Towan launched himself forward, sprinting toward Professor Rheon with fierce determination. With every stride, his heavy boots shattered the ancient floor, leaving deep, jagged imprints in his wake. Without hesitation, he threw a barrage of punches, each one met by Rheon’s effortless, almost casual evasions.

As Towan executed a masterful spinning kick—a move drilled into him by his mentor—he mentally noted his progress. I’ve got to confirm this, he thought. Each kick flowed seamlessly into the next, yet Rheon danced away with unnerving precision.

From behind the fray, Alira’s alarmed voice cut through the clamor. “HAS TOWAN GONE NUTS? WHY IS HE FIGHTING PROFESSOR RHEON?” She appeared alongside Elliot, who maintained an unwavering gaze on the duel. “Calm down,” Elliot assured her. “Professor Rheon isn’t attacking—he’s just dodging.”

Towan’s onslaught grew more refined. His strikes, once wild and desperate, now carried a measured precision—a testament to his deepening connection with the essentia surging through him. But each burst of energy came at a cost. Fatigue began to gnaw at him, threatening to disrupt his flow. Sensing the need to recalibrate, he stepped back, creating a brief distance between himself and his mentor.

“Are you ready to finish this?” Rheon’s voice rang out, laced with boredom from dodging the same well-practiced moves.

“Yeah,” Towan replied with a confident smile, his eyes alight with resolve.

With renewed vigor, he charged again as if reverting to the opening moments of the battle. He leaped into the air and executed the perfected spinning kick—just as his master had taught him. But this time, something was different. Towan summoned every last drop of his essentia. Unlike before, where he had channeled only a fraction of his power, now he poured all of it into a single, final blow.

Elliot’s brow furrowed in confusion as he watched the move unfold. What is he planning, brother? he wondered. Then it struck him. “Smart one! You’re a genius!” Elliot shouted in a mix of awe and excitement.

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Towan lunged, a carbon copy of his opening charge. Rheon shifted right, shoulders dipping into the same evasion he’d used a dozen times.

But this time—

Towan’s spinning kick curved, Essentia flaring white-hot as he contorted mid-air. The strike veered not at Rheon’s head, but the empty space behind him—where the professor’s momentum would carry him.

Rheon’s eyes widened. He crossed his arms in a desperate block, but Towan’s heel connected with the force of a falling star.

CRACK.

The shockwave atomized nearby dummies and sent students sprawling. Dust devils spiraled skyward as Rheon skidded backward, boots carving trenches in the stone. His arms hung limp, trembling—a hairline fracture glowing faintly along his left forearm.

The forceful impact, fueled by his full essentia, caught Rheon off guard. His hands instinctively rushed to block, but only managed to deflect the blow at the very last second.

“How?!” Alira gaped, her face a mask of incredulity.

“Towan wasn’t aiming for where Rheon was,” Elliot explained, his tone a mixture of admiration and astonishment. “He calculated where his professor would dodge. After testing Rheon’s pattern over and over, he committed every bit of his remaining essentia into that final kick.”

“He weaponized predictability. Rheon’s dodges were flawless… but repetitive. Towan baited him into a pattern, then broke it.”

“Amazing…” Alira breathed, marveling at the audacity and precision of the move.

“Not even I would have thought of that,” Sylra remarked, stepping forward to join the astonished onlookers. “To exploit perfection as a weakness… I’d never have risked it.”

Rheon lay stunned, his arms trembling from the shock and damage of the impact. Rheon flexed his hands, the fracture sealing with a pulse of Essentia. With a wry, pained smile, he admitted, “You caught me off guard…” His voice trailed off, a mixture of respect and disbelief coloring his tone as he acknowledged the brilliance behind Towan’s unexpected tactic.

The students erupted—cheers, disbelieving curses, a chant of “TOWAN! TOWAN!”—but Rheon’s gaze lingered on the boy. Not with anger, but something colder, hungrier.

Like a sculptor eyeing raw marble.

At that moment, Towan fell unconscious, as he had used every drop of Essentia he had