“How about it, Yoruichi? Do you want me to send you the data on your next opponent?”
“Haori, my match is starting very soon. Just send it to me via message.”
I tried to keep my sentences as short as possible, as if fewer words meant less trouble.
Unfortunately, reality wasn’t a zip file that could be compressed and tossed into the recycle bin with one click.
Carrying that “I clearly don’t want to be nervous, but my body has already entered tension mode automatically” feeling, I started running toward the match venue.
My footsteps echoed in the corridor like a war drum for my own departure—though I wished more than anything it was a retreat bell instead.
The moment I passed through the security detection gate of the match area, a loud, high-pitched shout suddenly exploded beside my ear.
“Hey! Isn’t this the legendary UNKNOWN NAME WARRIOR! Come on, let me experience that legendary laser attack!”
The voice came from the candidate area opposite me.
In other words, that hoarse voice that sounded like iron rails grinding over leather was my opponent.
To train one’s voice to this degree wasn’t just hard work—it was the throat itself making a noble sacrifice.
What was worse—he had openly shouted out my attack method right from the start.
Completely brazen, without any restraint, and even carrying the relaxed tone of someone who had already watched my match replays.
…Got it. This guy had definitely spent the 10,000 points to buy my combat data.
Blue Sea Academy truly lived up to its reputation as a BHAO-specialized school.
They could even turn “fairness” into paid content.
Next, were they going to offer a luxury package where “buying lets you disable your opponent’s skills on the spot”?
If that happened, a broke player like me would probably starve to death right on the arena floor.
Dammit…
My back teeth ground together with a creak.
It was obvious that I was now at a disadvantage.
I had barely torn off a corner of the “dead last” label, and the school was already in a hurry to slap a new one on me—“paid public viewing specimen.”
After summarizing the “Witch” virtual character, I had reached a very important but not at all pleasant combat conclusion—
The skill NIGHT DAWN itself was undoubtedly invaluable. Whether it was the assassination-focused “Night Witch” or the “Dawn Witch” with extremely high burst magic damage, both forms possessed powerful combat abilities in their own styles.
One was like a blade in the night, the other like a cannon at dawn.
Any normal person who mastered even one of them could proudly declare in a crowd, “I’m pretty strong now.”
However, in a 1v1 fight against a strong opponent, NIGHT DAWN was like an extremely noble decoration.
It occupied a skill slot but didn’t deal direct damage.
Its existence felt more like a reminder: If you want to win, you must “switch intelligently.”
The problem was, being smart was what I was worst at.
I could even miss the lunch window in the cafeteria because I couldn’t decide what to order, let alone calculate perfect timing for form-switching in the middle of battle.
At my core, I wasn’t suited for “high-skill characters.”
I was better suited for the kind where “standing still still lets you win automatically”—unfortunately, the world had never granted me such convenience.
Whether it was the single “Night Witch” form or the single “Dawn Witch” form, neither was the Witch’s strongest state by itself.
The strongest “Witch” should be able to use both forms simultaneously—becoming night when stealth was needed and dawn when explosive power was required, switching states according to the situation as naturally as breathing, as simply as blinking.
…The issue was, that was the “strongest Witch.” Not me.
And so far, it seemed all the skill information for my “Dawn Witch” had been exposed—the attack method that relied on “plane mirror light reflection.” Simply put, my original playstyle relied on “the opponent not knowing what I was doing” to win.
Once the opponent knew, I would instantly go from “tactical player” to “colorful light show performer.”
With the opponent already informed, as long as they kept moving at high speed, it would be very difficult for me to hit them.
No matter how smart the mirrors were, they still needed someone to position them.
No matter how beautiful the light rays were, they only did damage if they actually landed.
Otherwise, it was just visual service for the audience.
Of course, this was only the most obvious “unfair” situation. In theory, I could also buy his combat data in return to plan countermeasures—but for someone like me, not to mention points, even the resource called “confidence” was in constant deficit.
Besides, even if I got the data, it didn’t mean I could use it as smoothly as in a strategy video.
There was a cruel truth in reality called “knowing ≠ doing,” and I was its long-term spokesperson.
“What’s wrong? You defeated someone in the lower-tier preliminary round and you used to be Blue Sea Academy’s Tier 0 dead weight, so how come you can’t even say a single word now? Are you scared by my aura?”
My opponent taunted across the entire virtual arena.
His rolled tongue sounded as unpleasant as chewing on sandpaper.
His gaze looked fierce, but in terms of height, he wasn’t much different from my old self.
That “arrogance of a fellow good-for-nothing” was what made it even more infuriating. It was like being mocked by your own former shadow—an experience that was hard to find in any mental health manual.
I was about to open my mouth to retort when the spectator stands suddenly erupted.
“Whoa! Isn’t that the Student Council President?! In the center of the virtual stage!”
“The host isn’t the school idol anymore! They actually replaced her with a KING!”
“That’s her character! Her virtual character JUSTICE PIKE!”
The AR projection equipment in the center of the virtual stage emitted dazzling light.
The clang of metal armor clashing rang out like an alarm bell, striking the ears first.
Immediately after came the neigh of a warhorse.
The flat image was violently torn open as a knight leaped from two dimensions into three—JUSTICE PIKE charged out with the overwhelming presence of “I am the rules themselves.”
“To have equipment capable of creating such a shocking transition from 2D to 3D projection—probably only Blue Sea Academy, the largest BHAO institution, could pull it off, huh?”
I sighed and complained, with zero pride in my tone. After all, this kind of “shock” felt more like “Look, even our verdicts are this flashy, so you’d better not think about running away.”
I looked up directly at Xieyi Mayne’s virtual character.
The once simple childhood friend—or rather, the existence I used to subconsciously want to avoid—now stood in the center of the stage with an arrogance that seemed almost “natural.”
She was the type of person born to stand under the spotlight, while I was the type who would still get accidentally swept by the lights even while hiding in the shadows.
“Everyone—!”
Her opening line was a sharp, resounding shout that instantly suppressed the noise.
Her silver-white hair was tied into an exaggerated yet elegant large braid. Heavy armor of the same metallic color was surrounded by pure white rune characters, adding a “sacred and inviolable” magical aura to the classic female knight image.
She didn’t even need to say much to automatically put the entire venue into “pay attention” mode.
The only thing I could do was complain quietly in my heart:
Is it really necessary to add such a sense of solemnity? You’re here to explain the rules, not to announce the end of the world.
“The reason I have come to this match today—is because this match is the very first game under the revised rules of our Blue Sea Academy’s BHAO KNOCKOUT.”
The lights on the virtual stage reflected Mayne’s confident expression.
She dismounted with a fluid motion, adjusted her cloak with practiced ease as if she had rehearsed it countless times, and continued:
“I have both the necessity and the obligation to supervise the progress of this match—this holds extremely important significance for the student council in collecting data on how the new competition rules affect the overall event.”
The female knight on the metallic stage shaped like a three-dimensional hexagram, along with her magnificent warhorse—every time she finished a sentence, the surrounding virtual particles would cooperatively form holy light effects around her. It was as if telling everyone: Your excitement is nothing but my background.
I had no interest in this kind of passionate speech.
Compared to proper, by-the-book speeches and serious commentary, I much preferred Niya-chan’s slightly sharp-tongued and humorous style—at least her teasing felt a lot lighter than being put on trial.
However, the door to the full-dive room remained closed.
That meant I couldn’t enter until Mayne finished speaking.
Even getting beaten up required listening to the opening ceremony first.
Was my life a competition or a ritual?
“Well, whatever. This actually gives me time to look at the opponent’s combat data…”
I had just lowered my gaze to the message Haori sent when Mayne suddenly raised her voice.
“Ladies and gentlemen!”
Her resounding tone was like a spear tip striking the ground, forcefully yanking my attention back.
“No matter who wins this battle, please give them your loudest applause! Because as the first match of the new format—we will transform it into something closer to a ‘Reward Match.’ Therefore, this battle will be different from all the ones before and after it.”
“Huh…”
Different from before and after—that means this match is being singled out as a special battle?
I frowned and looked straight at Xieyi Mayne.
At the same time, her brilliant golden eyes met mine, as if she had already anticipated I would make this exact expression.
The feeling was terrible—like the moment you thought “I don’t want to stand out,” the other party immediately handed you a set of spotlights.
“This battle!”
She paused, her momentum suddenly sharpening as if the air itself had been sliced open by her lance.
“Will be one where I—will face both of you players at the same time! You two will team up to attack me, and the winner…”
She raised her silver-white lance high.
A thick white energy blast shot from the tip straight into the sky, drawing an irrefutable command across the heavens.
“Will be the one who deals the highest damage to me!”
The spectator stands erupted in even louder cheers, but my mood felt like it had been pushed into ice-cold water.
Team up? Against her?
Then judge the winner by highest damage output?
This wasn’t cooperation—it was clearly tying us together on one rope and throwing us into the deep end to see who learned to swim first.
What was even worse was the audience cheering them on.
Mayne apparently thought it wasn’t enough. She added another line, as if stuffing the bait straight down our throats:
“Additionally—the winner of this ‘Reward Match’ will receive direct qualification to participate in the upperclassmen’s ‘All-School Elimination Tournament,’ along with a large amount of points as a reward.”
…It was over.
I had only wanted to keep a low profile within the lower-year range, prove I wasn’t completely useless, and then find a corner to catch my breath.
But the school suddenly told me: Not only do you have to prove yourself, you also have to be pushed onto a bigger stage, watched by even more people, and be given a huge pile of points as kindling to “keep burning.”
So-called rewards are probably just there to make it harder to refuse.
I lowered my head and glanced at my phone.
I hadn’t had time to read Haori’s message in detail yet, but the feeling of “helplessness” in my chest had already started to swell first.