The air was thick with anticipation.

The day had finally arrived. Though most of their final exams have passed, none carried the weight of this one. The final combat exam.

Students gathered around the ring, forming a loose semicircle. Some whispered in hushed voices, while others stood silently, their eyes fixed on the center. There was a quiet tension that settled over the yard.

At the heart of it all stood Mai and Iruminai.

They had sparred many times before—but this was different. This one mattered. The weight of an entire year bore down on this moment. A silent understanding passed between them. No words were needed.

Then, the examiner stepped forward, his boots crunching softly against the packed dirt. The murmurs faded.

“This is a hand-to-hand combat exam.” The examiner’s voice carried easily across the yard. “The rules are simple: no grappling, first to three knockdowns, or first to force their opponent out of the ring wins.” He let his words settle before turning his gaze to the two at the center of the ring. “Understood?”

Mai and Iruminai exchanged a glance before giving a firm nod.

The crowd responded before the fight even began. Students leaned in, eyes sharp, breaths held. The usual chatter had vanished, swallowed by silence.

The air felt different now—charged, buzzing with expectation.

The examiner raised a whistle to his lips. One sharp blow cut through the silence.

The fight had begun.

The whistle faded. Mai and Iruminai didn’t move at first—only shifted. A subtle lean, a shift in weight, their bodies loose, every motion deliberate.

Then they began to circle.

Mai’s stance stayed low and grounded, guard tight, center steady—shoulders relaxed but ready to spring. Every muscle coiled with focus.

Iruminai, by contrast, carried a light bounce Fluid. Unpredictable. His hands hovered loosely near his chest, elbows drifting just enough to blur a proper read. His gaze never wavered—locked in, sharp as ever.

Mai expected speed. He knew Iruminai’s signature style. What he didn’t expect—was deception.

A flicker of movement. Iruminai's fist shot forward—but it never came close. A step in, no commitment. A lean, then a shift. Mai tensed, muscles coiling tighter, but he held his ground. The punch had been nothing but air—a test.

Feints layered over feints, each one sharpened with calculation. Iruminai hovered just at the edge of reach, baiting, testing, reading every twitch of Mai’s defense. His blue eyes never blinked, tracking Mai's every response with unnerving precision. Then he closed the distance with a blur of footwork—quick, sharp, and low. Mai's heartbeat quickened as he tried to anticipate the real attack beneath the deception.

A fake right hook. Mai’s guard moved instinctively—just enough to open his stance. He realized his mistake the instant his weight shifted. Too late.

That’s when the real strike came. A sharp low kick clipped his ankle, fast and clean. His balance tilted—too far, too quick. The ground seemed to tilt beneath him, his center of gravity betraying him. Before he could reset—another kick crashed into his chest, the impact radiating through his ribs like fire.

Mai gasped, lungs burning as they struggled to refill.

Mai hit the dirt hard, the packed earth kicking up against his back. He laid on his back, momentarily disorientated, the taste of dust on his tongue. The crowd’s murmur rose behind him, sharp and restless, but he shut it out. All he could hear was the pounding of his own pulse.

“Knockdown. 0-1, Iruminai,” the examiner called, stepping forward. Mai clenched his jaw, already calculating what he'd done wrong, how he'd fallen for the trap so easily.

Mai exhaled sharply, pushing himself up from the dirt. His chest still ached from the impact, but he forced the pain down.

Iruminai retreated to his side of the ring, shaking out his arms. Mai brushed the dirt off his back as he steadied his breath.

The examiner raised his hand, “Round two. Begin!”

They closed the distance in seconds. This time, Mai was ready. This time, he wasn’t just watching Iruminai’s hands. He paid attention to every detail. The tension in his shoulders. The way his weight shifted from heel to toe. Every twitch, every breath.

Iruminai struck first—light on his feet, quick, fluid. More feints, more flickering motion. But this time—Mai didn’t bite.

He watched. Measured. Patient. Mai shifted like water—slipping just outside Iruminai’s range, then slid in the moment the window opened. His fox ears twitched slightly, alert to every sound of movement.

He snapped his hand upward—not to punch, but to trap Iruminai’s arm at the elbow, feeling the resistance as his friend tried to pull away.

With Iruminai’s guard pinned, Mai spun—his momentum fluid—and hammered a clean elbow into his chest. The hit staggered Iruminai, his footing unsteady, breath audibly catching. Mai stepped into the opening like a tide crashing forward. A low sweeping kick chopped at the back of Iruminai’s knee, ripping his balance out from under him.

But Mai wasn’t done.

As Iruminai fell, Mai twisted mid-motion, following through with a spinning back fist, catching him mid-drop. The impact turned the fall into a slam. Mai felt the satisfying connection through his knuckles, the perfect execution of what he'd visualized.

The thud of Iruminai hitting the dirt echoed across the yard. Instead of frustration, a smile tugged at his lips. That bastard, taking my moves.

"Knockdown! 1–1," the examiner announced.

Iruminai sprang back to his feet, fast, already shaking off his limbs. He’s already adapted to my new style. Damn freak of nature. His jaw tightened as he exhaled through his nose, rolling his shoulders out.

Both fighters pulled back as the examiner stepped between them. Mai stayed still, focused, eyes never leaving his opponent.

The examiner glanced between the two fighters, measuring their readiness, then raised a hand. “Round three. Begin!”

The moment the fight resumed, Iruminai pushed forward—fast jabs, sharp kicks, aggressive footwork—but every strike met resistance. Mai's body moved almost on instinct now, reading the flow of combat like pages in a book.

Blocks. Redirections. Brutal counterstrikes. Each movement precise.

None of Iruminai's tricks landed. His rhythm, once fluid and unpredictable, now felt exposed to Mai's calculating gaze. Mai had found a pattern in the chaos—and he picked it apart with surgical precision.

Mai didn’t chase, he waited, remaining calm in the storm of Iruminai's offense. He let Iruminai come to him, letting him overextend just enough to create openings. Then, with a smug smirk—Mai’s trap sprung forward.

Mai slipped under a wide strike and drove a knee up into Iruminai’s ribs, feeling the solid impact reverberate through his leg. Before Iruminai could react, Mai followed with a jab, then a cross—then paused. Just for a beat. The delay threw Iruminai off. His guard twitched, expecting the third strike to come instantly.

That’s when Mai drove the final hit in—a tight hook, fast and clean, catching Iruminai just behind the ear.

Iruminai’s legs buckled beneath him. His body tilted sideways—eyes wide with shock. He collapsed. A hard fall. No control. Dust kicked up around him as the ring went silent.

"Knockdown! 2–1, Mai." The examiner raised a hand, signaling for space as both fighters pulled back to reset. “Match point—Mai.”

Iruminai pushed himself up slowly, one hand digging into the dirt. His breathing was ragged, shoulders rising and falling with each gasp. He staggered for half a step—then straightened with deliberate control. A hand ran across his brow, wiping away sweat and leaving a smudge across his aristocratic features. There was fire in his eyes, his blue irises practically blazing. He should’ve been frustrated after taking such a clean hit. Instead—he smirked, stubborn grit etched across his face, every line of him promising he wasn’t finished yet.

Across from him, Mai’s eyes narrowed. He felt his ears twitch forward instinctively, his senses heightening. He caught the subtle shift in Iruminai's stance, the weight redistributing across his legs—then that smirk. What is he planning? Mai wondered, feeling his own heart begin racing once more.

The examiner stepped forward, voice sharp. "Round four—match point. Begin!"

Iruminai moved the instant the words left his mouth. He shot forward—explosive, direct. A flurry of strikes—tight, fast, unrelenting. A jab to the face that whistled past Mai's ear. A cross to the ribs that threatened to knock the wind from his lungs once again. A rising knee aimed at the chin that could end the match instantly.

Mai deflected the first, feeling the impact vibrate through his arm. Rolled under the second. Caught the third on his forearm, wincing at the force behind it.

There weren't feints anymore, all these were direct. Each strike from Iruminai meant exactly what it promised—pure, unyielding force.

The pressure kept coming, relentless and overwhelming. Mai's arms burned with each block.

Hit after hit, step after step. Mai was forced back, his feet scuffing against the dirt as he retreated. If this assault kept up, I'm done for.

He couldn't take much more of this, his arms were beginning to ache from the impacts. Each block sent shockwaves of pain through his muscles. Mai gritted his teeth. Think Mai, think. There has to be a way out of this.

Dirt crunched beneath his heels as he continued to retreat. With a surge of determination, he planted his foot hard, twisting his body in one clean motion—a spinning hook kick, sharp and fast, aiming for Iruminai's exposed side.

But there was no contact. His foot cut through empty air. His breath hitched, his balance wavering as momentum carried him past his target. Then—a kick to his abdomen, Iruminai's foot connecting with devastating precision, launching him back.

He hit the ground hard. A whistle blew. But everything returned to silence shortly after. Mai stared at the sky, his back flat against the dirt, the world laying above him.

"Ring out! Winner: Iruminai."

The words cut through his daze. Not a knockout—a ring out. Mai pushed himself up onto his elbows, wincing at the ache in his abdomen. He'd been so focused on countering, that he'd lost track of where he stood in the ring.

The crowd's voices blended into a dull roar around him. Mai sat up fully, his multi-colored eyes finding Iruminai at the edge of the ring. His friend stood tall, chest rising and falling with exertion but eyes bright with triumph. No gloating, no excessive celebration—just the quiet satisfaction of a plan well-executed.

Mai's ears flattened slightly against his head in frustration. He'd had the lead. He read Iruminai's patterns, adapted to his style, been one point away from victory. And then—

"I told you I'd catch up."

Iruminai stood over him now, extending his arm. Mai shook his head before reaching out and taking it. "Didn't think you had it in you," he muttered.

Mai's muscles ached as Iruminai pulled him to his feet, the dirt clinging to his clothes. He brushed himself off, trying to ignore the hollow feeling in his chest.

“Hey, you’ll have another shot at Edgewater,” Iruminai said, trying—and failing—to hide his grin.

Mai rolled his eyes. “How about you try winning more than once.”

The two began walking towards the examiner, the dust settling behind them.