*****
""Whoa, did you guys see that?""
A red-haired professor leaned forward, his bright blue eyes wide with astonishnt as he stared at the massive holographic screen, where the battle between Lyrium and Eugene was unfolding.
His breath was shallow, as if the tension in the air had suddenly beco too much to bear.
Every movent in the fight had him on edge, hanging on to every mont like it was a rare treasure.
His voice was filled with amusent and disbelief.
"That Lyrium kid… he’s the successor of the long-lost sword art… the Two Heavens Sword Art!"
His voice cracked slightly with the weight of the realization, his heart racing at the thought.
"This is nothing short of remarkable—the power in that stance, the precision in those strikes. He’s wielding one of the most powerful techniques passed down from the legendary Miyamoto Musashi! And to think... I thought those techniques had been lost forever, buried in the annals of history!"
His fingers drumd on the edge of the table, his mind racing, thoughts flashing through him like a storm.
The air around him seed to vibrate with energy as he continued to mutter to himself, almost in a trance.
"How could this kid—this boy—possibly possess such mastery? It’s like the very essence of the sword has awakened in him!"
Beside him, a female professor sat unmoving, her arms tightly crossed over her chest.
Her gaze, calm and unwavering, stayed focused on the screen in front of her, but her thoughts were clearly elsewhere.
She let out a quiet sigh, the weight of the red-haired professor’s excitent pressing against her composure.
"Yeah, I can see that."
Her voice was calm, laced with a quiet irritation as she turned her head slowly, casting a glance at her colleague.
"Just sit there calmly and watch, will you?"
The words were sharp, carrying a subtle reprimand, as though she was reminding him that the spectacle unfolding before them was not so kind of spectacle to be consud with the mind of an eager child.
Her lips curled into a faint smile—almost imperceptible, but there nonetheless.
She had seen enough legendary techniques to know that this was simply another test—another battle where the outco would reveal the true ttle of the combatants.
Yet, despite her poised exterior, sothing lingered in her gaze—a small hint of curiosity, mixed with an understanding of what was happening before them.
The sword art Lyrium wielded was not just any technique; it was one that transcended ti. One that had been buried under layers of history, now brought back to life.
And while the red-haired professor was caught in a storm of emotion, the female professor was much more aware of the gravity of this mont.
Her eyes softened for a fraction of a second, and in that mont, she whispered just for herself—almost as if the words were ant for the sword itself, rather than the boy who wielded it.
"The wind of ti blows fiercely in this one... He is a whisper of forgotten legends, a fla rekindled from the ashes of history."
The red-haired professor, however, was too lost in his own excitent to hear her soft reflection.
His eyes darted from Lyrium’s movents to Eugene’s reactions. Each clash of steel and each graceful, fluid strike sent his heart racing with exhilaration.
"How can such a thing exist?" he murmured, almost to himself.
"The Two Heavens Sword Art... It’s not just technique; it’s a living manifestation of history. Every swing of the blade, every stance—it’s like the very soul of the sword has been resurrected, and now it’s fighting for its place in the present."
The battle raged on, both professors drawn in, each in their own way.
To one, it was a spectacle that ignited his passion; to the other, it was a mont woven into the tapestry of ti itself.
In the air between them, the energy of the battle seed to pulsate.
It was a mont of reckoning, one where legends collided—past and present—leaving the very ground beneath them trembling with anticipation.
*****
In a sterile, white-walled chamber, where the hum of machinery intertwined with the faint scent of antiseptics, a lone figure lay motionless on a bed.
The soft, artificial glow of the crystal-infused lanterns cast a pale light upon the room, creating shadows that stretched like silent spectators.
The room was silent—eerily so.
Then—
Gasp—!
A sharp intake of breath shattered the stillness as the boy’s eyes snapped open.
His crimson irises, flickering like embers in the dim light, darted frantically across the ceiling, as if searching for answers written upon its smooth, white surface.
His chest rose and fell, each breath heavy, each heartbeat hamring against his ribs.
"Where… am I?"
His voice was hoarse, laced with confusion and urgency, as though he had been yanked from the depths of a nightmare only to awaken in another.
Then it all ca rushing back—
The roar of the battlefield, the clash of mana and steel, the overwhelming presence of Professor Shirone.
He could still feel the phantom weight of the blows he had endured, the raw power that had suffocated him, and the bitter taste of defeat lingering on his tongue.
"Tch…"
A sharp exhale escaped his lips, his fingers twitching as they clenched the sheets beneath him.
He had lost.
Not just lost—he had been utterly crushed.
The battle replayed in his mind like a cruel jest of fate.
He could see it—his flas, once so fierce, extinguished beneath the tides of a true master’s power.
His attacks, once thought overwhelming, rendered aningless.
His pride, once unshaken, now lay in ruins.
"I was weak…"
The admission stung more than any physical wound.
Yet, as frustration churned within him, sothing else stirred—a feeling far more urgent than his wounded pride.
A flicker of sothing uneasy.
Then—
His eyes widened.
A na.
A presence.
A realization.
"Wait—"
The scene had been so overwhelming, so crushing, that he had montarily forgotten. But now—
Now it ca back like a crashing wave.
"Lyrium!"
His heart skipped a beat.
Had the match begun?
Had it already ended?
No—no, that wasn’t possible.
He needed to see it with his own eyes.
Before he could think, his body moved instinctively.
His limbs, still aching from the battle, ignored the pain as he ripped away the sheets and flung himself upright.
The mont his feet hit the floor, a sharp sting shot up his legs, but he didn’t care.
There was no ti.
He barely noticed the IV needle slipping from his arm, a few crimson droplets staining the pristine white sheets as he pushed forward, his breath ragged but determined.
His legs carried him across the room with reckless urgency, his mind racing, his pulse a relentless drum in his ears.
Then—
SLAM—!
The door burst open as he flung it aside, his voice ringing through the halls like a battle cry.
"Lyrium!!"
The na echoed, bouncing off the walls, carrying with it fear, concern, and desperation.
He wasn’t just running—he was chasing.
Chasing after a truth he wasn’t ready to face.
Chasing after a fate he refused to accept.
He don’t want to see his first ever friend ends the sa way as him in the infirmary bed.
*****
Eugene let out a long, drawn-out sigh, his deep blue eyes reflecting both amusent and mild frustration as he effortlessly dodged yet another one of Lyrium’s slashes.
His body barely moved—his feet barely shifted—but each of Lyrium’s ferocious strikes missed their mark, slicing through nothing but air.
Clank!—Swish!—Clank!
The sound of tal scraping against the air filled the battlefield as Lyrium continued his relentless assault, his twin blades a blur of motion.
His breathing was ragged, sweat forming on his brow, yet he refused to falter.
"Again—"
He gritted his teeth, tightening his grip on his greatsword as he lunged once more.
But—
Whoosh—!
Eugene shifted ever so slightly, his figure ghosting to the side, avoiding the attack with the ease of a man dancing through raindrops.
His hands remained in his pockets, his expression unwavering, his movents fluid. It was as if he wasn’t even trying.
"Damn it!"
Lyrium could feel it now—that widening gap between them.
He was fast, but Eugene was faster.
He was strong, but Eugene was untouchable.
No matter how much effort he put into his swings, Eugene remained an enigma, an opponent that couldn’t be scratched, let alone defeated.
Yet Lyrium didn’t stop.
He couldn’t stop.
Even if his body scread in exhaustion.
Even if his mind whispered at him to back down.
He was determined.
"Kid,"
Eugene finally spoke, his voice low yet firm, carrying the weight of experience.
"I know you still have your lightning affinity left. Just use it. Give it your all. You won’t win like this."
His words weren’t mocking, nor were they taunting.
It was just the truth.
But Lyrium didn’t respond.
He didn’t even acknowledge the words.
Instead, he continued pressing forward, attacking with the sa stance, the sa movents, the sa technique.
Eugene narrowed his eyes.
A flicker of irritation passed over his face as he effortlessly avoided yet another flurry of attacks.
Then—
He suddenly stopped dodging.
His gaze darkened.
"Enough."
His voice was a whisper—yet it carried the weight of a storm.
Lyrium didn’t have ti to react before—
BAM—!
A sudden burst of mana erupted from Eugene’s body, an unseen force slamming into Lyrium’s chest, sending him skidding backward across the field.
His feet dug into the ground, his greatsword trembling in his grasp as he struggled to remain standing.
Silence.
Then, Eugene tilted his head, an unmistakable air of disappointnt settling in his gaze.
"The sa attack. The sa pattern. The sa, small techniques."
He ran a hand through his silver-white hair, exhaling sharply.
"Is this really all you have, Lyrium Blackwood?"
His words struck deeper than any attack could.
*****
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