He won

The academy courtyard in the early morning is unusually empty.

Classes haven’t started yet, and the students that linger stick to corners or pace along the far walls, far from the noise gathering in the center. Arthur hears a sudden, almost familiar voice, but much less noble, like a high class speaking down to a slave.

He runs to where the voice comes out and freezes.

Spidaract stands in the courtyard, posture tight, limbs drawn beneath his cloak like ropes pulled too tight. Facing him is Prince Enger, still wearing his crimson-lined coat. His stance is relaxed, but his voice cracks through the air like a whip.

“You think you belong here?” Enger says, voice sharp as a polished blade. “You’re a beast in robes, nothing more.”

Arthur’s blood ignites.

After some hesitation, he shouts, “Back off!”

The voices around the courtyard hush instantly. Enger turns, slowly, like someone indulging a barking dog.

“You want something, grayling?” he asks.

Arthur strides forward, fists clenched. “You don’t get to talk down to him.”

Enger arches a brow. “Then perhaps you’d like to prove it?”

“Then I challenge you,” Arthur declares, although his voice is not as loud as before.

A long pause.

Then Enger smiles, tight and joyless. “A duel to kill time, go on.”

Uta drags a line across the courtyard tiles. Students gather fast, forming a circle to watch the prince humbles a mere…whatever Arthur is. Spidaract doesn’t speak, but his limbs shift uneasily as he steps back. Asa appears wordlessly near the edge of the crowd.

Arthur removes his scarf and tightens his grip on the training blade they’re handed. He lowered his body while holding his sword where others would carry a scabbard, as if he is imitating a stance on an anime.

Enger doesn’t draw yet. He just walks to the center with practiced slowness, stretches one arm, and waits.

Then Uta lifts a hand.

“Begin.”

Arthur charges.

His first swing is wide and fast like the heroes in stories. Enger steps aside easily, sword flicking up to knock the strike away. Arthur’s momentum carries him forward, making him unable to dodge any upcoming attack.

Then, without wasting a step, Enger shifts his weight and drives the pommel of his blade into Arthur’s ribs.

Arthur gasps, stumbling back.

But he doesn’t stop.

He rushes again, heart pounding, eyes burning. His blade comes from below this time, like a rising wave of fury.

Enger parries again, rotates his wrist, and thrusts forward, injuring Arthur’s shoulder.

Arthur growls, steps back, and swings again, trying to use the blade as a force of momentum.

Enger slaps the blade aside, ducks low, and hooks Arthur’s ankle.

Arthur crashes to the ground.

Laughter stirs in the crowd, but dies when Arthur slams his palm to the floor and pulls himself up while his breath seems heavier than any other time.

Mike walks by, but he doesn’t interfere. That stubborn head of Arthur will not back down easily.

Arthur dashes forward again, strikes higher, faster with all of his might but Enger moves like water. Every strike is absorbed, redirected, and returned.

Arthur, with a groan, forces himself to stand up again.

“The rabbit…” Enger murmurs, his gaze locks onto the one in front of him. “He is…the rabbit.”

Arthur’s vision tunnels. His arm is going numb, but he doesn’t stop. He hurls himself forward, swinging again and again.

Enger blocks, redirects, sidesteps.

Then lands a clean strike to Arthur’s other shoulder.

Then his leg.

Then his head.

Arthur drops to one knee, panting. Blood runs from his lip. His whole body screams at him to stay down.

But he rises again.

The crowd is silent now. Even Spidaract doesn’t move. This is no longer a duel, it is a brutal beatdown.

Arthur wipes blood from his mouth and raises his blade once more.

Enger hesitates this time, only for a second.

Arthur notices it.

And charges.

His swings are still wild, but now there’s timing. Not enough to break Enger’s rhythm, but enough to force a retreat. Enger frowns slightly - his counters are a half-second slower now. Arthur keeps pressing, a blur of effort and fury.

For a brief moment, Arthur finds an opening.

He steps in, blade ready to strike across Enger’s chest.

Enger reacts.

But Arthur is already swinging.

Then…

Arthur’s knees buckle.

The world tilts.

He collapses before the strike lands.

The last thing he sees is Enger stepping back, blade lowered, sweating.

Arthur gasps sharply. In a split second, mana surges through his limbs like liquid flame, flows through his sword and covers Enger’s neck.

And Enger stumbles back, hand flying to his neck.

It has turned into a deep, sickly red.

“Blood?” He murmurs, but it’s not warm, and not a liquid.

Then Arthur blacks out.

…

He wakes up to the smell of bandages and faint mint. Sunlight shines through a window directly in front of his bed. The pain in his body becomes clear now that he no longer suppresses it.

Mike is there, sitting in a chair too small for him, legs kicked up on the bed frame.

“You pass,” he says.

Arthur blinks. “But…I failed yesterday.”

“You awakened your magic,” Mike says, then finally glances at him. “That’s what the test is about.”

“I didn’t even win,” Arthur says.

“You know how many people can make the prince sweat in a duel?” Mike replies. “Not much, even when counting adults.”

“Well done, kid,” he says.

Mike leaves the room, leaving behind some apples and a milk bottle with a letter that wrote: “Thanks, friend.”

….

That night, in the courtyard of the imperial castle, Asa corners her brother under a half-lit archway.

“You owe my teammate an apology,” she says, voice soft but firm.

Enger doesn’t answer at first.

Then: “Do you remember the hunt three years ago?”

Asa crosses her arms. “Don’t even try to change the subject!”

Enger watches the distant lights of the infirmary. His jaw is tense.

“The rabbits were meant to be hunted,” he continues, as if he can’t hear his sister’s voice. “But they jump at me.”

Asa’s eyes widen in anger. “Enger!”

He nods to no one. “They bit me”

Enger unconsciously touches his old scar, the rabbit’s bite on his neck. “He bit me.”

He stares at the window to a nearby hospital.

The boy inside is still asleep, unaware.

But the prince can’t help but shiver when remembering the fight.