"If I've done wrong, let the law punish me."
Even amidst the charged atmosphere, Sonia remained composed, directing her frustration inward toward the Observer.
"First you force me to practice swordsmanship, and now you're making me fight Felix. What's your plan? Infiltrate the noble class and turn me into your spy?"
"Nothing so convoluted," the Observer replied, his tone almost flippant. "I just want to set up a fight for you, and he happens to be the strongest here. His noble status is irrelevant—though it's a nice bonus. Watching a noble get trounced is always satisfying. But let's skip the theatrics; no face-stomping. That might awaken something unsavory in him."
"Can't we pick someone else? I don't want to get involved with Felix!"
"Why not?"
"I've done my research," Sonia said. "He's dangerous."
Felix, despite his reputation as the school's most approachable nobleman, had long been a subject of Sonia's careful scrutiny. Initially, she considered him a potential target. But after gathering intelligence, she swiftly crossed him off her list.
His notoriety for being a playboy wasn't the deterrent. Sonia didn't see his "womanizing" as a barrier; she understood the game and was confident in her ability to outmaneuver his superficial charms.
The real problem lay in the inconsistencies beneath his polished façade. Felix never spent the night with any of his girlfriends, not even the most glamorous or influential ones. Every evening, he drove his signature Silver Tiger sports car back to his private villa, alone.
This, combined with his alarming turnover rate—three days per girlfriend—pointed to a peculiar pattern. To Sonia, Felix wasn't indulging in romance; he was collecting.
Worse still, his exile to Swordflower University despite being a duke's son hinted at deeper, potentially volatile family politics.
Sonia had no interest in navigating such murky waters. She preferred self-made nouveau riche targets, whose wealth came with more flexibility and fewer constraints. Felix, in contrast, was a minefield of complications.
"So fighting him could bring a world of trouble my way," Sonia concluded.
"Exactly," the Observer said cheerfully. "Which makes this all the more delightful. Trouble is the forge in which strength is tempered. What better way to push you than to pit you against everything you fear?"
"I don't have some childish wish to be loud and reckless!"
"Well, then…" The Observer tipped an imaginary hat. "Good luck. Go trample the genius and kick some noble backside!"
"No, I won't—"
But before she could finish her thought, her body moved on its own. Sonia raised her wooden sword, pointed it at Felix, and, with a confidence that made her cringe internally, declared:
"Felix Voslorda, they say you're the best Swordflower has to offer. Care to prove it by becoming the stepping stone for my first summoned spirit?"
The training hall erupted into murmurs and gasps. The gathered students exchanged incredulous glances, while Celia's expression hardened with fury.
"So that's her angle!" Celia thought. "Using a public challenge to grab Felix's attention. She's clever, I'll give her that."
Even Inglit, watching from the sidelines, was taken aback.
"Sonia, you've been training for two hours straight! Even if you want a duel, you should wait until tomorrow—"
"No," Felix interrupted, stepping forward. His piercing gaze locked onto Sonia, his expression a mixture of admiration and determination.
"Two hours. Three thousand six hundred strikes. From a novice to mastery in a single session. You're the second person in my life to make me feel fear, Sonia Servil. If I don't face you now, I'll lose the courage to even draw my blade against you tomorrow."
Felix's voice grew more resolute. "This might be my only chance to beat you. I don't care if others say I'm taking advantage of your exhaustion. If I don't act now, I'll never forgive myself."
He drew his sword and settled into a side-on Wave Stance, the signature technique of the Voslorda family.
"You're right. Among the students of Swordflower, I'm the only one worthy of your challenge. Let's begin."
The crowd cleared a wide space in the training hall, and the tension became palpable.
Sonia took a standard middle stance, her sword held steady. Across from her, Felix's Wave Stance radiated a deceptive calm.
"Wave Stance…" Inglit whispered, her unease turning to awe. She had heard tales of the Voslorda family's legendary techniques, but this was her first time seeing one in action.
As the two opponents faced each other, Sonia was screaming internally.
"What's the point of controlling my body like this? Even if I win, it's your victory, not mine!"
The Observer chuckled, standing at Inglit's side, invisible to everyone but Sonia.
"Who said I was controlling you?" he asked, his voice dripping with amusement. "Do you really think I can puppeteer your body? Why do you think you've been training swordsmanship at all? Why do you think you came here tonight?"
"You—!"
"No, you," the Observer interrupted. "You chose this. You fought me in the dream. You discovered your talent for the blade. You felt the thrill of strength, the power to carve out your destiny."
He stepped closer, gesturing at Felix with a flick of his shadowy hand.
"You've envied him since the day you saw his flashy car, his effortless charm, his golden life. You hated that he was born into privilege while you and your mother struggled for every scrap."
The Observer's tone grew softer, more insistent.
"Don't lie to yourself, Sword Maiden. You want to prove you're better than him. That you're better than anyone. This isn't my will—it's yours."
Sonia's heart raced as his words sank in.
"Now," the Observer said, fading into the shadows, "go enjoy crushing the so-called genius."
With a sharp crack, the duel began. Both fighters surged forward, swords colliding in a deafening clash.