CHAPTER 123: THE PRINCIPAL’S GRANDSON

Noah’s world froze.

He didn’t hear the first few gasps from the balconies as the other students’ eyes widened at the fixture.

Two former friends meeting in the ring? Very exciting.

But all Noah could hear was only the last name.

"Arlo Kael!"

He froze where he stood. The name rang like a bell, feeling like ice water had been poured over his head.

It was cold and clarifying, like a truth he hadn’t even known existed had been revealed.

For a half breath he thought he’d misheard the name. That some other Kael existed on campus.

Then Professor Oliver repeated it, his voice ricocheting around the high ceiling of the arena.

Arlo was already moving down to the ring, hand grazing the rail, steps sure as if there wasn’t a blindfold over his face.

Halfway down the stairs he turned, sensing that Noah hadn’t followed behind him.

A slight frown appeared on his face. He glanced down at Professor Oliver, then back up at Noah.

That was when he realized what just happened. His eyes widened.

"Noah, wait." He said frantically. "I know I should’ve told you, but it’s not what you think. I wasn’t hiding—"

Noah laughed, the sound cold, with not a single trace of humor in it.

"Of course," he said to no one in particular, to everyone at once. "Of course it was you."

He scoffed, rage radiating off him as he finally moved from where he stood.

The whispers of the other students intensified, each one knowing instantly that the stakes of the fight just increased.

"Wait, Kael? As in Principal Kael?"

"Arlo’s the principal’s grandson?"

"Yeah, you didn’t know? Oh, you were summoned here."

"I knew it. The blindfolded act, the way teachers look at him..."

Arlo stopped two steps from the sand and lifted his chin toward Noah. "I never lied to you," he said. "You never asked my last name."

"Spare me the bullshit," Noah said, the words clipped. He stepped off the balcony and descended, each footstep filling the air like a nail being hammered into a coffin.

’So Grandpa was Principal Kael,’ Noah thought, the cold settling over his bones like winter. ’The invisible hand that kept the dutiful grandson from breaking the rules.’

Noah didn’t have to say it, but Arlo heard it in the way he stared at him.

He winced. "Look, I tried to go to the Authority. I tried to—"

Noah touched the sand. "You tried," he said, and the word cut as if it were made of glass. "How noble of you."

Oliver stood between them, his hands crossed. He could tell this was going to be more than a normal duel, and while a part of him was telling him to shut it down, the other part wanted him to give the boys a regulated space to work out their differences.

"You know the rules," he said, eyeing them both in turn. "No spells, no skills, no weapons. Body only. I will stop you if you take it too far."

A thin smile ghosted his mouth. "But I’d rather you sort whatever this is here than in some alley where I can’t pull you apart. Clear?"

Neither spoke.

"Clear?" Oliver barked.

"Yes," Arlo said.

"Clear," Noah said, voice flat.

The arena fell into silence, as everybody leaned forward, afraid to blink for fear of missing the fight.

"Begin!"

Noah moved first. He didn’t care for the cautious feeling outs or feints. He snapped forward like a trap, leading with a straight right that was never meant to land.

Arlo slipped his head to the side, mouth opening to say something, but Noah was already stepping in with a left hook to the ribs. It thudded home. Arlo’s breath hitched.

"Fight, not talk," Oliver snapped from where he was watching.

"I know," Arlo said, catching Noah’s wrist as another blow arrowed in, rolling his shoulder to peel the arm past him. "I just—"

Noah stamped hard at Arlo’s ankle and shoved. Arlo pivoted out, the shove turning into a whirl that slid him to Noah’s side.

An instant later, an open handed check slammed into Noah’s sternum and rattled him back two steps.

Noah smiled coldly. He surged forward again.

They collided in a rush of limbs and sand, two styles grinding against each other.

Noah fought like someone who had never been taught he was allowed to back away. Short, vicious combinations, with his shoulders working like pistons.

Every inch of him became a weapon. His knees, his forearms and even the hard crown of his brow.

Arlo fought like a man who had vowed never to be where the damage was. He angled off and redirected, letting power bleed past him.

The blindfold didn’t slow him down. He could see just fine past it.

He parried, he grazed away, he absorbed what he couldn’t avoid and gave stingy receipts.

From the spectators above came a murmur of appreciation, then uncertainty as the tempo increased. The clean technical exchanges of the earlier bouts quickly gave way to something far more raw.

Noah chopped low, sending a hook into Arlo’s thigh that rang bone. Arlo sucked air through his teeth and answered with a palm heel to Noah’s jaw.

Noah’s head snapped sideways. He spat pink into the sand and kept coming.

"Enough dodging," Oliver snapped at Arlo as the blindfolded boy stepped aside again. "Engage or forfeit."

"I don’t know if you’re running from guilt, pity, or the fear of pain. It won’t save you from this fight. Stand your ground. Answer with your fists. That is the most honest conversation you can ever have!"

Arlo’s jaw tightened. Professor Oliver was right.

So he slid in and met Noah squarely. Noah’s eyes flickered, surprised at the change, and Arlo made him pay.

A left cross popped Noah’s cheek. A right followed, not heavy but accurate, snapping Noah’s head back again.

Noah slid under the third punch and hammered a short right into Arlo’s body, exactly where that first hook had landed. Arlo grunted and clinched.

They wrestled there, chest to chest, each trying to off-balance the other. Noah hooked a foot behind Arlo’s heel and jerked him down.

Arlo twisted as he fell and they hit the sand in a thudding tumble, rolling, each scrambling for top position.

Noah ended on his knees, posture broken, and Arlo pseized the opportunity to disengage.

They both scrambled to their feet.

"Arlo!" Noah snarled, breathing hard as he stepped forward, sweat starting to bead along his hairline. "Tell me again how you tried."

Arlo swallowed. "I went to the tower. He wouldn’t let me leave. Believe me. I argued—"

Noah drove a fist straight into his mouth.