The forest outside the dungeon buzzed faintly with the chatter of instructors. The atmosphere was calm, a strange contrast to the chaos happening deep within the dungeon's depths.

Zane stood a little apart from the others, hands folded behind his back, his expression unreadable. A faint glimmer flickered in his eyes—tiny blue holographic windows reflecting across his pupils.

Hundreds of miniature bee-shaped surveillance drones swarmed invisibly within the dungeon's air, relaying live visuals straight into Zane's eye lenses.

The feed stabilized—showing flashes of blue fire, lightning, and the chaos of battle.

Zane's lips curled into a faint smile.

"Finally… Ron and Arin's fight has begun."

His gaze shifted as other teachers discussed the students' progress, but his mind was elsewhere—focused entirely on the data streaming in front of him.

He watched the screen of energy readings rise and fluctuate. "The class's earlier coordination wasn't bad," he muttered under his breath, "especially Jax, Maera, and Selene. Their teamwork was… satisfactory."

Then, his tone dropped—calm but edged.

"But that thing using Arin's system…" His eyes narrowed slightly. "It's influencing him too much."

"Ron might not be able to handle him if it strengthens Arin further."

He crossed his arms, studying Ron's movements closely.

"But still… let's see."

A small smirk formed.

"He hasn't used my technique yet. Still treating it like a trump card, huh?"

The holographic display zoomed in on Ron's battered form—his spear trembling slightly, his flames flickering blue.

Zane leaned slightly forward, his voice low.

"Show me, Ron… how far can you go on your own?"

--

Meanwhile in Dungeon,

Ron staggered slightly, each breath ragged, his black spear clutched tightly in trembling hands. Blood dripped from his forehead and the slash across his left shoulder, and the piercing from Arin on his right side throbbed with sharp pain. Every muscle in his body screamed for relief, but he refused to give even an inch.

In front of him, Arin stood tall, almost eerily composed. Minor scratches marked his body, but his aura burned with intensity—dark green sparks flickered like poisoned lightning, blackened streaks dancing across the storm of energy surrounding him. His eyes, dark green with black sclera, bore into Ron with a twisted confidence.

A crooked, devious smile spread across his face.

"Now… let me finish you," Arin hissed, his voice dripping with malice. "Then… I'll be the true protagonist of this story."

Ron's grip on his spear tightened, knuckles white. Every step he took, every movement was a battle against his own exhaustion. He spat blood from the corner of his mouth and shouted, rage and disbelief mingling in his voice.

"What are you talking about?! The protagonist?!" His voice echoed across the crimson sky of the chamber. "Do you actually think you're in some story?!

Arin laughs—a thin, broken sound that tastes of something far older than anger. He lets the words spill, venom sharp and desperate.

"You truly are a fool," he spits. "You don't understand fate. In this world everyone's fate is already decided. And I am the anchor of it. I possess the power to change—no, to manipulate fate itself."

He steps closer, eyes glittering with fanatical light. "You were supposed to be a pebble on the road—a third-rate villain clinging to the heroine, dying by my hands. Maybe not at the entrance exam, but later. I was meant to have greatness. And then—" His face twitches. "You won. I lost. I WAS SUPPOSED TO HAVE IT ALL. You stole it from me."

His gaze drops to the black spear in Ron's hands, fury blazing anew. "When I was about to take my weapon… you took it! YOU STOLE IT FROM ME! YOU HUMILIATED ME!"

Rage warps him; his hair spikes higher, dark green crackling along his limbs. He bulks up—just a fraction—but enough that his silhouette looks wrong, amplified by the sick, stormy light that coils around him.

Ron stares back, every inch of him sharp with contempt. Blood and sweat streak his face, but his voice is cold and steady.

"You're delusional and a psychopath," Ron says with disgust . "Only a psychopath gets furious over something so small."

Arin lunged with a speed Ron hadn't seen earlier—faster, crueler. Ron barely had time to register the movement before a crushing kick slammed into his gut. He was sent flying like a rag doll; the world spun as he skidded across the cracked stone and slammed into the ground.

The black spear tore free from his grasp and skittered away, clattering across the floor until it settled a few feet from where Ron lay, breath(shallow), vision blurred, every muscle burning. He could barely move. Pain lanced through his side where Arin's earlier bolt had struck.

Arin stood over him a heartbeat later, pristine in the stormlight, that twisted smile fixed on his face. "Now—time to kill you," he said, pleasure and relief tangled in the words. He looked almost reverent as if a piece of a broken script had finally snapped into place. "Finally… my skill, my story, is working properly."

His eyes flicked to the black spear a short distance away. He stooped, picked it up as if reclaiming a lost heirloom, and the smile went colder, sharper. He held the weapon over Ron like a judge lifting a blade. "I think I'll finish you with this," he crooned. "After all…it was supposed to be mine."

Ron tried to speak; the words came ragged and faint. "Professor Zane…was right—this is the anomaly…"

Arin's smile sharpened at the name. "Zane…oh? Your class in‑charge." He straightened, regarding Ron with a slow, calculating look. "Anomaly, huh? If he knows… then I'll have to take care of him someday, too."

He crouched, bringing the spear's tip near Ron's throat, fingers steady on the haft. Ron's hand slid toward his pocket—fingers fumbling, desperate—but he couldn't haul himself up.

Arin watched the motion and chuckled softly. "Don't worry. Once you die, fate will restore itself." He leaned in close, voice a low hiss. "And little Lia…she'll come back to me. I'll make sure she forgets about an insect like you."

Ron's breath hitched. The spear trembled above him, and the red sky of the hidden chamber seemed to close in.

Ron's lungs seized as Lia's name slipped from Arin's lips—like a blade through his chest. The blue flame around him snapped, erupting into a violent surge that threw light across the crimson sky.

"You won't do anything to her!!!" he shouted, voice breaking with heat and fury.

The blast of mana slammed into Arin. The corrupt boy flew back off his feet; the black spear tore from his grasp, skittering across the stone and clattering to a stop far from him. Arin hit the ground hard and spat dark blood, eyes wide with a flash of genuine surprise.

Ron struggled to his knees, flames roaring along his arms. Pain stabbed his side, but it was drowned beneath a hotter anger. "Lia," he croaked, still furious, "she is not your slave. I don't give a damn about your fate—your bullshit—!"

Arin's mouth twisted into something like a grin, edged with madness. "You say that now," he hissed as he hauled himself up, rain of sparks still dancing on his skin, "but you won't live to keep that opinion, Ron. Not by the end of today."

Ron's chest tightened. He barked back, voice raw and cold. "You're delusional—and dangerous. I wasn't convinced before, but I am now. I'll kill you. Right here. Right now."

Arin laughed, a cracking, desperate sound. "Try, insect. In the end… fate will restore all things."

Heat and fury warred under Ron's ribs. Rage fed his strength but clouded his judgment; pain and anger tangled, and he realized the trap—if he fought on like this, he would be reckless. He would lose.

I can't focus like this, he thought, teeth gritted. I'll lose at this rate.

There was only one way. He had to center—now.

Iron Pulse. Five minutes.

He drew in a long, steady breath, the first step toward the calm he needed.

Focus.

"Iron Pulse."

He slowed his breath deliberately, feeling his heartbeat pulse deep in his chest. He called forth his mana, drawing it inward and weaving it tightly with each thump of his heart. The surge spread through his arms and legs, loosening aching muscles and sharpening every nerve. Suddenly the world sharpened—the noise dulled, his vision cleared, and his movements grew fluid and precise. Time seemed to slow as the steady rhythm of Iron Pulse steadied his focus, transforming exhaustion into controlled strength.

Now his vision was clear and he felt stronger. Lines appeared across Arin's body—tiny gaps, weak points, vulnerabilities in his stance and flow—illuminated like nodes on a map. It was as if the world itself was showing him exactly where to strike.

Even with all that, I don't think I can defeat him in a fair fight, Ron thought. To finish him I have to surprise him—hit where he won't expect it. He doesn't know this technique.

Arin snarled, "Come on!" and rushed him, spear crackling with dark green lightning. Ron met him, black spear leveled, flame licking the shaft. Arin feinted a thrust then twisted into an overhead strike—

"Arclance Tempestra: thunderous strike."

Ron dodged .

He could see the attack...

Arin attack hits the ground

But then–

The glowing line in Ron's vision pinpointed the node at Arin's heart.

"Now..!!",Ron said

Ron turned his body, coiling every fiber of mana into the spear. Blue flame flared along the shaft, threaded with flashes of black, a cold shadow braided into the heat.

"Inferno Spear—Third Technique (stronger variant): Cinder Oblivion."

He drove the spear forward with everything he had. The tip struck true—piercing Arin's chest, through heart and bone. Arin's face cracked with utter surprise and furious disbelief.

"What the fu—" he gasped.

Then the impact detonated. A blinding, searing explosion ripped outward. When the dust settled, nothing remained of Arin's chest but a smear of ash and grey motes drifting in the stale air.

Ron collapsed to the ground, blood and sweat slick on his skin. He pushed up on trembling arms, chest heaving, and whispered, ragged and barely loud enough for himself—

"I did it...."

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