The crowd buzzed with anticipation as the first match came to a stunning end. Shun Hang lay crumpled outside the ring, smoke curling from his clothes while Ivy Lucaris stood tall and untouched—her fingers still faintly crackling with residual lightning.
Riku swallowed hard.
It wasn't the power that shook him—it was the grace. The choreography. Ivy hadn't thrown punches. She'd danced. A lethal rhythm of air and storm that barely looked human. Like watching a theatre performance where the climax ended in combustion.
Headmaster Varos's voice boomed again, "Second match—Riku Ikari versus Yana Reed!"
The crowd responded with roars and whistles.
Riku rose from his seat slowly. No nerves. Just quiet calculation. He knew he wasn't ready—not for this kind of fight—but he'd still try.
At the wooden weapon stand, he grabbed a simple sword. It wasn't arrogance—it was habit. This was what his body understood. He stepped into the arena with his usual blank face, eyes calm, feet steady.
Then Yana entered.
Barefoot.
She wore loose, flowing robes that trailed with every step, as if even gravity dared not interrupt her performance. She took no weapon. Instead, she walked to her spot, bowed with elegance, and closed her eyes.
The referee raised his hand. "Begin!"
Riku surged forward instantly—swift, controlled, direct. He wasn't wasting time. He raised his sword—
And Yana moved.
She didn't dodge.
She twirled.
Her left foot pivoted like a ballerina's, her hand slicing through the air in a crescent shape. The ground responded with a sharp gust, a sudden push of wind that knocked Riku slightly off balance.
His foot dragged a half step.
She moved again, sliding past him, palm down, brushing the air as though painting something invisible. A stream of wind followed the motion like a loyal pet, snaking toward Riku's legs.
He barely had time to jump before the current swept beneath him, trying to topple him.
'She's not even looking at me.' Riku thought.
Yana still had her eyes closed!
She inhaled slowly—arms rising in unison with her breath—and the wind followed. A gust formed behind her, wrapping around her limbs like a curtain, fluttering with every beat of her heart.
Then she attacked.
A forward spin. Arms extended. Her fingers cut the air like knives and the arena responded—blades of compressed wind shot toward Riku.
He slashed one down with his sword—barely. The others nicked his sleeves, drawing faint lines across his uniform. The sting was real.
Riku shifted to the side, then rushed again, aiming low—only to watch Yana flip gracefully over him, twisting in the air like a ribbon caught in a cyclone.
She landed behind him, not with a thud but a whisper.
Riku turned just in time to catch a gust to the face. He stumbled back, coughing.
Yana raised her hand—two fingers extended like a conductor calling the winds to sing.
A vortex spiraled above her palm. She spun, arms circling in wide arcs, and the vortex moved forward. A dancing cyclone. Small—but deadly.
Riku swung his sword into it—
It shattered on impact. Not the cyclone.
His sword.
Wooden splinters clattered to the floor. The cyclone didn't stop. It climbed his arm.
Riku gritted his teeth and raised his forearm to shield his face. The cyclone burst like a bubble of knives—his sleeve shredded, skin nicked and bleeding in thin lines.
The audience gasped.
He dropped to a knee.
Still not over.
Yana stepped forward, finally opening her eyes.
"Your movements are sharp," she said gently, almost apologetically. "But rigid."
She drew her hand upward, and from the earth below, dust began to lift—carried by a miniature whirlwind. A sphere of wind wrapped around her like a cocoon. Defensive. Elegant.
"Let's finish."
She stepped into a stance. One foot forward. One hand out. Then—
She danced.
A full pirouette.
Her leg came high, sweeping across the air. The gust that followed was not a breeze.
It was a wave.
A concussive blast of compressed wind slammed into Riku's chest. He was launched—clean off his feet—and crashed against the arena wall with a solid thud.
Silence.
Riku groaned and tried to stand. But his legs didn't answer. The world was still spinning.
"Match over!" the referee declared. "Winner: Yana Reed!"
Cheers erupted.
Yana bowed respectfully toward the crowd, then to Riku. "Thank you for the match."
He nodded weakly from the ground.
In the turret above, Shinji chuckled. "Oof. Poor kid. So his name is Riku Ikari huh? That was quick, I guess he doesn't know how to use Sage Art."
Hane only smiled, "He is here to learn after all."