Ethan sighed, touching his pocket to grab his wallet. “Fine! And what’s the price?”

  Her cheeks tinted pink, and she hesitated.

  “…Mana,” she finally muttered.

  He blinked again. “What?”

  She turned her head sharply to the side, refusing to look at him. “Don’t make me say it again.”

  There! I told you! So embarrassing! Don't you dare to try to escape now! I will chase you to the ends of the world!

  He stared for a moment, the realization dawning. “You’re actually charging me for mana? Because of the contract?”

  “It’s compensation,” she snapped, still not looking at him. “I helped you. So… just a little. To bance things. That’s all.”

  Ethan let out a soft ugh, shaking his head. “You really can't be honest, huh?”

  Her shoulders tensed. “You think this is easy for me?”

  He blinked at the uncharacteristic crack in her voice and immediately stopped smiling.

  “Okay,” he said gently. “No teasing. Come here.”

  Reluctantly, she stepped closer, arms still crossed, face still turned slightly away as if that could somehow preserve what remained of her pride.

  Ethan focused gathering mana on his hand, then he slowly brought it to her lips. Like a puppie drinking it's mother's milk, Eliza took his hand and licked it.

  "Eliza, you-"

  "Shut up!"

  Its my dinner time now! Don't interrupt me!

  Eliza kept licking, savoring every bit of mana, one lick at a time.

  Unsatisfied with it, she took his finger into her mouth and sucked it a bit.

  Hmm! That's it! That's what I needed!

  Seeing the satisfaction in her eyes, Ethan muttered with a crooked grin. "If you react this bad from just a finger, how would you react with a kiss?"

  He meant it as a jab—half-joking, half-taunt. But Eliza, still slightly flushed from the mana exchange, didn’t back down. Her eyes flicked up, steady and unflinching.

  “Let’s find out,” she said.

  Before he could react, she leaned forward and pressed her lips to his.

  Ethan’s mind went bnk.

  What the hell was she doing!?

  For a second, everything narrowed to the warmth of her mouth and the strange, pulling sensation that followed—the unmistakable tug of mana flowing between them. A bit violent, aggressive and erotic as well. There were no feelings of love in such kiss, only a momentary passion. A wildness that erased reasons and took over control. And it felt incredible!

  A heartbeat ter, the rush of it caught up to him. He jolted back, eyes wide, breaking the kiss.

  “What the—are you crazy?” he gasped.

  Eliza stood there, looking far too composed for someone who had just ambushed him.

  Tch! Cheapskate! It's just mana! Can't you share a bit more!? And what are you so flustered about? Don't you kiss Misha all the time!? I'm still a tiny bit unsatisfied, but fine, let's stop now!

  “Payment received,” she said coolly. Then, with a smug little smile and a satisfied sigh, she added, “Thanks for the meal.”

  Without another word, Eliza turned on her heel and walked off into the night, her footsteps light and unhurried as if she hadn’t just flipped Ethan’s world upside down.

  Ethan sat there, frozen for a second. Then he groaned, rubbing his temples.

  And after a long while, a single word escaped his mouth: “Unbelievable…”