Jonka’s voice cut through my reading like a knife through stale bread — sharp, decisive, and absolutely unignorable.

“He’s finally here.”

I looked up, mildly hopeful that “he” referred to a delivery of cake or something equally civilized.

Nope.

It was a kid.

Taller than me, but still shorter than Jonka. Short black hair, a brooding face, and — of course — two swords strapped to his back. One real, probably sharp. The other wooden. A walking RPG stereotype with zero balance and even less charm.

“This is Flom,” Jonka said, tugging my sleeve before I could dive back into my book. “I want you two to get acquainted.”

Flom looked at me like I’d just kicked his dog.

“So you’re the mage,” he said. Dry voice. Cold eyes. Not a hint of friendliness.

“And you must be the swordsman who thinks carrying extra weight makes him impressive,” I replied, folding my arms. “Very efficient.”

His frown deepened. Definitely not the type who appreciated sarcasm.

“It’s faster to draw a wooden blade than unsheath a second in the middle of a fight.”

I smiled. Full sarcasm mode.

“Right. Let’s pretend that’s not just theater.”

Jonka cleared her throat. Loudly. Her patience was clearly limited.

“Why don’t you two spar? I want to see how a mage handles a real swordsman.”

Calling me a mage was already generous.

Calling him a real swordsman? Downright delusional.

I glanced at Flom. He didn’t say anything. Just stared at me like the outcome had already been written in stone.

He was like a teenage, unresolved version of Sidraerth.

At least Sid knew how to shut up with style.

“Do you always talk like that? So serious and blunt?” I asked, already knowing the answer.

“At least I don’t need cheap tricks to look strong.”

Cheap tricks?

“It’s called magic, kid. What would you know?” I said, pretending I had some pride to defend.

“I know a blade speaks louder than any useless spell.”

He pulled out the wooden sword — slow and practiced, like he’d rehearsed this scene in front of a mirror.

“Sure. And carrying two means you’ll definitely trip over something when you run. Top-tier functionality.”

Flom stepped forward. Real sword still sheathed. Wooden one ready. His eyes said he’d already won.

I took a deep breath. Half of me wanted to laugh. The other half wanted to toss this kid down a nearby well.

Jonka nudged my arm.

“Time to fight, Hat.”

“Fight?” I echoed, trying to maintain some dignity. I looked at her. She just smiled.

That smile said: You’re fighting. Don’t be a coward.

Because of course. Childish magic under pressure and aggressive boys with swords — exactly how I wanted to spend my Saturday afternoon.

Flom was already in position. Eyes locked. Sword steady. Like I’d insulted his ancestors and burned his house down.

“You gonna fight, or just keep pretending to be some great sage?”

“Look, I don’t want to fight,” I said, summoning all the diplomacy I could muster. “Besides, I’m not sure how long you can keep swinging around with that generic warrior cosplay weighing you down.”

“Your spells are the only useless things here, mage.”

He stepped closer.

“Let’s see who tires out first.”

“Tire out?” I laughed. “I’m the one standing still while you flail around chasing ghosts.”

Jonka clapped her hands like she was presenting a silent play.

“Come on, Hat. Show me what you’ve got. And I want to see how Flom handles a real mage.”

I considered protesting. Saying this was ridiculous. That I had better things to do. Like read. Or literally anything else that didn’t involve becoming a public joke for a crowd of sweaty kids.

But her eyes said clearly: Nope. You’re doing this, lazybones.

And so we went to the castle yard. The other kids gathered in a circle, buzzing with excitement like they were about to witness a legendary duel.

I felt like a circus act. Magic edition.

Resigned, I wiggled my fingers. Something simple. A distraction spell, maybe. Just enough not to humiliate him — or myself.

Flom moved fast. His blades gleamed under the pale light streaming through the castle’s cracked windows.

“Ready to lose?”

I smiled. Not because I thought I’d win — but because his arrogance made me want to keep poking the bear.

“You’re the one doing all the talking now, swordsman.”

The crowd roared.

They were all booing me.

Getting hated by a bunch of kids: peak of my magical career.

And there we were — a mage who just wanted to go back to his book, and a kid with too many swords, both stuck in a fight no one actually wanted.