After the match between Seraphina and Lucifer ended quicker than most anticipated, the arena buzzed with anticipation for the next showdown: Cecilia versus Ren. The audience's excitement was palpable. Two of the top young geniuses were about to face off, but, like the previous match, many knew the outcome wasn't going to be close.
The gap between Cecilia and Ren was simply too vast.
Cecilia was nowhere near being able to land a blow on him, and that knowledge dulled the edge of the competition. I found my mind drifting, barely focusing on the match ahead.
As Valerie's voice rang out, announcing Cecilia's name, she ascended the steps with a grace befitting her noble stature. Her golden hair shimmered under the sunlight, each strand catching the light like spun gold. There was a quiet confidence in her stride, undeterred by the fact that she knew the odds were not in her favor.
On the opposite side stood Ren Kagu, the prodigy hailed as a heavenly genius, blessed with the rare Gift of God's Eyes and a triple affinity for space, gravity, and time magic. His presence alone commanded attention, his abilities elevating him far above his peers.
If there was one thing people might critique about Ren, it was his unconventional style. Unlike most elite fighters, Ren didn't wield a weapon. Instead, he fought with his fists, a method often considered inferior in a world dominated by swords, spears, and artifacts of unimaginable power.
But despite that, Ren stood nearly peerless.
He was one of only four
That was expected, especially with Ren's father watching from the stands. There was no way Ren would allow himself to slip, not with those eyes on him.
Valerie's voice echoed through the arena, announcing the start of the fight. I watched with mild disinterest as Ren stood still, hands casually tucked in his pockets, while Cecilia immediately sprang into action. Her hands moved with practiced precision, unleashing a barrage of 4-circle spells in rapid succession. The air crackled with energy as fire, wind, and lightning intertwined—chain casting and multi-casting at once.
It was impressive, really. Cecilia's Gift, Witchcraft, allowed her to weave elements together in ways others could only dream of. Her control over mana was something to be admired.
But it wasn't nearly enough.
Ren's purple eyes tracked the spells with cold detachment, not even bothering to remove his hands from his pockets. He stomped down, and with that single, effortless movement, a gravity tunnel formed above Cecilia's attacks, swallowing them whole and dissipating them as if they were mere dust in the wind.
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Without a moment's hesitation, Ren shot forward. His form blurred as he used time magic to accelerate his movements, closing the distance between him and Cecilia in the blink of an eye. She reacted quickly, raising her arms and summoning a massive wave of flames that roared across the arena, engulfing everything in its path.
But Ren walked through it, untouched. A shimmering 5-circle cloak of spatial magic surrounded him, protecting him from the searing heat. His expression remained as calm as ever as he approached her.
Then, with almost surgical precision, he delivered a swift kick to her sternum, augmented by time and gravity magic. The force sent Cecilia flying out of the stage, the air rushing from her lungs as she crashed onto the ground below.
An effortless victory.
Cecilia hadn't even had the chance to go all out—Ren had ended the fight before it could truly begin. And yet, the speed and ease with which he dispatched her only further highlighted the vast gulf between them.
This was never a fair match from the start.
As Valerie declared Ren the victor, the crowd erupted in cheers, but I had already begun preparing for my own bout against Ian. I stood from my seat, muscles tensing in anticipation. My mind was already focused on the battle ahead, but something caught my attention—Cecilia.
She had risen to her feet and was walking back to the resting area, her steps slow, her shoulders squared as if the loss had not affected her. But as she passed by, her crimson eyes locked onto mine, holding my gaze for a moment longer than necessary.
I didn't need words to understand what she was telling me. Her stare was cold, piercing, full of expectation.
She wanted me to do what she couldn't.
To crush Ren.
I exhaled, feeling the familiar surge of adrenaline. Though I never enjoy doing what Cecilia wants, I mused inwardly, I still want to crush Ren.
Soon, my time had come. Ian stood across the arena, ready and waiting.
Now, it was my turn to show what I was capable of.
Ian Viserion—the prince of the South, heir to one of the most powerful families in the world, and the bearer of one of Radiant Dragon Tiamat's three dragon wills. A prodigy of the spear, groomed from a young age in a Grade 6 art, Ian was the kind of talent most could only dream of. And he knew it well.
But here, at Mythos Academy, the weight of his status began to fade beneath the shadows of greater beings.
When Ian had first earned his rank of 5, he quickly realized something that chilled his pride—the existence of monstrous geniuses. Lucifer Windward and Ren Kagu.
They were unlike anything he had ever faced. Not just powerful, but special, elevated. More than mere prodigies, these two were forces of nature. Even Jin Ashbluff, the prince of the West, and Rachel Creighton, the princeess of the North—geniuses considered peerless in their own right—couldn't compare to them. They were phenomena, unparalleled across generations.
Ian's talent had always been expected, a birthright of sorts. The King of the South, his father, was a legend. It was only natural that his son would rise to greatness. But those two? They were something else entirely.
And now, standing across from him was another.
A third monster.
Arthur Nightingale.
Ian's red eyes flicked to the man opposite him. Arthur—friendly, likable, someone who blended easily into any crowd. Yet somehow, somewhere along the way, Ian had stopped noticing when Arthur surpassed him.
Now, it was undeniable. The gap between them was vast, an abyss Ian could not cross.
As Ian stood there, spear in hand, it became painfully clear.
His chance of victory? Zero.
Out of a thousand, no, a million battles, he wouldn't win a single one.
That was the difference between them. The undeniable gulf between talent, effort, and destiny.