The chaos erupted with no warning, and it was utterly bewildering.

One moment, the courtyard was filled with calm conversation, and the next, the place was a battlefield drenched in madness. It all began with the woman who, with fewer than twenty words, sparked the carnage. She didn’t even bother to stick around to witness the destruction she unleashed.

As the fighting began the crowd of examinees were separated by some kind of invisible fence, lowering the number of people—at least the number I could see— down to less than a hundred.

Bodies fell to the ground in droves, some from actual injuries, others possibly just playing dead to avoid further conflict. But what astonished me the most wasn’t the sheer brutality. It was the stupidity. Within seconds, these people turned on each other—friends, comrades, people who had been laughing and chatting together minutes before were now unleashing their most vicious attacks on each other.

Fireballs, ice shards, and violent blasts of wind tore through the air. Auras of blazing red, crackling blue, and shimmering green surrounded the combatants as if they were living weapons of destruction. People clad in metal suits charged forward, robots accompanying them, while others fell victim to bizarre afflictions. Some stopped mid-run and collapsed, others cried uncontrollably, and still more stood frozen, paralyzed by fear.

It was absolute chaos, and I could only watch as the courtyard devolved into a frenzy of powers. There were four distinct types I could recognize, but there was one type that was still missing.

The week prior to Kentaro’s full recovery, Oldie had told me about the four main types of Heartile typings. Magic—real, tangible magic—was an idea that fascinated me to no end. The thought of wielding that kind of strength was intoxicating. But there was one problem: I couldn’t feel mine. I had no connection to it, no spark, nothing. It left me frustrated, but I held on to the hope that one day, I might awaken it. Until then, I had my physical strength—and that was more than enough.

Watching the others, I felt a twinge of jealousy. I longed for the powers they wielded, to feel the surge of magic course through my veins. But more than anything, I wanted to fight. The rush I felt during battle, the thrill of pushing myself to the limit—it was addictive. I needed to feel it again.

But strangely, no one had challenged me yet.

Why wasn’t anyone coming for me?

I scanned the battlefield, now littered with bodies. Out of the dozens who had started, only twenty or so were still standing. Among them was Kentaro, who was in bad shape. Blood dripped from the deep cuts on his cheek and chest, and his right arm hung limply at his side, likely dislocated. Despite that, he was still standing. Only five others seemed relatively untouched by the chaos, standing off to the side—huddled around one of them, though what they were doing was unclear— unbothered by the destruction around them. These five were different, and I knew immediately—they were the ones I needed to fight.

But which one would give me the challenge I craved? Who among them would push me to that edge, where the thrill of combat became something more, something transcendent?

I couldn’t decide, so I asked.

“Which one of you is the strongest?” My voice carried over the battlefield, cutting through the noise as I pushed past the fallen bodies.

The five barely reacted. They turned from the huddle, but didn’t pay me much attention.Two raised their eyebrows in mild curiosity. One didn’t react at all. But the other two—oh, they were angry. Fury flashed across their faces like a fire ignited by gasoline.

None of them answered.

“Hello?” I called again. “Can you guys hear me?”

One of the two angry ones snapped. His aura flared around him in a blaze of heat, flames licking at his body as he rushed toward me, his face contorted with rage.

“Who the hell are you calling deaf, you bastard?! You want to know who the strongest is? It’s me!”

“But I- nevermind.” I was going to clear my name, but clearly there was no point.

I stood my ground, waiting. His movements were reckless, his anger clouding his judgment. He was either incredibly strong, or he was weak and trying to compensate. As he neared me, my heart remained steady, my instincts already telling me the answer.

“You’re too weak.” I slapped him aside, sending his body careening across the battlefield with a loud crash. His flames sputtered out as he hit the ground, unmoving. I didn’t bother to check on him. He wasn’t worth my time.

The remaining four stared at me in shock. Their previous calm shattered as their auras flared up in unison. Weapons were drawn, and the air around us became charged with tension. I dropped into my stance, the one that had always served me well. If all four came at me, I might lose—but that didn’t matter. I just needed the thrill of the fight.

But my hopes were dashed before they could fully form. One of the four—the woman with long, ghostly white hair—stepped forward. She motioned for the others to lower their weapons. Her crimson eyes locked onto mine, unblinking, unreadable.

“I don’t know who you are, nor do I care to know,” she said softly, her voice carrying a surprising gentleness. “But your arrogance far outweighs your strength. Allow me to show you what real power is.”

Her words sent an unexpected chill down my spine. My heart began to race, but not with the same rush of excitement I had felt before. This was different. Something about her unnerved me, and I couldn’t put my finger on why. As she spoke, the temperature around us dropped sharply, and frost began to form on the ground. The air grew cold—unnaturally cold.

Ice? Snow? No, I had already seen those powers in action today. This was something else, something far more dangerous. But despite the cold biting into my skin, I wasn’t afraid. She was strong—strong enough to give me the fight I wanted.

A breeze picked up, ruffling her long coat, revealing the scabbard beneath. Slowly, she drew her sword, its black hilt gleaming in the dim light. Her crimson eyes never left mine, and as she pointed the sword at me, I felt the weight of the challenge.

I took a deep breath. This was it.

She lunged, her blade raised high, swinging down in a graceful arc. I moved to block, raising my arm to deflect her strike. But just before we made contact, her body twisted mid-air, and her blade changed direction in an instant, now aiming for my chest.

I barely had time to react. The sword slashed into my side before I could fully dodge. Pain seared through my body as I caught the blade with my arm, stopping it from cutting deeper. But it was too late—the damage was done. The blade burned as though it were on fire, the heat intensifying with each passing second.

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I cried out in pain, shoving her back as I stumbled away, clutching my side. The wound throbbed, and I could feel the heat radiating from it, the edges of the cut blackened like a burn.

The woman stood calmly, her sword once again pointed at me. “Temperature,” she said quietly.

I blinked through the pain. “What?”

“You thought my power was ice or snow, didn’t you? You were wrong. I can control the temperature of an area or object—but only one at a time. I always start by lowering the temperature to throw my opponent off.” Her explanation was calm, almost indifferent, as if she were explaining a simple fact.

The fifth typing.

“Why are you telling me this?” I gritted my teeth, still clutching my side. By telling me, she was essentially giving me a way to counter her.

She shrugged. “Dead men tell no tales.”

With that, she lunged again.

This time, I was ready. I kept my movements simple, precise. No fancy techniques, no overreaching. She was dangerous, but I wasn’t going to lose.

Her blade shot toward me with deadly precision, a streak of silver cutting through the air like a viper’s fang. The temperature around us plummeted again, the cold biting at my skin, slowing my movements.

I knew now that she was playing with me, manipulating the environment to weaken me. Every step I took felt heavier, every breath sharper as the cold air stabbed at my lungs. But I wasn’t going to give in to this woman—not when my body was still capable of standing.

I dodged the initial thrust by mere inches, feeling the frigid air slice past my cheek, leaving a faint sting. My muscles tensed as I pivoted, driving my fist toward her ribs with all the strength I could muster. But she was fast—faster than I had anticipated.

Her sword swung around, intercepting my fist mid-strike, and the force of our clash sent a shockwave through my arm. I grunted, feeling the impact reverberate up to my shoulder, but I held my ground, refusing to back down.

“Impressive,” she murmured, her voice as cold as the air around us. “But you’re still too slow.”

Her next move was brutal in its simplicity—a swift, calculated step to the side, her sword arcing downward toward my exposed leg. I saw it coming, but there was no time to fully dodge. The blade tore through the fabric of my pants, leaving a searing line of pain in its wake. I hissed, stumbling back as I felt warm blood trickle down my calf, the heat of it a stark contrast to the freezing battlefield.

I clenched my jaw, forcing myself to stay upright. My body was protesting, but I couldn’t give her the satisfaction of seeing me falter. My hand tightened around the hilt of my weapon. This wasn’t just a fight anymore—it was a matter of pride or survival, but I like to think it’s pride.

“Temperature might be your weapon, but it won’t save you.” My voice came out low, a growl fueled by the pain coursing through my body.

Her lips twitched into a faint smile, as if amused by my defiance. “It’s not about saving myself. It’s about ending you.”

She moved again, this time faster, her sword flashing in a series of strikes that came at me from every angle. Left, right, high, low—the blade was everywhere at once, and I was barely keeping up. My muscles screamed with exertion as I parried each blow, the sharp clang of metal on metal ringing in my ears. Sparks flew with every impact, lighting up the frozen space between us.

But she wasn’t just using her sword. With each swing, the temperature shifted, playing havoc with my senses. One moment, my body felt like it were burning, the next, it was numb from the cold. My breaths came out in ragged gasps, mist curling in the frigid air as I fought to keep my composure.

I have to break her rhythm.

When her blade came for me again, aiming for my throat, I let it. My heart pounded in my chest as I made the split-second decision to let the blade graze my neck, feeling the cold metal kiss my skin. Her eyes widened in surprise as the blade connected, but I couldn’t stop, not yet. Using the momentum of her strike, I spun into her, my shoulder slamming into her chest with the full force of my weight behind it.

She staggered, caught off guard by the sudden shift in momentum. Her sword arm dropped for just a fraction of a second, but that was all I needed. I seized the opening, driving my fist into her stomach with a sickening crunch. The impact sent her reeling, and for the first time, I saw her composure crack. She gasped, her breath coming out in a cloud of white mist as she stumbled back, clutching her abdomen.

But even as she retreated, her eyes burned with fury. She was far from finished.

I was a bit shocked by the sudden change in attitude.

Why was she so mad? She's perfectly fine.

Before I could press my advantage, the air around us shifted again. This time, the cold was gone—replaced by an intense, suffocating heat. The sudden change was dizzying. My skin prickled as the temperature soared, sweat immediately beading on my forehead and running down my spine. The ground beneath us seemed to sizzle, steam rising from the stone as the heat became unbearable.

She straightened, her sword still gleaming in her hand, though her breathing was labored now. “You’re persistent, I’ll give you that,” she said, her voice no longer soft but edged with venom. “But persistence means nothing if you can’t withstand the heat.”

With a sharp flick of her wrist, her sword burst into flames.

The blade, now a searing inferno of white-hot fire, crackled as she raised it, her red eyes glowing like embers in the oppressive heat. The burning aura around her pulsed, waves of heat radiating outward, distorting the air between us. Every instinct screamed at me to retreat, to escape the inferno that now surrounded her, but I was rooted in place.

The hell kind of temperature is that!

I wanted to roar out in frustration, but now wasn’t the time.

The heat washed over me in waves, my skin feeling like it was being peeled away with every passing second. I could barely breathe. It felt like my lungs were on fire, the air too thick and hot to take in. My vision blurred as sweat poured down my face, stinging my eyes, but I couldn’t falter—not now. Not when I had come this far.

With a feral scream, she charged at me, the flaming sword slashing down toward my head. I had no time to think, no time to plan—just to react. I threw my body sideways, narrowly avoiding the deadly arc as the ground where I’d been standing erupted into flames.

The heat was unbearable. My throat was raw, and my limbs felt heavy, as though the very air around me was pressing down, trying to suffocate me. But I couldn't stop. Not now.

I pivoted on my heel, using the momentum to drive my fist forward, aiming for her exposed side. She blocked, but the force of the impact was enough to push her back a step. She winced, clearly not expecting the counter.

"You're not invincible," I spat, gritting my teeth against the pain that radiated through my body. "Not even close."

“Shut up!” She snarled, her red eyes narrowing, and once again, she lunged. This time, I didn’t hesitate. I met her head-on, pushing through the heat, the fire, the agony.

With a primal roar, she launched herself at me, her flaming sword arcing overhead in a blistering strike aimed straight for my heart. The air crackled with intensity, and I felt every hair on my body stand on end as the heat surged like a tide, threatening to engulf me. But I met her fury with my own determination, my muscles coiling tight as I summoned every ounce of strength I had left.

I charged forward, dodging her deadly swing by a hair's breadth, and in that split second, I could feel the adrenaline coursing through my veins. The world around us fell silent as our eyes locked, each of us fully aware that this clash would decide everything. And as we prepared to unleash our final blows, a tense silence settled over the battlefield, the air thick with anticipation, ready to explode.

“That’s enough.” A figure appeared in between us, causing us both to step back on instinct. The voice belonged to the woman from before.

“Now I’m sure, you two and everyone else, even the ones currently pretending to play dead,” her eyes drifted across the sea of bodies, “want nothing more than to see the outcome of this match, but unfortunately you’ve already passed.”

My body wanted to lunge out and finish the fight, but I had to keep myself under control. Taking deep breaths, my heart slowed, as my eyes looked around. Including my opponent and I, only ten people stood. Three from my opponents group, Kentaro and four others. Though the condition of Kentaro and the others was far worse than when I first saw them.

Turning my attention back to the older woman, her eyes met with mine, and I swear I saw her wink at me. But why? We have no relation.

I’ll have to ask her about it.

My disappointment was immeasurable, but that could be fully ignored. I’ve done it. I made it into the Academy.