Ah, the sweet flavor of anxiety, like a bitter coffee served in a cracked porcelain cup.
You know, that feeling that embraces you like a hungry bear and whispers, "You will fail, my dear. Fail miserably."
It's as if the universe has a remote control and is about to press the "Fail" button right in your face.
But let's get to the point…
Hitoriki, the great leader of the Assassins' Club (or as I like to call him, "The Supreme Executor of Shadow Tasks"), decided it was time to test our skills.
Say and I, the assassin with questionable fashion sense, were summoned to a combat spectacle. And it wasn't just any place—it was the legendary Arena B-1, also known as "The Courtyard of Students' Tears."
The Arena B-1 is a magical place. Picture a rectangular stone arena, bathed in merciless sunlight, where the dreams of young warriors are crushed like ants under a giant shoe.
The bleachers, built with the sweat and tears of assassins' club members, offer a spectacular view of others' failures. It's like watching a fashion show, but instead of models strutting elegant clothes, we have warriors parading their insecurities and miscalculations.
And there we were, Say and I, ready to shine like two shooting stars about to crash into the ground. Hitoriki watched us with a gaze that seemed to say, "Show me what you've got, you little failures."
Say was the first to enter the arena. She stepped in without hesitation, climbing step by step.
Hitoriki watched the girl ascend and thought, "This young one is the elite of the first year; she must possess a formidable superpower." His eyes fixed on Say's daggers, which rested in her hands. "She must also be skilled in close combat," he reflected.
With firm command, Hitoriki ordered, "Step into the arena, Noah." The obedient individual rose in the center of the space, while the audience—composed of the few members of the Assassins' Club (totaling 15 people)—buzzed with anticipation.
"Early on, Noah?" some spectators whispered. The young man, with a peculiar and slightly eerie appearance, didn't fit the world's lofty beauty standards. Prominent nose, narrow pupils, and black hair; he wore the Battle Academy uniform. With determined steps, Noah descended from the bleachers and entered the arena.
As I sat in the bleachers, my curiosity mingling with cynicism. "This fight wasn't part of the original story," I thought, "since the narrative was woven from Neo's wide-eyed perspective and his leather coat." But now, as a privileged observer and a secondary character, I had access to exclusive content, as if I'd stepped behind the scenes of a cult film.
Noah, the passing supporting character, was like an extra who appears briefly and then vanishes into the darkness. To be brutally honest, he existed for one purpose: to die. Yes, you read that correctly. Noah didn't have grand monologues or character arcs. He wasn't the chosen one, the prophet, or the guy who did spoon tricks. No, Noah was merely a plot point, a lonely comma in a paragraph full of action.
And there he was, blinking on the screen of my mind like a warning sign: "Attention, disposable character ahead!" He appeared in a scene, uttered a few words (probably something like "Ouch!" or "That hurts!"), and then… well, you know. He died. It was as if fate had a checklist and was ticking off another completed task: "Eliminate Noah."
But who am I to judge? After all, we all have our roles in this grand theater of life. Some are protagonists, others mere extras. Some deliver memorable lines, while others blend into the background. And Noah? Well, he did what he was assigned to do. He died with dignity (or at least tried), now resting peacefully in the depths of the plot.
Say observed Noah, with all her experience and skill, thinking: "He is dangerous. Not in the sense of being physically strong, but in the sense of being extremely psychotic."
She compared Noah to a cruel serial killer. Even though she had never spoken to him or fought him before, that was the impression Noah gave her.
Elizabeth ascended to the arena with a smile on her lips, glancing alternately at Say, the first-year student ranked fifth, and Noah, the second-year student ranked seventh in his class.
After announcing each combatant's specifications, Elizabeth proclaimed the rules: "This is an unrestricted duel, where death is a possibility. However, Hitoriki will issue warnings during the fight. This duel serves to assess strength, spare the opponent, and maintain fair play. Such conduct is well-regarded."
An involuntary laugh escaped from Say's lips, leaving the audience confused and slightly shocked. But she quickly clarified, "Talking about fair play and pitting an opponent like this against me is, at the very least, ironic."
Noah's smile twisted into a disturbed expression upon hearing those words. It seemed his true nature had been uncovered by his adversary.
"It appears you don't need Hitoriki's warnings, huh?" He exclaimed excitedly to Elizabeth, who wore a tired expression, as if dealing with this scenario was an everyday occurrence. She then shot a questioning glance at Hitoriki, who remained standing outside the arena.
Hitoriki coldly analyzed the two duelists' stances and commented, "There will be no warnings, but know this, Noah: fair play was also meant to protect you."
Noah scoffed at those words. "Protect me? Don't play games with me." He suffered from a kind of syndrome that made him believe he was danger personified. If he had a last name, it would be "Peril."
So when pitted against a girl, even one wielding two lethal daggers, he remained unfazed. As much as those blades could take his life, Noah was accustomed to dancing with danger.
The sound of drums echoed, and spikes began to sprout from Noah's body. They were thin and white, and his two arms transformed into sharp blades above his hands.
The audience watched, astonished. Even though some had witnessed this scene before, they still couldn't get used to the grotesque transformation.
"Are those… bones?" thought Say, somewhat curious.
Noah's superpower was known as "bone genesis." This ability allowed him to generate bone spikes directly from his own body.
His arm was consumed by thousands of spikes, and he aimed his two blades toward Say, ready to strike. The confrontation was about to begin.