The moment the bell rang, Damien attacked.
Fast. Precise. Trained.
He moved like a noble swordsman, his rapier slicing through the air with an elegance that only years of instruction could refine.
But I wasn't thinking about his form.
I was thinking about the book.
And what it had just told me.
⟡ "Rewrite the Moment." ⟡
Time slowed.
Not literally, but in a way that felt tangible.
His blade was moving toward my shoulder—predictable. A noble's way of controlling the duel, exerting dominance without killing.
But I wasn't playing by his rules.
I stepped forward instead of back.
His eyes widened—
Too late.
I parried, but not with the same polished movements he expected. I fought dirty—unrefined but instinctual. My footwork was sharp, my reactions unnatural.
The book wasn't rewriting reality.
It was sharpening me.
Every attack he made—I could see it before it happened. My body moved to counter, just barely faster than his own.
And then—
I slammed my elbow into his ribs.
A noble's training meant nothing against raw brutality.
Damien gasped, staggering back. The crowd gasped with him.
This wasn't how duels were fought.
This wasn't elegant.
But I didn't care.
Because I wasn't fighting for honor.
I was fighting to win.
The Outcome
Damien lunged again, but his form was sloppier now—angry. Unbalanced.
He was frustrated.
I let him make the mistake.
One step forward—
One twist of the wrist—
His own momentum did the rest.
His rapier flew from his grasp, clattering against the stone floor.
And suddenly, I was behind him, my blade pressed against the back of his neck.
The match was over.
Silence.
Then—whispers.
Then—uproar.
I stepped back, my heart pounding.
I had won.
But more importantly—
I had proved something.
I wasn't just a nameless student anymore.
I was a threat.
And from the way Claude Ashford was smirking, I had a feeling this was exactly what she wanted.