The murmurs around the flower garden hadn’t yet died down.

Some third-year students still whispered among themselves about the short exchange between Edwin and Nathan, but most returned to their conversations, the clash of pride quickly forgotten.

Edwin exhaled softly, turning to leave.

His hands were still trembling slightly from anger, but he forced himself to relax.

"No point wasting energy on arrogance," he muttered under his breath. "I’ll prove myself when the time comes."

But before he could take more than three steps, something sharp struck the back of his leg.

Thud!

"Ow—!" Edwin stumbled forward, nearly tripping.

He turned sharply, only to see a tall girl with long dark hair tied in a tight braid.

Her piercing green eyes glared at him.

She wore a red-edged uniform that marked her as a third-year elite.

"Who—"

Before he could finish, she crossed her arms and snapped, "To the Ground Two. Right now."

"...What?" Edwin blinked, still confused.

Her voice sharpened. "I said Ground Two, junior. Or do you need me to repeat myself?"

Students nearby turned their heads. Some whispered, others smirked knowingly.

"Ohh, he’s doomed now," one said under his breath.

"She’s Rank 9 of the third years—Lena Ardew. Her temper’s famous," another added.

Edwin didn’t understand what was happening, but there was something in her tone—an authority that made refusal seem pointless.

Still rubbing his leg where she’d kicked him, he muttered quietly, "Fine."

He followed her as she walked ahead briskly, her boots clicking sharply against the stone path.

They passed through the garden, heading toward the fenced-off Ground Two, a smaller training arena behind the main combat field.

Once they entered, Lena turned around sharply. "Why did you bump into my husband?"

Edwin froze. "Huh? Bump? Husband?" He looked genuinely confused. "Who are you even talking about?"

Lena tilted her head with irritation. "Don’t play dumb. Nathan. You bumped into him earlier, didn’t you?"

Edwin blinked in disbelief. "Wait... Nathan? Your husband?"

From outside the fence, "Idiot... I’m not even close with her."

Nathan was leaning lazily against the metal railing.

His expression screamed exhaustion. "Lena, for the last time, we’re not together."

She shot him a glare. "You shut up."

Nathan groaned. "You pick fights with every junior that looks at me funny. It’s exhausting."

Ignoring him, Lena pointed a finger at Edwin.

"You dared bump into him. Whether he accepts it or not, I consider him mine. And no one touches what’s mine without paying the price."

Edwin sighed softly. "It was just an accident. I apologized."

"An apology doesn’t erase offense," she said coldly, cracking her knuckles. "We settle things here."

Nathan raised his voice. "Lena, stop! You’ll just cause trouble again. He’s just a kid."

But she didn’t listen. Her body was already surrounded by a faint red aura—fiery and volatile.

Edwin realized arguing was pointless.

"Fine," he said quietly. "If that’s what you want."

Lena smirked, stretching her arms. "That’s more like it. Let’s see how long you last."

Nathan sighed again and muttered under his breath, "Here we go again..."

The wind stirred as Lena dashed forward.

She moved fast—faster than most could follow—her fist slicing through the air with precision.

Wham!

The impact hit Edwin’s shoulder.

Pain rippled through his body, but he didn’t react. He only slid backward slightly, digging his heel into the dirt to stop himself from falling.

Lena’s brows furrowed. "Not bad for a first-year. Still standing after that?"

Edwin straightened his posture, his expression calm. "I’m fine."

"Oh, good. Then let’s continue."

She leapt again, her strikes sharp and aggressive. Each hit carried the weight of a seasoned fighter’s experience.

But Edwin didn’t retaliate. He moved just enough to avoid serious hits, blocking what he could, enduring what he couldn’t.

His eyes stayed focused—not on her face, but on her movements, studying her rhythm, her speed, her breathing.

From the sidelines, Nathan crossed his arms. "He’s not fighting back?"

A third-year beside him whispered, "Maybe he’s too scared."

Nathan shook his head slightly. "No... that’s not fear. That’s control. He’s observing her."

Back in the arena, Lena’s frustration was growing. Each punch landed harder than the last, each strike followed by a growl of annoyance.

Bam! Crack!

Her foot connected with Edwin’s ribs, forcing him to cough slightly—but he still didn’t strike back.

"Fight me!" she shouted. "Stop standing there like a wall!"

Edwin said.

"You’re strong. But wasting your energy like this won’t prove anything."

Her eyes blazed. "Don’t lecture me, boy!"

The ground beneath her boots scorched slightly as she charged again, unleashing a storm of fiery punches.

Edwin’s uniform tore in several places, dirt and blood mixing on his sleeve, but he kept his footing.

His breathing was steady, though his body trembled slightly from the hits.

"You’re making me angry!" Lena shouted between strikes.

"Why won’t you fight back!?"

"Because this fight means nothing," Edwin said, dodging another swing by inches. "You’re angry at yourself, not me."

That sentence hit harder than any blow. For a moment, Lena froze mid-swing, her eyes widening in shock.

He’d seen through her.

But pride wouldn’t let her stop now.

She clenched her teeth, forcing another punch forward—but it lacked the precision it had before.

Her strikes were slowing down.

Nathan sighed. "Tch. She’s losing form. He’s just letting her exhaust herself."

And that’s exactly what Edwin was doing.

He remembered the lessons from his mentor back home—’A fight isn’t always about winning. Sometimes, it’s about outlasting.’

He lowered his stance, allowing her hits to glance off instead of landing directly.

His muscles burned, but he refused to fall.

Sweat ran down his face, yet his eyes never wavered.

Minutes passed.

Lena’s breathing grew heavier, her movements slower, less coordinated. Her fiery aura flickered weakly now.

"Had enough?" Edwin asked quietly.

"Don’t... tell me... what to do!" she gasped, swinging once more—but her punch barely grazed his arm before she stumbled.

Edwin stepped back, avoiding her completely. "You’re tired."

She panted, glaring at him, her pride cracking under exhaustion. "You... didn’t even fight."

"I didn’t need to."

"You weren’t my enemy."

For a long moment, the only sound was Lena’s heavy breathing and the distant rustle of leaves.

Nathan finally spoke, breaking the silence. "Are you done now?"

Lena glared at him weakly. "Shut up..." she muttered, still catching her breath.

Nathan stepped into the arena, brushing past the fence.

He looked at Edwin and gave a small nod. "You handled that better than most would. Smart move not hitting back."

Edwin wiped the sweat from his face. "I didn’t come here to fight her."

"Yeah," Nathan said, half-smiling. "But sometimes, the academy doesn’t give you a choice."

"Don’t... think you’re better than me..." Lena said.

"I don’t," Edwin said simply. "You’re stronger than me. I can tell."

His tone carried no mockery, only sincerity. That seemed to silence her more than anything else.

Nathan looked between them, shaking his head. "You two are ridiculous. One’s fighting out of pride, the other out of patience."

But just as Nathan was about to speak again, a faint bell rang in the distance—three soft chimes echoing from the central tower.

Edwin’s expression stiffened. "That’s... the call for second-year assembly."

Nathan frowned. "Strange. It’s too early for that."

Lena looked up weakly. "What’s going on?"