The morning's contests had concluded, leaving the arena silent and expectant for the following day's challenges. The competition was notorious for its unpredictability, drawing ambitious participants who registered independently each year, ensuring that the events would span several days.
By the afternoon, he found solitude atop the school's rooftop, his gaze lost in the vibrant hues of the setting sun. The quiet moments invited him to reflect on his past adventures, though not all memories were fond ones.
He recalled the time he got lost in the wilderness, surviving solely on hunted game for three harrowing days and nights. Another memory surfaced, one where he inadvertently roused a fierce beast. He had spent a terrifying night perched on a tree limb, too afraid to descend as the creature prowled below. His arrows, too weak to pierce its thick hide, had been futile. And after all his struggles to complete his mission, he returned only to discover that the reward was based on incorrect information, forcing him to repeat the ordeal.
These recollections, far from pleasant, seemed to weigh on his spirit. Shaking his head, he gave himself a couple of sharp slaps, as if physically driving away the troublesome thoughts. His eyes twitched at the bitter sweetness of survival, but he sat up straighter, attempting to push these memories to the back of his mind.
He pondered over the well-being of his family and friends, whom he had briefly glimpsed during a secretive visit back home. The details of their lives remained unknown to him, a nagging worry in his mind.
Despite the sun's warmth, a cool breeze persisted, reminding him that summer had not yet fully embraced the land.
"It's time to head back," he muttered to himself, not wanting to risk a chill. Slipping his longbow over his shoulder, he descended from the rooftop sanctuary to the residential area where other competitors were housed.
The following day passed uneventfully; no competitions called for his participation, and he wandered the campus alone, unnoticed by peers.
On the third day, he rose early, having been forewarned of a solitary performance required of him. He was prepared to feign defeat convincingly this time. As he walked through the quiet corridors and onto the stage, confusion set in, the arena was unexpectedly empty, not a competitor or referee in sight.
At that moment, the vice-Principal's voice echoed across the empty stands, pulling Oliver from his bewilderment. His gut tightened with the premonition that something significant was about to unfold.
"Dear students, today, on this third day of our competition, I am here to make a very special introduction." The air was thick with anticipation, and Oliver braced himself for what was to come.
"It's over for me," Oliver whispered under his breath, a premonition tingling at the back of his mind, a rare sixth sense that seldom steered him wrong.
The vice Principal stood before the gathered crowd, repeating the tale he had crafted and shared just the day prior. The audience, rapt in attention, hung on every word as silence enveloped the assembly. He painted a portrait of a man unrecognized from childhood, one who had to carve his path through sheer determination and grit.
As he spoke, the vice Principal liberally embellished the story, dousing it with exaggeration, enhancing the drama and tragedy of the narrative. Oliver couldn't tell if the audience was truly captivated or merely courteous, but he sensed a shift in how they viewed him, a slight uptick in his notoriety, perhaps.
The vice Principal's voice grew louder with each word, inflating the saga to near-mythical proportions. Feeling the weight of every eye upon him, Oliver fought the urge to flee.
"He is the person standing in front of you!" the vice Principal exclaimed, pointing directly at him.
The crowd turned, staring blankly at Oliver. His face remained impassive, betraying no emotion; a defense mechanism, since no expression seemed safer than any misjudged one. He had no illusions about being hailed as an "Iceberg Male Idol"; his demeanor would more likely be mistaken for facial paralysis.
Internally, he cursed. If he could, he'd throttle his earlier self for not dodging this farcical debacle. It seemed whenever he was the subject of fabricated tales, misfortune followed. Though accustomed to chaos, the unpredictability of events like these still caught him off guard.
"The first match, Oliver Queen versus Rosa Hanson! Both contestants, please enter!"
His heart sank. Fate, it seemed, enjoyed irony. Just days ago, he had hoped to avoid this very encounter.
Sweat trickled down his forehead as anxiety flickered in his eyes. Rosa approached, her smile wide and genuine, nodding at him as if they were old comrades. He returned her gesture with a strained, hollow smile, the corners of his eyes twitching with helplessness.
As the proceedings from the previous day were echoed, Oliver gripped his longbow, his face a mask of concentration. Yet, beneath that facade, his mind raced with strategies. Fighting head-on could provoke the dean's ire, yet yielding without cause was unthinkable, especially against someone of Rosa's caliber, a warrior capable of standing unvanquished against multiple foes.
His mind spun as he pondered his next move, trapped in a game where every choice seemed a gambit, and every gambit a potential disaster.
As Rosa launched herself forward, her petite frame belied a swift, precise agility. Despite her shorter stature compared to Oliver, she unleashed a rapid right hook towards him without a moment's hesitation.
With a reflex born from countless hours of archery training aimed at enhancing his reaction times, Oliver sidestepped her blow just in time. He had witnessed her rigorous training sessions before; even without any mystical enhancements, her combat skills were well-honed, sharper than many of their peers.
Had it not been for his specialized training, her fist might have found its mark, leading to a devastating combination. He knew the sequence: a curled posture from an abdomen strike, her left arm snaking around his neck, followed by a knee thrust to the chest, a sequence that could incapacitate someone instantly. It was a deadly dance she performed flawlessly, usually leaving her opponents crumpled on the ground.
"Ah, it's over," Oliver thought as he instinctively braced for her next move, planning to concede and escape the confrontation as quickly as possible.
Rosa paused mid-assault, her eyes widening slightly in surprise at his defensive maneuver. The intensity of her gaze reflected her seriousness, a stark contrast to the casual brutality of her fighting style.
"Just be a little serious, don't be too serious, after all, you are a mortal," she seemed to advise silently.
Despite his extensive physical training, Oliver lacked the enhanced abilities that came with magical blessings. His body, no matter how rigorously conditioned, remained distinctly human, ordinary and unenchanted.
He noticed a slight movement of her lips, and then a faint, transparent aura enveloped her. It was an element amplification, a technique available to those with substantial magical reserves, allowing them to harness and enhance their elemental affinity. The effects varied with the user's attributes, turning them into formidable foes.
Oliver couldn't help but feel a pang of envy. His own magical capacity was negligible, forcing him to calculate and conserve every fragment of energy with painstaking precision. In the magical hierarchy, he was akin to the poor envying the rich; his meager reserves demanded careful management, lest he be left exhausted and ineffective.
Without a moment's delay, Rosa closed the distance again. Her light, agile form facilitated a swift, aiming kick at Oliver. Though he had mentally prepared to lose, her speed left him scrambling, barely managing to react in time.
As he dodged, a part of him wrestled with the dilemma of how to gracefully accept defeat without compromising his dignity or betraying his reluctance to engage in a fight he was set to lose. His mind raced as fast as his body moved, searching for an exit strategy amidst the whirlwind of swift strikes and magical enhancements.