Benjamin continued to speak in front of the class, belittling both Tristan and Garfield. While Garfield remained composed, unfazed by the venomous words hurled his way, Tristan grew increasingly agitated. With every vile syllable that poured from Benjamin's mouth, the fury within him swelled.
"Your mothers truly are works of art—throwing themselves at rich men in hopes of snagging even a sliver of their fortune. Women from the Lower District are nothing more than disgusting whores," Benjamin said, a twisted smile curling on his lips.
That was the final straw.
Tristan stood abruptly. His face contorted in fury, and his gaze locked onto Benjamin with seething hatred. Each stride toward him was filled with purpose and wrath. He halted just inches away, his breath heavy, his fists clenched with violent intent. Without a second thought, he raised his fist and prepared to deliver a well-earned blow to Benjamin's smug face.
But just as his knuckles were about to collide with flesh, the classroom door swung open with a creak that cut through the tension like a blade.
Decker Vermillion stood at the entrance, hands calmly tucked into the pockets of his finely tailored black coat. His gaze swept the scene before him—his son on the verge of being struck by someone of lower blood.
With a voice as calm and sharp as a razor's edge, he spoke.
"What's going on here?"
Benjamin slipped beneath Tristan's suspended fist and moved to his father's side, his expression shifting to that of innocent victimhood.
"Father, I was merely educating our less fortunate classmate on his place in society. He responded like a savage and attempted to hit me."
Decker studied his son, then turned his piercing eyes to Tristan, reading the fire burning in them. Then, a thin, mischievous smile curved across his face.
"It's clear the two of you have issues. And there's only one way to settle them—through combat."
Benjamin blinked, baffled, and stepped back in disbelief.
"What do you mean, Father?"
"Exactly what I said. The both of you will fight. And not with wooden toys—no, you'll use your Star Weapons."
Tristan chuckled coldly and turned to face Decker, a defiant smirk playing on his lips.
"I've got no problem with that. I'll fetch my weapon from the dormitory."
Decker clapped his hands together in anticipation, the sound echoing with eerie finality.
"Perfect. Let the duel commence."
"But Father..." Benjamin began, only to be silenced by the icy stare Decker shot his way—a look that pierced deep into his very soul.
Though fear crept into his heart, Benjamin dared not show it. He smiled instead, turning his head to Tristan with feigned confidence.
"Fine. I suppose it's time I put you in your place using nothing but my strength."
The class poured out of the room and headed toward the training arena. Tristan, however, hurried toward the dormitory. Garfield rushed to catch up, his face marked with concern.
"Brother, I believe in your strength—but this won't be anything like the fight with Yaron," he said, matching Tristan's pace.
"And how would you know that?"
"You know how we're all differentiated by our Star rankings? There's more to it than just the number. Even within One Stars, there are tiers: Low-level, Mid-level, and High-level One Stars," Garfield explained, worry lacing his voice.
Tristan's irritation flared.
"And?"
Garfield abruptly halted, forcing Tristan to stop as well. He stepped in front of him, urgency in his voice.
"Right now, you're a Low-level One Star. But Benjamin? He's High-level. At your current strength, you can't beat him!"
Tristan lowered his head and let out a low chuckle.
"Is this the same Garfield who gave that passionate speech just days ago? Because he seems different. That same Garfield would never sit silently while someone insulted not only us but our mothers as well. Are you really willing to accept that kind of disrespect?"
Garfield was silent. Words failed him.
Tristan placed a firm hand on his friend's shoulder, his voice unwavering.
"I won't accept it. I don't care whether I can beat him or not. I have to."
He turned and entered the dormitory, leaving Garfield staring after him.
Meanwhile, the rest of the students gathered at the arena—Constella Academy's designated dueling ground, often used for tournaments and formal combat. It resembled a grand coliseum, its architecture reflecting the elegance of the era.
Decker and the other students took their places in the stands. At the center, under the afternoon sky, stood Tristan and Benjamin—ready to fight.
"Since I can't afford to postpone my class," Decker called from the stands, "I'll teach while you fight. If you miss anything, that's your own problem!"
The duelists took their stances. Tristan gripped his Star Divider, while Benjamin brandished his gleaming Rapier. The latter's posture reflected years of training as a fencer, his every movement calculated and graceful. Tristan's stance, though less refined, was solid and left few openings.
"You may begin!"
Tristan lunged forward with fierce determination, each step thundering with resolve. Benjamin remained unfazed. He raised his Rapier, flames erupting from the blade in brilliant red tendrils. With a flick, he unleashed a fiery beam straight at Tristan.
Only at the last moment did Tristan manage to dive to the side, narrowly avoiding incineration. The blaze dissipated after soaring several meters beyond him.
'That damn brat—he nearly burned me alive. But I'm not afraid. Not in the slightest.'
[Star Divider Ability Enabled]
[Emotional Strength]
'Now things can get serious.'