༺ Chapter 194 - Sa Song (2) ༻
The stands reacted instantly.
Whispers surged like a wave, heads turning, students craning to see the arena floor as if the nas themselves would appear in the air if they stared hard enough.
People didn’t need to say them out loud for the tension to travel; Rank 1 and Rank 2 carried their own gravity.
Beside Soren, Esper’s body went taut like a spring.
Alia’s expression didn’t change at all.
Esper rose first, smooth and practised, like she had been waiting for the call from the mont she sat down.
She tossed her hair back, shoulders squaring into that familiar, bright confidence that made it easy to forget she was only nineteen, then glanced down at Soren with a grin that tried very hard to look effortless.
“Well,” she said lightly, “watch win.”
Soren snorted.
“In your dreams.”
“I could win,” Esper insisted, hand settling on her hip with theatrical authority.
Soren looked her up and down once, slow, rude, deliberate, then flicked his gaze to Alia.
“Alia,” he said plainly, “crush her.”
Esper’s smile froze.
Then her face went pale in a way that was almost impressive, considering the layers of makeup covering her skin.
“Wait, no—”
Felix laughed, a real laugh that startled Soren more than it should have, sharp and genuine in a way Felix didn’t offer often.
Soren’s lips curved despite himself.
Esper spun to Alia like she was pleading for her life, hands clasping together as if prayer could undo the laws of the academy.
“Please don’t actually crush ,” she said, voice suddenly serious. “Just… defeat normally.”
Alia stood without a word.
She didn’t look at Esper.
She didn’t respond.
She simply stepped past them, calm and silent, and started walking down the steps toward the arena.
Esper watched her go with horror slowly crawling across her face like a shadow.
Then she hurried after her, muttering under her breath with wounded indignation.
“This is abuse… this is discrimination… I can’t believe you’re all like this…”
Soren watched them descend.
Esper still carried herself like she belonged on a stage, posture bright, stride confident, but nervousness leaked through in the small things, the way her fingers flexed, the way she rolled her shoulders once too often as if trying to shake tension out.
Alia walked like she always did: steady, composed, almost bored.
Soren’s gaze lingered on her longer than he ant it to.
Sothing was… off.
Not in a dramatic way.
Not in a way you could point at and na.
Just a lack.
Alia loved fighting.
She loved it the way so people loved music or sweets.
It wasn’t just a hobby for her; it was part of how she existed, how she breathed.
She usually lit up when she got to test herself, when she got to prove sothing, when the world finally spoke a language she understood without effort.
Today she looked like she was heading toward a chore.
Soren’s brows pinched faintly.
Then Esper and Alia disappeared into the lower periter, swallowed by the crowd and the arena’s boundary.
And suddenly the bench felt emptier than it should have.
Soren shifted slightly.
Felix sat beside him now with his arms crossed and his gaze fixed forward, jaw tight enough that the line of it looked carved.
It hit Soren in an odd, delayed way, he and Felix hadn’t been alone like this in a while, not properly.
There were always other people around.
Esper butting in.
Alia hovering.
Lilliana smoothing edges.
Olivia and Alex balancing the atmosphere without even trying.
With just the two of them, the space between their usual noise felt exposed.
Soren realised, with mild surprise, that he didn’t actually know what to say to Felix when there wasn’t soone else to bounce off of.
Not because Felix was hard to talk to, Felix talked constantly, but because most of their conversations were… noise.
Insults.
Complaints.
Teasing.
A rhythm they both understood without ever admitting they relied on it.
And when you stripped that away?
Soren stared at the arena and tried to think of sothing normal to say.
Nothing ca.
The silence stretched.
Not hostile.
Just… awkward.
Soren hated it.
Felix shifted beside him, the movent sharp, restless.
Then, finally—
“Soren?”
Soren blinked, turning his head slightly.
“Yeah?”
Felix hesitated.
That alone was unsettling.
Felix didn’t hesitate.
Felix didn’t weigh words carefully.
Felix said whatever ca to mind and let the world deal with it.
Now his gaze stayed locked on the arena, but his fingers flexed against his upper arm like he was bracing for impact.
“…I know what this will sound like, but…” Felix started.
Soren’s brows lifted a fraction.
“But…?” he prompted.
Felix’s jaw tightened.
“…I won’t apologise.”
Soren paused.
Then he turned properly, actually looking at Felix instead of watching the arena through him.
“Huh?”
Felix exhaled through his nose like he was irritated that he had said anything at all.
“I won’t apologise for the way I acted,” he repeated, voice rougher this ti, more stubborn than loud.
Soren stared for a beat, waiting for the usual, anger, defensiveness, or maybe a joke to soften the edges.
Instead, Felix sounded… blunt.
Ugly, honest, and uncomfortably grounded.
Soren’s mouth opened, then closed again.
“What are you even talking about?” he asked finally, tone flat because flat was safe.
Felix’s eyes flicked toward him once, fast, sharp, then snapped back to the arena like he didn’t want to face Soren’s expression.
“You know exactly what I’m talking about.”
Soren didn’t answer imdiately, not because he didn’t understand, but because he did.
He just didn’t know what Felix wanted from him.
Closure?
Permission?
A fight?
A clean line drawn sowhere?
Felix continued, voice lower.
“I know I was acting weird. I know it wasn’t normal.”
Soren’s fingers curled slightly against the bench.
“Then why—”
“Because it was still ,” Felix cut in, faster now, irritation bleeding through like it always did when he got too close to sothing that felt vulnerable. “It wasn’t so stranger taking over my body. It was my feelings.”
Soren went still.
Felix’s jaw flexed again.
“And if it was my feelings,” he added, voice tight, “then apologising is pointless.”
The words settled between them.
It was a strange kind of honesty, not pretty, not gentle, not wrapped in the right phrasing, but honest.
Soren exhaled quietly and looked forward again, letting his eyes rest on the arena floor because it gave him sothing to stare at while his brain rearranged itself.
“So what,” he said dryly, “you’re saying you ant it?”
Felix didn’t answer right away.
Then he scoffed, quieter than usual.
“I’m saying it exists,” Felix replied. “And it’s not going to vanish just because I say sorry.”
Soren’s eyes narrowed faintly.
“That’s a weird way to communicate.”
Felix shot him a glare that didn’t have its usual venom.
“I’m not good at this,” he muttered.
Soren’s mouth twitched despite himself.
“That much is obvious.”
Felix scowled, but the scowl was tired, not sharp, and the silence that followed felt different now, still awkward, but less empty, like sothing had at least been placed on the table instead of hovering unspoken.
Down in the arena, Esper stepped forward.
The confidence returned to her posture like she was pulling it over herself, shoulders tall, chin lifted, smile bright enough to make strangers underestimate her.
Then her spirit appeared beside her, air shimring as a presence solidified, light, wind, and sothing sharp beneath it, like the edge of a blade you only noticed when it cut.
Aeriel.
Soren had heard about Esper’s spirit plenty of tis.
He had just never actually watched her fight properly.
Esper lifted her hand and the air shifted.
Wind curled around her feet and lifted her just slightly off the ground, enough that she looked weightless, enough that the crowd’s attention sharpened like they had collectively rembered who Rank 2 actually was.
Then she moved.
Not running, gliding.
Aeriel mirrored her, the spirit’s wind weaving around Esper’s body like a second set of hands, tightening and releasing with perfect timing.
Esper cast without stopping, her spells flowing as naturally as breathing.
A gust slamd forward, aid to throw Alia off balance.
At the sa ti, Aeriel’s wind coiled around Alia’s ankles, trying to pin her in place.
Esper’s style was… efficient.
She multitasked without hesitation, using her spirit as an extension of herself, controlling the battlefield while still attacking directly.
It wasn’t just raw power, it was control, the kind that ca from talent and training and the ruthless focus that the academy rewarded.
Soren understood, watching her, why she ranked so high.
But Alia didn’t move.
She stood there and let the wind batter her hair, let the pressure push against her body like it was a mild inconvenience.
Wind blades snapped toward her, pressure bursts cracked against her stance, sharp gusts that would have sent most people stumbling.
Alia took them.
Her feet stayed planted.
Her expression stayed blank.
Soren watched, mildly impressed and mildly concerned.
Esper kept pushing.
A full minute passed.
The crowd began to murmur because Esper was doing well.
She wasn’t winning, but she was surviving, and against Alia, surviving was already sothing people respected.
Then Alia yawned.
It was small at first, just a slow blink, a quiet opening of her mouth like she couldn’t be bothered to pretend, but it was so absurd in the middle of a duel that Soren felt his lips twitch even as sothing uneasy curled in his gut.
Esper froze mid-glide, eyes widening in disbelief.
Alia spoke, voice calm, carrying clearly across the arena.
“…I’m tired.”
The stands went still.
Esper’s face tightened, humiliation flashing hot beneath the polish.
“Hey—don’t say that like I’m boring—”
Alia didn’t respond.
She just moved.
No visible mana enhancent glow.
No dramatic burst of power.
She simply pushed off the ground—
And vanished.
One second she was standing in the centre, the next she was in front of Esper.
Esper’s breath hitched.
Aeriel’s wind surged defensively, trying to shove Alia back, throwing pressure into the air like a wall.
Alia’s hand snapped out.
Bare-handed.
Direct.
Not flashy, not dramatic, just brutally efficient.
The wind shattered.
Esper’s body jerked backward, feet skidding hard across the arena floor as she fought to keep upright.
She barely managed.
Alia was there again, closing distance like it didn’t exist.
Esper tried to lift off, but Alia caught her wrist.
Twisted.
Pinned.
Esper yelped, forced down onto one knee in a heartbeat, Aeriel’s wind flaring in frantic pulses that couldn’t find purchase in ti.
And Alia didn’t look excited.
Didn’t look proud.
Didn’t look… anything.
Just bored.
Like she was finishing a task she didn’t even want to do.
The overseer’s voice rang out, loud and final, confirming what everyone already knew.
Match over.
The crowd erupted.
Esper stayed kneeling a second longer than necessary, breathing hard, cheeks flushed with humiliation and disbelief, then she stood and dusted herself off with exaggerated dignity like she was performing for the stands whether they deserved it or not.
Alia turned away without a word and started walking back toward the steps.
Soren watched her climb.
Her eyes didn’t search for him the way they usually did after a fight.
She didn’t look for praise, didn’t look for reaction, didn’t look for anything at all.
She just… returned.
Esper followed slower, moving with dramatic misery like she was acting out a tragedy, shoulders slumped a touch too perfectly.
When they reached the bench, Esper’s gaze flicked between Soren and Felix.
She noticed.
Of course she did, Esper noticed everything, even when she pretended she didn’t, but she didn’t comnt.
Instead, she flopped down with a loud, miserable sigh.
“I was bullied,” she announced.
Soren glanced at her.
“You were crushed,” he corrected.
Esper pressed a hand to her forehead like she was dying.
“I was humiliated in front of the entire academy.”
Felix scoffed.
“Good.”
Esper shot him a glare that could’ve started a fire.
Soren’s mouth twitched.
Then his eyes slid to Alia.
She sat down beside him, close yet still with that gap, but instead of sitting rigidly like before, she leaned her head back against the bench and closed her eyes.
Like she was done.
Like she wanted to sleep.
Soren stared at her for a second longer than he should have, discomfort curling low in his chest.
Then he looked forward again as the next match began, the arena noise rising to fill the air.
Esper kept groaning beside him, performing misery with the dedication of an artist.
Felix kept scowling, arms crossed, pretending he didn’t care.
And Alia stayed silent, resting, present.
Soren exhaled slowly.
Not everything was fixed.
But it was moving.
————「❤︎」————
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