The feet of the Wyrd Class student dragged to a halt just a few meters short of the start line.
His chest heaved violently, one hand clutched his side where a stabbing pain bloomed in his abdomen, while the other dangled limply by his side.
He bent forward, gasping for air, his throat making hoarse sounds with every breath.
His lips were pale, his cheeks flushed, and every inch of his posture screamed collapse.
For just a fleeting second — barely longer than a blink — his exhausted body betrayed the will to endure.
But a second was all it took.
"Robert!"
The single, sharp word rang out through the field.
Instructor Griselda didn't need to raise her voice — the aura laced within that one name was enough to shudder through the bones of every student on the field.
The effect was instant and chilling.
