CHAPTER 33: ASHFORD ???

The arena fell into an unsettling quiet as Sarah made her way toward the exit. Every step echoed against stone, amplified by the weight of eight hundred pairs of eyes tracking her movement. Students who had been cheering moments before now watched in stunned silence, their expressions ranging from awe to barely concealed fear.

"No way..." someone muttered near the front rows, clutching a crumpled betting slip. "She actually won. How the hell did she actually win?"

"I lost fifty silver on this," another voice groaned. "Veilmont was supposed to crush her. Look what she did to him instead... aged him like twenty years in seconds."

"The professors barely got him back to normal. Thank the gods she stopped when she did."

The crowd was restless, unsettled. Sarah could hear the rustle of disappointed betting slips being thrown to the ground, the angry whispers of students who’d been so certain she would lose that they’d put their money where their mouths were. Nobody had expected the quiet girl from House Academic to demolish a rank twelve fighter so completely.

Sarah kept her eyes fixed straight ahead, but the whispers followed her like shadows. Her hands trembled at her sides, golden essence still flickering faintly around her fingers despite her efforts to suppress it. The temporal energy felt different now—not the wild, uncontrolled surge from the kidnapping, but something she’d actually chosen to stop.

’I let go,’ she reminded herself with each step. ’I chose to let go when I could have kept going.’

But the looks in their eyes told a different story. Fear. Respect tinged with terror. The kind of wariness reserved for dangerous predators.

A group of younger students pressed themselves against the arena wall as she passed, giving her a wide berth. Sarah’s heart clenched, but she kept walking. This was her reality now. This was what having power meant in a world that understood strength above all else.

"Lady Millbrook." The voice was soft, respectful. Sarah turned to see a girl with auburn hair and intelligent eyes. "I’m Claire Westmere, rank forty-one. That was... incredible."

Sarah blinked, surprised by the genuine admiration in the girl’s tone. "I hurt him badly. That wasn’t incredible, that was terrifying."

"You controlled yourself," Claire corrected firmly, stepping closer despite the nervous glances from nearby students. "Under pressure like that, with the entire Academy watching and everyone expecting you to fail? Most people would have either panicked completely or gone too far. You stopped when you could have done so much worse."

She didn’t finish the sentence, but Sarah understood. When you could have killed him.

"Thank you," Sarah said quietly, meaning it. After the sea of fearful stares, one person who saw control instead of chaos felt like a lifeline.

As Sarah finally reached the arena exit, the crowd’s attention began to shift. The betting pools were already adjusting odds for the next match, voices rising with speculation about the mysterious challenger who had dared to target Petra Blackthorne herself.

"Twenty silver says it’s someone from House Military," a student called out, waving fresh betting slips.

"Has to be. Nobody else would have the balls to challenge rank one after what we just saw."

"My money’s on Kael Ashford. Kid will want to climb the rankings like he’s got something to prove."

"Ashford? He’s only rank fifteen. That’s ambitious even for him."

"Exactly. Big jumps, calculated risks. This screams Ashford strategy. Plus he’s got that SS-rank fire manipulation now."

Sarah paused at the tunnel entrance, glancing back toward the stands. Her eyes swept the crowd until she found a familiar figure seated several rows up, dark hair and sharp features unmistakable even from a distance.

Kael Ashford sat perfectly still among the chattering students, his attention fixed on her with an intensity that made her skin prickle. There was something in his gaze that wasn’t the fear or awe she’d seen in other faces, but a different kind of hunger. Cold. Calculating.

Like he was dissecting everything he’d just witnessed.******

---

Kael watched Sarah disappear into the tunnel, his mind processing every detail of what he’d observed. The time manipulation he’d witnessed was leagues beyond what she’d displayed during the kidnapping incident. Raw power was impressive, but controlled application of that power under pressure? That separated real threats from temporary anomalies.

’She’s learning to weaponize it,’ he observed with clinical detachment. ’The panic response from before is becoming deliberate technique. Interesting.’

His status window flickered at the edge of his vision, the mimicry ability practically vibrating with potential. But the cruel reality remained: [Ability Slot: 1/1]. One slot. One copied ability. His father’s Fire Manipulation currently occupied that precious space, and while it had proven invaluable during public demonstrations, it left him with an agonizing choice.

To copy Sarah’s temporal manipulation, he’d have to sacrifice the fire ability that everyone believed was his awakened power.

’Trust leads to betrayal,’ he reminded himself, the old lesson as sharp as ever. ’Power shared is power lost. Better to let them speculate.’

"Definitely Ashford challenging Blackthorne," the student beside him was saying to his friend, completely unaware of Kael’s attention. "Guy awakened SS-rank fire manipulation, survived a professional kidnapping, and now he’s making aggressive ranking moves. Has to be him."

"SS-rank fire? No wonder he’s confident. That’s legendary-tier destructive power."

"But rank fifteen challenging rank one? Even with SS-rank abilities, that’s suicide against Blackthorne."

"Unless he knows something we don’t. Maybe he figured out what her ability actually is."

Kael almost smiled at their speculation, though irritation gnawed at him beneath the surface. They credited him with SS-rank fire manipulation. If only they knew his actual awakened ability was mimicry, currently masked by the fire manipulation he’d publicly demonstrated during reassessment. The system’s interface remained invisible to everyone else, a secret that both empowered and isolated him.

’Still no experience gain from daily activities,’ he noted with growing frustration. For weeks after manually activating the system, simple training exercises had granted small amounts of XP. Now? Nothing. Whatever had triggered that initial growth period seemed to be over, leaving him to find new methods of advancement.

But he wasn’t the anonymous challenger. He had bigger plans than theatrical gestures and public spectacle.

The arena floor was being prepared for the next match, fresh sand spread over the areas where Sarah’s temporal energy had left scorch marks in the earth. Professor Leo was reviewing his notes while medical staff finished their final checks on the containment barriers.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Leo’s voice echoed across the arena, carrying clearly over the crowd’s murmur. "Our final match of the afternoon. Will our anonymous challenger please report to the preparation chamber?"

The crowd’s energy shifted, becoming electric with anticipation. This was unprecedented. Someone ranked low enough to remain anonymous had dared to challenge Petra Blackthorne, the Academy’s undisputed queen.

Kael leaned forward slightly, genuinely curious despite his carefully maintained indifference. Whoever this was had either incredible confidence, detailed inside information, or a death wish. Petra hadn’t held rank one through luck or political maneuvering. Her actual ability remained one of the Academy’s best-kept secrets, but rumors ranged from reality manipulation to absolute nullification.

’Unknown ability versus established dominance,’ he mused, fingers drumming silently against his knee. ’If I could copy either of their abilities...’

The thought sent a calculated thrill through him, immediately followed by that familiar crushing frustration. The single slot limitation meant choosing, always choosing. Every powerful ability he witnessed was a tantalizing opportunity he couldn’t fully exploit.

His mimicry had already proven capable of enhancing copied abilities beyond their original wielder’s level, reaching what the system labeled as ’Level 2.’ But advancement remained maddeningly slow. ’Still 1500 XP away from the next level,’ he thought bitterly. ’Still trapped with one ability slot.’

The mysterious challenger would reveal themselves soon enough. And when they did, Kael would be watching, analyzing, preparing for whatever opportunity might arise. He’d learned long ago that trust was a luxury he couldn’t afford, but information? Information was power that couldn’t be stolen from him.

Around him, students continued their speculation about his potential involvement, their voices providing comfortable background noise. Let them wonder. Let them build theories. In a world where perception shaped reality almost as much as raw ability, being seen as unpredictable carried its own advantages.

But his real attention remained fixed on the arena floor, where two of the Academy’s most dangerous students were about to clash. Whatever happened next, Kael intended to learn from every second of it.

After all, power observed carefully enough could eventually become power acquired. The question wasn’t whether he could copy their abilities when the opportunity arose.

The question was which one would prove most useful for the plans he was carefully laying.

His status window pulsed gently at the edge of his vision, the mimicry ability ready and waiting for the right moment. Soon, very soon, he would have another chance to add to his growing arsenal.

He just had to be patient. And Kael Ashford had learned to be very, very patient.