Final Selection. Final Part 1.5. Marcus Enters

Dark. Smells of dust and dampness. No sound.
Illya von Meridian opened her eyes.
"Hmm... a black room? Where is the labyrinth we were promised?" She looked around reservedly. "Okay, calm down. It's all part of the test. Illusions, fear... You just have to not fall for it."
She gripped the hilt of her sword and narrowed her eyes. There was anxiety inside, but her face remained almost stone. She had been taught restraint since childhood. Noble blood has no right to weakness.
Five minutes - silence. No monsters, traps or riddles. Just darkness. But at some point, everything changed.
A voice rang out.
"Damn it... who did I raise?..."
Illya shuddered.
Before her was the figure of her father. The way she remembered him: stern, with a permanently tense line of his mouth and eyes that held no warmth, only expectation. And disappointment.
— Useless... I don't need you. You don't shine with magic or a sword. Just... a burden.
The words seemed to cut.
Illia knew it was an illusion. She knew it with her head. But her heart... her heart was pounding painfully in her chest. She felt her fingers trembling on the hilt of her sword.
— No... I tried. I trained like you wanted... I... I just wanted you to be proud of me...
Tears. Treacherous. Hot. Real.
She knelt down. At that moment — not an aristocrat. Just a girl who always lacked one word from her father: "I'm proud of you."
A couple of minutes passed. Illia cried silently. Then suddenly — she laughed.
— Hah… how humiliating. To cry like this. In front of an empty projection. And in such a stupid labyrinth, too.
She stood up. Wiped away her tears.
— If my real father saw me now… he would be disappointed.
Then she smiled.
— Although, perhaps, for the first time he would notice that I am real.
She stood up. The sword was like an extension of her hand. Her gaze became cold as ice.
— Illusion. Error. Correcting.
As if on command, her body was enveloped in magical energy. The blade pulsed with light.
— "CUT."
A bright explosion of light. A wave of magic rolled through the room, destroying the projection and tearing apart the illusion. The walls shook. And one of them… cracked, and a man suddenly fell out from behind it.
— AAAAAAAAA! — Marcus yelled, face down.
— Uh… — Illia lowered her sword. — Are you okay?
— Hmrf-mfrg… — Marcus muttered, wiping his face. — Well, let's just say… I'm glad I have a strong forehead.
System: "Well, finding yourself in someone else's room for the second time in a row — you're clearly talented at that."
— Thank you, — Marcus responded sarcastically. — It's nice that my suffering is a reason for humor.
Illia approached, slightly bowing her head.
— Sorry, I didn't think you'd end up behind the wall. Didn't hit you?
— No, everything's fine. But now I know that you have aggressive magic and a great stance. — He blushed a little. — I mean, not in that sense… stance as a technique!.. Hmm, forget it.
Illia held back a laugh.
- Well, then, let's not talk about it.
- Hooray... saved from complete disgrace.
Then Alric approached them, as if from the shadows.
- Hm. Are you both safe?
- Yeah, I think so. - Illya looked at him. - You're Alric von Dirstein, right?
- Right. And you're Illya von Meridian?
- Exactly. Nice to know my name.
- You just got out too?
- Yes. Although, in theory, the stage should be different.
- Ha! - Marcus chimed in. - So here I am, deprived of attention, standing as an NPC, and you're getting acquainted with aristocratic etiquette!
They both looked at him.
- Oh, sorry. - said Alric. - Are you Marcus Cannet?
- Yeah. Glad at least someone remembers. Nice to meet you!
And they went on, the three of them, while the second stage was already preparing a new surprise...
They split up