CHAPTER 190: FALLOUT

Jae’s head turned slowly, red eyes narrowing just slightly as he regarded Byun. His expression didn’t shift; his lips curved only in the faintest smirk, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

They were sharp, unyielding, as though he were weighing words and their consequences in an instant. "What does it look like?" he replied evenly. "I won."

Byun’s face twisted, jaw clenched so tight it threatened to crack. He waved a hand toward the scorched earth, toward Sun writhing under the healers’ hands, toward the echoes of mana and molten force that still lingered like an afterimage in the air.

"You almost killed him!" His voice cracked, carrying through the field, sharp enough that even the healers paused their work for the briefest moment. The tension in his tone wasn’t just fear or frustration, it was disbelief layered over raw, anxious energy. "Do you even realize what you’ve done? He’s the crown prince. The heir. You don’t get to swing your blade like that without thinking about the cost."

The words hung there, weighted, pressing on the space between them. Dust drifted lazily down from broken practice structures and footprints, the scent of smoke and scorched dirt filling lungs.

Around them, students’ murmurs had fallen silent, swallowed up by the gravity of the accusation. Jae didn’t answer immediately. He simply met Byun’s gaze, red eyes sharp, unwavering, the kind of stillness that carried its own quiet authority.

Byun’s shadow shifted in subtle, restless flickers, crawling along the dirt like a living thing, as if echoing the turmoil in his thoughts. He jabbed again, frustration spilling into words: "You think this is a game, Jae? People are going to remember this. Students, faculty, the king, do you even understand how far this ripples?"

Jae’s smirk didn’t widen, didn’t falter. He let the words settle in the air around him, letting Byun’s fire and panic crash against his calm like waves against a cliff. "I’m aware," he said finally, his tone level, steady, unshaken. "But the fight isn’t over until someone yields. He shouldn’t have made it personal."

Byun’s fists tightened involuntarily, shadows snapping and curling with his movements, restless and sharp. He exhaled, a low hiss of irritation and awe, trying to make sense of Jae’s calm in the midst of what was clearly a near catastrophe. "You’re impossible..." he muttered under his breath, his voice carrying just enough to be heard but not enough to interrupt the healers’ work.

The students murmured louder, their attention darting between the injured prince and the fire-wielder standing tall and unrepentant. Dust swirled around their boots where the ground had cracked under the clash of blades, and the faint smell of blood mixed with scorched dirt, lingering like an unspoken warning.

Jae smirked faintly, though his eyes stayed cold, sharp, and calculating. The fire of his victory, or the weight of the moment, depending on who watched, didn’t linger in his posture. He remained centered, arms loose, breathing steady, every inch of him showing the calm of someone who had survived worse than fear. "Funny," he muttered, voice low and edged with quiet defiance. "Didn’t hear you complaining when his veil was trying to crush me into the dirt."

Byun’s shadows twisted around his feet, reacting to the tension like angry snakes. His blond hair clung damply to his forehead, and the edge of panic in his gaze sharpened to something almost feral. "This isn’t a game!" he snapped. His voice rang across the cracked field, rising above the low buzz of whispers. "You’re reckless. You let your ego steer your hand and now you’ve painted a target on your back. On all of us. Do you think the nobles will let this go? Do you think the king will?"

The anger in his words didn’t mask his fear entirely. Shadows flared, twitching in erratic bursts, betraying the strain he felt in trying to contain it all. He jabbed a finger toward Jae, voice brittle yet burning. "Do you even realize what you’ve done? You’ve drawn lines across the academy, across all of us, and there’s no turning back now."

Jae bristled at the accusation. The faint smirk that had hovered on his lips faltered, replaced by a tension that sharpened the line of his jaw. "Why do you care so much?" he asked evenly, almost coldly. "You think you’re my keeper? Or is this about something else?"

Byun froze for a heartbeat, his expression unreadable as he absorbed the words. Shadows rippled around him, coiling tightly before letting themselves settle back into uneasy stillness. The students nearby seemed to sense the moment, the weight in the air thickening, their breaths caught between fear and fascination.

Jae took a measured step forward, letting the heat of the field, the stench of blood and iron, and the smoke curling faintly from the scorched earth settle around him. His voice dropped lower, sharp enough to carve into the silence. "Tell me, Byun. What’s your real agenda? Why act like you’re protecting me one moment, then tear me down the next? What is it you’re really after?"

The pause that followed was long, stretching like a taut cord across the arena. Whispers rose again, only to die against the tension between the two. Students leaned on toes, craning their necks, while others instinctively stepped back, unsure if they were witnessing confrontation or something far more dangerous. The air itself seemed charged, bristling with shadows, mana, and the remnants of fire that clung stubbornly to the ground.

Byun’s fists clenched, shadows spiraling along the dirt, hissing and trembling like liquid. His gaze, fixed and unyielding, burned into Jae’s, but behind the mask of anger and frustration, something deeper flickered, something he couldn’t voice, something raw and fragile.

Finally, he exhaled through clenched teeth, his voice low but piercing, just loud enough for the nearest students to catch: "Some people can’t be saved."

The words hung in the air, a warning and a riddle all at once. Then Byun turned sharply, his shadows folding back into him as if reluctant to remain exposed.

He stalked away from the center of the circle, the crowd instinctively parting, giving him space as whispers erupted in his wake.