CHAPTER 25: PRECISION OVER POWER

The air hummed with excitement as Aiden stepped forward.

Ethan watched from the edge of the ring, still catching his breath from the carryover adrenaline of the previous matches. Whispers circled among the spectators—some impressed by Kai’s performance, others still buzzing about Ethan’s wind-boosted blow.

Then someone spoke:

"Okay, that was Kai. What about the quiet one?"

No sooner had the words dropped than Kai nudged Aiden in the direction of the center circle. "Your turn, savant."

Aiden looked down at his robes for a moment, adjusting the cuff—an almost unconscious gesture of preparation. He glanced up slowly, calm as dawn. Then his voice surfaced, smooth and even:

"All right. Who’s next?"

Valen, acting now as the referee for the rotating duels, stepped forward and scanned the crowd. Her clear gaze landed on Tyras—a broad-shouldered first-year with a chest nearly bursting from overconfidence. Rune-patched sleeves wound around his arms and up to his temples, an obvious show of brute-force mana tattoos.

"She’ll do," Tyras said, smirking as he pushed between other students and entered the ring.

Aiden nodded once, and the ring cleared. Only the padded apartments of the ring, the surrounding bench, and a hush that settled over the audience remained.

Valen looked at them both. "Same rules. First to be pushed outside the circle loses. Duke it out."

She turned her head just enough to signal the start. "Begin."

Tyras launched first.

A pulsing wave blasted in Aiden’s direction—a conical shock of raw mana that crackled under the pressure of gravity displacement. Not refined. Brutal.

Aiden didn’t move.

Not yet.

The mana wave hit him square on and... washed off like rain against a boat’s hull. Except it sank into nothing and scattered across the stone tiles behind.

Instead of staggering, Aiden just raised a hand—tiny glyphs flash-ling in the spaces between his fingers.

They ignited.

Runes of red-orange light, shaped like miniature prisms, shot out at ground level, weaving low between Tyras’s ankles.

Tyras fumbled—half-tripping on himself, forced to manage both momentum and balance.

Before he could recover, Aiden stepped calmly forward.

Two lines of glowing light encircled Tyras’s boots and wrapped behind his heels.

Binding lights. A restraint spell—simple but precise.

Tyras jerked, snarling. He yanked at the air with one hand—casting a brute Force-shove that detonated inches in front of him, sending dust upward.

The bindings gave way—but only for a moment.

Aiden’s glyphs were ready.

Another bind. Solid. Restriction by intact structure and mirrored pressure.

Then Aiden withdrew, shoulders relaxed.

"Simple tests," he said.

But Tyras wasn’t paying attention.

He charged.

Punch after pulse, all aimed to destroy.

Aiden didn’t hide.

He didn’t block in the traditional sense.

He danced.

Each movement economical—barely leaning, stepping only enough to redirect momentum—not to absorb it. He flicked his wrists outward, symbolically, magically, to divert blows into angles that shifted Tyras’s center of mass off-stride.

With each strike Tyras threw, his balance grew shakier.

Then Tyras glared.

"Cute. Show me more."

The scale shifted.

Both combatants paused.

Tyras stilled.

Aiden’s eyes narrowed, mana pulsed in his palms for a moment—and then he drew a small spiral in the air, conjuring a set of floating ribboned lights that hovered temporarily above them.

"Gazebo Flare," Aiden murmured.

The lights brightened, flicked, and fell around Tyras like rainbow petals a second before exploding in soft bursts of luminous air pressure.

The blasts didn’t hurt—but they were disorienting. Flash. POP. Lights out for a heartbeat, then haze.

And every time Tyras blinked, the ground changed.

New pressure ridges, subtle obstacles carved from mana.

Each burst peeled away at his balance — and at his confidence.

Tyras growled and launched another wave of grav-mana crates. Aiden ducked—leaned into the floating lights—then sketched quick runes on the stone beneath Tyras’s feet, adding stabilizing glyphs to counter the gravity zone.

The ring responded with a low hum as Tyras tried to hold ground, bracing.

Aiden: steady.

He started weaving in geometric rip currents—links of light that overlapped, creating shimmering walls, speed channels, slight overhangs of mana that subtly redirected air pressure.

It was fluid. Controlled. Almost beautiful.

And Tyras was losing grip.

He threw one last punch-yourself-to-win desperate strike—a desperation move. It glowed heavy.

Aiden twisted on an axis.

The punch flew—past him.

Then Aiden tapped a command, and a single glyph behind Tyras locked him to the boundary line.

He instinctually recoiled.

His boot touched the stone ring’s edge.

Glowed red.

Tyras froze—with live mana still crackling in his fists.

Three counts.

One... Two... Three.

Red indicator: loss.

Silence drew in the moment.

The match was over—but not with a bang. A breath, a hush. The bet was decided by subtle mental taps, spellwork that disrupted and concealed more than it revealed.

Aiden stepped back, took a bow. "Thank you for the test."

He offered Tyras a steady helping hand—Tyras just nodded and took it, eyes cool but respectful.

The audience... erupted.

Not the crazy cheers of boisterous winners. But respectful applause. Genuine.

Kai leaned forward, whispering to Ethan: "Dude, did you see that? That’s not just control—it’s mastery."

Ethan caught Aiden’s glance—steady, measured.

That’s why he was called out by the Director.

Not because he’s flashy, but because his talents are quiet and specific—deceptively so.

Ethan finally shook the tension out of his shoulders and stepped forward.

He strode across the ring toward Valen, her braided hair still immaculate, the same razor-cold smirk framed by perfectly pressed robes and precise posture. The moment crackled—everyone’s focus flared between them.

"Valen," Ethan called, voice easy, but low enough that only those nearby caught it. "Is it your turn next?"

She blinked once. Lips curved. Her friends—fully in her corner—leaned forward, expecting a challenge.

"Not today," Valen said softly enough that only he heard, though the tilt of her chin paid it off. "I’m not one to step into a ring lightly."

"Oh?"

"Yes." She shifted, glancing at her supporters. "But if anyone thinks my friends are going to lose again without me jumping in—they’re welcome to say it out loud."

Ethan arched an eyebrow. "Are you saying they’re not good enough?"

She let the question hang. The ring lights gleamed off her braid. "I’m saying nothing at all. There’s no point in me trying to ride their shoulders when I already believe they’ll stand or fall on their own."

A murmur spread across the room—not pity, not disdain—but something browning into respect. Valen’s gaze swept over them: Kai was standing straight, arms crossed; Aiden whispered something to Kai, nodding; Lyon and Tyras rubbed their arms, sharing grins and bruised egos.

"Next time," Valen continued, and that smirk sharpened just slightly, "we’ll face off again. I won’t be playing backup."

"Oh." Ethan uncrossed his arms and held his smile steady. "Until then—maybe focus on training yours, not critiquing ours."

That earned him a few nods and an energy-shift in the crowd. The dominance reversed. The room exhaled.

Valen’s brow flickered with irritation—but she made a show of adjusting her cuffs. "Fair enough, Prince." She swept a half-bow, then moved aside. "Good day, gentlemen."

As she left with her group, someone snickered.

"Man, I was kinda expecting a fight," one of Valen’s friends complained.

Another shrugged, "Let her go. Reckon she knows they are levels above us."

Valen’s footsteps carried a crisp ripple of waistband embroidery, purposeful as she exited the ring. The air smelled like smoke and rain.

Ethan let a breath out. Rewarding? Yes, in a way.

But he needed to keep the balance now. His victory had shifted perception. The support and whisper-echoes at training... they lined up, quietly, but visibly.

He turned to his roommates. Kai’s eyes were dancing.

"Well done," Kai said softly.

Aiden just nodded approvingly.

That was enough.

Valen’s parting words still rang in his ears: I won’t be backup next time.

Valen may not have fought today, but her declaration had set new stakes. She expected to prevail later against them. And that expectation weighed on them now.