Riku staggered to his feet as the medics rushed toward him. He waved them off with a slight shake of his head, the world still tilting beneath his boots.
His chest ached from the impact. His arms throbbed with a dozen faint welts. But surprisingly… no deep wounds. No blood.
Just bruises.
And a bruised ego.
He limped back to the bench and dropped onto the seat like a stone tossed in a river.
The headmaster's voice cut through the air again. "Third match—Daz Whitehall versus Yohara Saret!"
Gasps and murmurs echoed throughout the stands. The energy shifted. Heavier now. Less excitement. More tension.
Riku looked up.
Yohara Saret stood from the far bench, slow and methodical. He wore all black—tight fabric wrapped around his arms and torso, layered for movement. No armor. No expression. Just two short black rods at his sides, like batons.
The crowd was quieter now.
Daz stepped into the ring with his usual confident gait—arms loose, shoulders relaxed, like a man heading into a warm-up spar.
Yohara was already in position, one rod in hand. He hadn't blinked since stepping into the arena.
"Begin!" the referee called.
And then Yohara moved.
No flourish. No preamble. Just motion.
He rushed forward with shocking speed, his baton sweeping upward toward Daz's ribs in a clean, surgical arc.
Daz tilted his body, spinning slightly on his heel. The baton missed—but barely.
Crack!
The second baton came from the other side—Yohara had switched hands mid-strike. Daz blocked with his forearm, absorbing the hit.
He grunted.
"Nice," he said, backing off.
Yohara didn't respond. He just kept coming.
Strike. Strike. Sweep. Elbow.
Each attack was swift and efficient—no wasted movement, no unnecessary flair. Just sheer speed and precision.
Riku leaned forward.
Yohara was nothing like Ivy or Yana. No elemental spectacle. No graceful storm. He was all discipline and brutality.
Daz, though…
He was dancing.
His feet were light. He stepped between Yohara's strikes, ducking under baton swings with ease. Every time Yohara closed the gap, Daz drifted out of it.
He wasn't blocking much.
Then Daz smiled.
"Alright, alright," he said, hands moving like a boxer's. "You wanna be serious? Let's be serious."
He stepped forward—fast.
Yohara raised a baton to counter—
But Daz ducked low, sweeping his leg in a spinning arc. Yohara jumped—but Daz followed with a rising uppercut.
It connected.
The crowd gasped as Yohara flew backward, landing hard but rolling into a crouch.
His lip was bleeding.
He licked the blood without emotion.
Riku blinked. "What was that?"
"A feint," muttered one of the students nearby. "Into a hook into a body rotation punch."
Daz shook out his hand. "You're tough, I'll give you that. But I'm just getting started."
Yohara didn't speak.
He charged again—this time faster, tighter, aiming not to strike but to break.
Daz blocked with his forearm, and their limbs collided in a flurry of motion.
Tap. Tap. Crack. Elbow. Step.
Yohara landed a shot to Daz's temple. Daz reeled back—
Only to slam his foot into Yohara's chest a moment later.
Both boys stepped away, breathing heavier now. Still balanced. Still sharp.
But the air had changed.
They weren't testing anymore.
They were fighting.
....
...
..
.
Dust settled in swirling eddies as Daz skidded back, boots digging trenches through the sand. His vest was torn at the shoulder, and a shallow cut trickled blood down his side. But the smile never left his face.
"Oh, you're fun," he said, shaking out his arms. "Didn't think you'd hit that hard with just rocks."
Yohara didn't respond. He simply raised both arms. The rings circling his forearms began to hum, stone fragments from the shattered floor rising and orbiting around him in a quiet spiral.
"Round two," Yohara said flatly.
The ground beneath Daz's feet shook again. Two stone pillars shot up like jaws trying to snap shut on him. He flipped back, narrowly avoiding them—then landed hard, rolling to keep momentum.
But Yohara was already moving.
He slid forward like a glider across a frozen lake, arms tracing circular patterns. The stones orbiting him responded like extensions of his limbs—projectiles launched mid-motion. One flew straight at Daz's chest—
He caught it.
Then hurled it right back.
It struck Yohara's shoulder—not hard, but enough to draw a sharp breath. He retaliated immediately by slamming both hands to the ground.
The entire platform tilted.
Riku's eyes widened in the stands. "He can… control terrain like that!?"
Daz staggered as the arena shifted beneath him. Yohara raised a hand—and columns of stone rose like fingers, trying to cage Daz in.
But Daz was done playing defense.
"Alright," he growled.
He bent his knees—then leapt, higher than before. As he reached the apex of his jump, he twisted his torso, channeling all his strength into a single downward punch.
No weapon. Just raw force.
"Whitehall Style. Breaker Drop!"
He slammed his fist into the ground like a meteor.
The impact cracked the arena floor in a wide circle. A shockwave erupted. Pillars shattered. The cage crumbled. Even Yohara stumbled—his footing slipping as the earth recoiled.
The dust cloud that followed was enormous—swallowing both of them.
For several seconds, there was only silence. Then—
BOOM!
A piece of broken stone exploded outward, and Yohara was hurled from the smoke, tumbling across the floor.
He tried to rise, but one leg buckled.
The crowd leaned forward.
From the haze, Daz emerged—bloody, panting, but standing. That grin still ghosted across his lips, though his arms trembled from exertion.
Yohara pushed to his knees.
But he didn't rise.
The referee hesitated—then raised a hand.
"Match over! Winner: Daz Whitehall!"
The arena roared.
Cheers, gasps, and even a few whistles rang out. The ground still shook faintly from the force of the last attack.
Daz raised a fist. "Heh… Not bad, rock boy. Not bad at all."
Yohara didn't answer. He simply exhaled, then gave a single nod of respect before sitting cross-legged where he was, gathering himself.
In the stands, Ivy whispered, "That was reckless."
Riku nodded slowly. "But effective."
High above, Headmaster Varos gave the faintest smirk. "What a crop."
...
..
.
After that Juni Minase faced Fen Poul in a battle of elemental mastery—water versus earth. Juni's fluid and precise control overwhelmed Fen's stubborn defenses, earning her a clear victory. Next, Shane Willow clashed with Lin Rose in a fiery contest. Lin's aggressive fire attacks met Shane's solid Earth Art defenses, ultimately Lin secured her win. Lastly, Ascot Nover squared off against Yumo Rose. Despite Ascot's skill with the sword, Yumo's graceful wind manipulation outpaced and outmaneuvered him, leaving Ascot disarmed and defeated.
With these outcomes, Juni Minase, Shane Willow, and Yumo Rose joined Ivy Lucaris, Daz Whitehall, and Lin Rose as the winners of the first round. These six would now advance to the semifinals, where the competition would grow fiercer and the stakes higher. The crowd buzzed with anticipation, eager to see which warriors would rise and which would fall next.