The long-awaited day had arrived—the day of the championship semifinals.

  Before that, however, Toma received a lunch invitation from his family, so he headed to the hotel where they were staying.

  His mother looked at him with a gentle smile, eyeing his plate.

  “Are you sure you don’t want any more, Toma? Are you full?”

  He leaned back slightly, satisfied.

  “Yes, Mom. Thanks for lunch. I should get going soon—I still want to watch Arvian’s match.”

  Her expression shifted immediately.

  “What? Did you only come to eat? I thought you’d stay with us a bit longer at the hotel, especially since we came all this way just to watch your matches.”

  Toma answered without hesitation.

  “You came to watch my matches—not to go on a family vacation with me.”

  Before his mother could respond, a familiar, friendly voice joined in from behind.

  Emion stepped closer, clearly amused.

  “He’s right, you know. Let him go cheer for his friend.”

  Toma’s mother crossed her arms, then nodded slowly.

  Toma thought he would check on his little sister before leaving.

  “I’ll say hello to Nira before leaving.”

  Emion let out a small apologetic laugh.

  “Sorry about that. I just put her down for her afternoon nap.”

  “No problem,” Toma replied easily. “I know how much sleep a little girl like Nira needs.” He adjusted his jacket and took a step back. “I’m heading out now—make sure you come cheer for my match later. It’s going to be awesome.”

  Emion raised a fist in encouragement.

  “Of course! Take down that punk who hurt that poor girl!”

  The moment those words left his mouth, Toma’s mother’s eyes lit up with sudden interest. She turned back to her son, studying him carefully.

  “Actually, Toma… I wanted to ask you something. What’s your relationship with that girl?”

  His reaction was immediate.

  “Nothing! We’re just friends!”

  She didn’t look convinced.

  “Well, from the way you saved her, it looked like you felt more than that. I thought maybe you were dating—and that you’d finally bring home a proper girl.” Her tone softened, almost nostalgic. “You know, I used to worry about you. Other kids your age were already interested in girls, but you were always training, focusing on your Nova ability, or playing football. I honestly worried you’d grow up to be some kind of oddball.”

  Toma frowned.

  “First of all, I’m not an oddball. Second, is it really a problem that I trained my whole life to live up to my own expectations—and to make up for the delay caused by my ability awakening late?” His voice sharpened. “I just want to make my dreams come true, and I’ve worked harder than anyone else since childhood. And now you’re upset because I didn’t turn into some weak-willed guy chasing girls like a simp, so you can’t play matchmaker!?”

  His mother smiled instead of getting angry.

  “My son, I’m proud of you. But that Lyrien is a very beautiful girl—and she’s a noble too. I think she likes you.”

  Toma let out an exasperated sigh.

  “Of course you’d say that. You’ve never even spoken to her, and you’re already picking my future wife.” He shook his head. “I respect her, and I like her. Of course I saved her—but I would’ve done the same for Arlen, Arvian, or any of my friends.”

  Her expression softened even more.

  “I know. And that’s exactly why I’m proud of you. Now give me a kiss before you go.”

  Toma froze.

  “Mom, that’s embarrassing—Emion is right here!”

  She waved it off immediately.

  “So what? Emion has been my husband for years.”

  “Alright, alright!” Toma sighed in defeat, leaning in quickly. “You get one—now please let me go already!”

  ***

  Later that afternoon, Toma returned to the infirmary. The room was quiet, the air faintly scented with medicine, and Lyrien was still lying motionless on the bed.

  He clenched his fists, frustration written all over his face.

  “Damn it, how much longer is she going to sleep!?”

  Arlen leaned against the wall, arms crossed, clearly trying to keep him grounded.

  “Relax. When we ended up in the hospital after that joint mission with Inspector Carter, you slept for several days too.”

  Toma exhaled sharply, glancing back at Lyrien.

  “That’s true. But back then, Kaine wasn’t with us to heal the injuries.”

  Arlen gave a small shrug.

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  “Fair enough. Still, there’s no point dwelling on it now.”

  He straightened. “We should get going. I heard Arvian’s opponent today is the student council secretary—and apparently their ability is pretty interesting.”

  Toma nodded after a brief pause.

  “Alright. Go on ahead. I still want to ask Kaine something.”

  “Okay,” Arlen replied as he headed for the door. “But don’t take too long.”

  The moment Arlen left, the room fell silent again. Toma turned back toward Lyrien, his expression softening completely.

  “Lyrien…” His voice dropped. “I promise you—today I’ll defeat your cousin.” His jaw tightened. “I’ll make sure he never treats you like that again. I’ll protect you.”

  He reached out, resting his hand gently on top of her head, carefully stroking her hair as if afraid to wake her.

  Suddenly, the door swung open.

  “I see you didn’t actually want to talk to me!”

  Toma nearly jumped out of his skin, spinning around in shock.

  “What the hell!?” His heart was pounding.

  “Were you eavesdropping? Seriously,

  you’re worse than my mom! I almost had a heart attack—you scared me half to death!”

  Kaine raised his hands innocently.

  “Sorry! Would you like a sedative, perhaps?”

  Toma shot him a glare.

  “No. If I calm down too much, I won’t be fired up for my match—and that would be a problem.”

  Kaine chuckled lightly.

  Toma turned toward the exit, ready to leave, but Kaine spoke up again before he could take a step.

  “Don’t worry. Lyrien is doing better now.” Her tone turned reassuring. “She could wake up at any time. Even today.”

  Toma froze. His face instantly flushed red.

  “Hey! I know that perfectly well!”

  He looked away. “And I’m not worried or anything. My only job today is to win—so I’m heading out!”

  Kaine smiled.

  “Good luck.”

  “Thank you!”

  ***

  Toma headed for the spectator area, scanning the rows of seats as the crowd buzzed around him.

  “Damn it… my ticket should be somewhere in this row. Or is it one row higher?” He squinted at the seat numbers, turning in place.

  A familiar voice suddenly cut through the noise.

  “Toma! Toma! Over here! I’m here!”

  He looked up just in time to spot Arlen waving wildly from the middle of the stands.

  “Finally found you,” Toma muttered as he made his way over. “Oh wow… you’re sitting right in the center.”

  Squeezing past spectators and muttering apologies, he eventually dropped into the seat beside his friend. Arlen already had a box of popcorn in hand, casually munching away.

  “You made it just in time,” Arlen grinned. “The match is about to start!”

  “I know, I know.” Toma leaned back with a sigh. “But I’m here now.”

  Arlen tilted the popcorn toward him.

  “Want some?”

  Toma immediately shook his head.

  “No thanks. I just had lunch with my family—I can’t force down another bite.” He flexed his fingers absently. “Besides, I’m fighting after Arvian. I don’t want to be stuffed before my match.”

  “That makes sense,” Arlen nodded.

  “I’m hoping Arvian drags his match out a bit,” Toma added. “The more rest I get, the better.”

  Arlen glanced at him sideways.

  “By the way, what did you talk about with Kaine earlier?”

  Toma’s gaze drifted toward the arena.

  “Mostly about Lyrien. Kaine said she’ll be fine—and that she could wake up at any moment.” His voice softened slightly. “So… she’ll probably wake up soon.”

  Arlen smiled.

  “That’s great news.”

  At that moment, the stadium lights shifted, and the commentator’s voice boomed through the arena.

  “Dear viewers, I am pleased to announce that the day of the championship semifinals has arrived! Today, we will finally find out which two fighters will advance to the finals! In our first match, Arvian—the Frost Prince—will face the student council’s secretary, Aron!”

  Toma blinked.

  “Frost Prince? How does he even come up with names like that?”

  Arlen shrugged, still chewing.

  “No idea. But he really commits to the role.” He grinned. “And honestly, that enthusiasm is probably what makes him a good commentator.”

  Down in the arena, Arvian and Aron stepped into position, facing each other in silence. A moment later, the bell rang—its deep, booming sound echoing through the stadium and signaling the start of the match.

  Aron inclined his head politely.

  “I wish you good luck, Mr. Lysell.”

  Arvian returned the gesture without hesitation.

  “Thanks—same to you.”

  The moment the signal was given, the fight erupted.

  Aron opened aggressively, releasing a Nova strike straight ahead—but this was no ordinary ability. A nearly blinding beam of white light tore through the air, flooding the arena.

  Ice surged upward in response as Arvian formed a thick wall in front of himself. At the same time, he turned his head away and raised a hand to shield his eyes, refusing to look directly into the beam.

  “Clever!” Aron’s voice rang out, amused. “So you know my ability—congratulations, Mr. Lysell!”

  Keeping his gaze averted, Arvian answered calmly. “I always watch my opponents’ matches and prepare. Your ability isn’t a standard Nova light beam—it’s blinding light. Anyone who looks into it temporarily loses their vision and can only see flashes.”

  “Well said,” Aron replied smoothly. “But do you really think you can block me forever, when the light passes straight through ice?”

  He didn’t wait for a response.

  Another brilliant beam sliced across the arena. Arvian instinctively turned away again, but even the edge of the flash made his eyes burn—as if scorching sand had been thrown into them.

  He staggered back. One step. Then another.

  His foot slipped against the stone floor.

  Don’t look at it.

  No matter what happens—don’t look.

  “And Aron immediately takes advantage!” the commentator’s voice boomed. “One single glance, and this fight could already be over!”

  Arvian kept his eyes down, focusing on the ground—on shadows, on subtle shifts in movement. Cold gathered in his palms as ice rapidly took shape, and he released a wide, unfocused blast forward. He wasn’t aiming to hit. He just needed space.

  The light answered him again.

  Reacting instantly, Arvian snapped his forearm up to shield his face and dove sideways. The beam struck where he’d been standing a heartbeat earlier. The stone floor glowed white-hot, then cooled with a sharp crack.

  Footsteps echoed.

  Light. Fast. Circling.

  “Look at me,” Aron called from somewhere ahead. “How long are you going to hide?”

  Arvian stayed silent.

  With a sharp motion, he struck the air. Ice detonated outward, shards exploding around him as freezing debris filled the space.

  The next beam of light shattered against the fragments. It scattered instead of focusing—its blinding intensity breaking apart.

  Arvian lifted his head.

  Just for a moment.

  Aron was there—squinting.

  Now.

  Ice surged forward, denser and more focused than before. Aron leapt back as light flared again, but this time it was rushed, unstable. Control was slipping.

  “What an incredible development!” the commentator shouted. “Arvian is breaking the light!”

  Advancing steadily, Arvian kept his gaze low—tracking shoulders, movement, balance. Another wave of ice slammed into the ground at Aron’s feet.

  The stone instantly froze over.

  Aron slipped.

  Just for a fraction of a second.

  That was enough.

  Arvian attacked.

  Ice surged forward and outward at once, collapsing distance and forcing Aron back. Light still flared, but it no longer ruled the arena. Aron didn’t have time to aim.

  The rhythm of the cold carried Arvian forward. His eyes burned. His neck ached from constantly turning away. But his body moved without hesitation.

  Aron retreated.

  “And now Aron is under pressure!” the commentator yelled. “If he can’t control the light precisely, he loses his greatest weapon!”

  Ice glittered through the air once more. Aron tried to advance—then stopped. The light pulsed in his hand, unstable.

  Suddenly, he detonated the beam directly in front of himself.

  The flash disrupted everything.

  By the time Arvian regained his senses, the danger had shifted. Another beam erupted from behind him.

  He covered his eyes again, but Aron was already closing the distance, launching a rapid series of strikes.

  Arvian forced ice outward in desperation, driving Aron back step by step. Ice spikes tore up from the ground—but each one missed, striking stone instead, as though Arvian were deliberately avoiding his opponent.

  The commentator didn’t miss it.

  “What is Arvian doing?”

  Aron laughed, his voice sharp with mockery.

  “Mr. Lysell—has aiming never been your strong suit?”

  “Shut up!” Arvian snapped, unleashing another barrage.

  Aron dodged effortlessly.

  Then the light came again.

  Beams fired in rapid succession, leaving no gaps. Arvian couldn’t keep his eyes covered forever. And when he finally believed the assault had ended and opened them—

  Aron was already waiting.

  The next beam struck him head-on.

  There was no time to turn away.

  Even the commentator fell silent for a heartbeat, stunned.

  “Arvian looked directly into the attack!” he exclaimed. “With that, Arvian has practically dug his own grave and lost the match!”

  Aron stepped back, allowing a brief pause.

  “Mr. Lysell,” he said evenly, “from this point on, the fight is meaningless. I will now give you the chance to surrender.”

  Arvian stood there, blinded.

  Damn it… I can’t see anything.

  It’s like staring straight into the sun—no, worse.

  Aron’s voice cut through his thoughts.

  “Mr. Lysell. Please answer. Do you surrender, or not?”