Charles stood firm at the counter, every eye in the dining hall glued to him—and now to the man striding in with purpose.
It was Joren Tael, the fighters' supervisor, a guy in his early twenties with short black hair and a stare that could cut through steel.
His tunic matched Charles's in color, but a stitched emblem on his chest—a circle with a stylized lightning bolt—marked his authority.
He held a wooden board with parchnts clipped to it, his face a mix of irritation and fatigue.
Joren stopped in front of Charles, sizing him up from head to toe.
The dining hall's silence shattered when he spoke, his voice sharp and clear.
"Rian Cole is not a fighter," he declared, raising the board like it was undeniable proof. "His na's nowhere in the records."
Laughter erupted instantly.
"Told you!" a servant at a table shouted, smacking the wood with his hand.
"He's a fraud!" another chid in, laughing so hard he nearly choked on his bread.
The girl behind the counter covered her mouth, though her eyes sparkled with amusent.
The cook, grinning triumphantly, crossed his arms and glared at Charles like he'd just won a war.
"Told you, useless," he said, his voice dripping with scorn. "Now strip off that outfit and get lost before this gets uglier."
Charles froze, eyes wide.
'What?' he thought, a knot twisting in his gut. 'Not a fighter? That's impossible!'
His mind raced, scrambling for answers.
Lira had given him the tunic, told him he'd fight tonight, even shifted the whole schedule.
'Did she set up?'
The thought hit like a sucker punch.
'Was this all to humiliate even more?'
Charles clenched his fists, heat rushing to his face.
He couldn't believe Lira, after everything, had played him like this.
Joren didn't give him ti to dwell.
"Speak!" he barked, stepping closer. "Where'd you get that outfit? Think you can slap on a fighter's tunic and fool everyone?"
His voice echoed, and the murmurs swelled.
"He's a liar," soone at a table said.
A woman with braided hair shook her head, loud enough for all to hear.
"What a disgrace. Thought no one would notice?"
Charles swallowed hard, trying to stay calm.
"Lira Cole gave this tunic," he said, raising his voice so everyone could hear. "She told I'm fighting tonight."
The dining hall went quiet for a split second—then the laughter ca back, louder than ever.
"Lira Cole?" a servant howled, nearly falling off his chair.
"Now he's really lost it!"
A young fighter near the center let out a guffaw.
"Lira Cole, of all people? The chief's daughter? He expects us to buy that?"
The girl behind the counter couldn't hold it in anymore and let out a giggle, though she tried hiding it by looking down.
Everyone knew Lira Cole.
She wasn't just one of the clan leader's daughters—she was a linchpin in clan affairs. Since stepping back from the arena to focus on finances, she'd doubled their profits with sharp trade deals and better-organized tournants.
Her status was untouchable, and the idea that soone like her—known for her cold logic and efficiency—would back a nobody like Rian was laughable.
"What's next?" another servant snickered. "Kraus Cole naming him his heir?"
The cook stepped toward Charles, still smirking.
"Stop lying, useless," he said, pointing a finger. "Admit you stole the tunic and end this charade. Don't make it worse for yourself."
But Joren wasn't laughing. His eyes were locked on Charles, his expression stern, almost dangerous.
"You an that?" he asked, raising the board again. "Because here's the fighter list for today."
He tapped the parchnt with a finger, the sound ringing out.
"And your na's nowhere on it, Rian Cole. You saying I'm doing my job wrong? That what you're implying?"
Charles felt a chill but held his gaze.
"Maybe Lira hasn't registered yet," he said, trying to sound confident despite the chaos in his head.
Joren's eyes narrowed, and without warning, he stepped forward, shoving Charles with one hand.
Charles stumbled back on instinct, catching himself but barely.
The dining hall's murmurs grew louder.
"Look at him!" soone laughed.
"Can't even take a push!"
Joren didn't let up.
"Don't waste my ti," he growled, pointing at the exit. "Get to the holding area now. You can spout your nonsense there 'til soone figures out what to do with you."
The cook turned away, still chuckling, and waved at the girl to get back to work.
"That's that," he said, like it was over. "This idiot's not eating here."
Servants at the tables went back to their plates, tossing out comnts.
"What a moron," one said.
"Deserves it for thinking he's sothing he's not," another added.
The girl behind the counter started serving stew again, shaking her head like she couldn't believe the scene.
Charles felt the guard's arm reaching to grab him, but he dodged with a quick twist to the side.
"Seriously..." he muttered, more to himself than anyone else. "This place sucks."
How had he ever thought sticking around to beco a fighter was worth it?
These people jumped at any chance to ss with him, no matter what... he had to get out of here.
But before Charles could take another step, Joren closed in with startling speed.
"What'd you say?" he demanded, voice thick with anger.
He was so close Charles could see the tense lines on his face.
Charles, fed up with it all, t his eyes.
"I said this place sucks," he repeated, louder.
Joren didn't hesitate. He threw a punch straight at Charles's face—fast and clean. Charles dodged on pure reflex, leaning to the side just in ti.
The blow missed his cheek by inches, the whoosh of air silencing the dining hall again.
Every eye locked on them.
Servants stopped eating, younger fighters sat up straight, and even the cook turned, mouth agape.
"What's happening?" soone whispered.
"They're gonna fight!" another said, a hint of excitent in their voice.
The murmurs returned, but they'd shifted.
"Rian doesn't stand a chance," a servant said, shaking his head.
"Joren's gonna crush him," a woman added, leaning forward to catch every second.
"This is what you get for chasing clout," another remarked with a dry laugh.
Charles raised his hands, getting into a stance.
His heart was racing, but his mind felt sharper than he'd expected.
'If they don't believe , I'll have to prove it,' he thought, eyeing Joren, who was already gearing up for another strike.
A risky idea flashed through his head.
'If I beat him... will that prove I'm a fighter?'
Charles wasn't sure, but it was all he had.
Lira had put him in this ss, and though he didn't get why his na wasn't on the list, he wasn't letting them drag him to a cell without a fight.
'Ti to wing it.'
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