Anay remained seated as the early matches began. Two students stepped into the arena — both wielding beginner-grade spiritual blades. The clash was fast, almost reckless at first, but the instructor's sharp voice corrected their movements mid-fight.
"Left one, your guard's open! Right, don't overextend! Focus on flow!"
Anay narrowed his eyes. So that's what he meant. Power without flow is wasteful.
Another match began — this time, a boy using elemental manipulation to distract his opponent before shifting into close combat.
He used a basic fire flicker not to damage… but to blind, Anay realized. Then moved in with a low sweep.
As duel after duel unfolded, Anay leaned forward more with each one. His mind wasn't just watching — it was analyzing, adapting. His instincts, honed from years of training with Master Kai, began stitching themselves into strategy. Patterns emerged in his head like puzzle pieces locking into place.
Wait for their center of gravity to shift…
Always track their dominant side movement…
Watch their eyes, not their hands…
Spiritual energy surges a second before they strike.
His fingers curled in silent excitement.
So this is real battle… not survival… but reading, predicting, and responding. It's like dancing with danger — controlled chaos.
For the first time since arriving at Astral Academy, Anay felt a quiet thrill rise in his chest. Not nervousness — but eagerness.
"Next match," the instructor called. "Anay of the Mountain Temple versus Kairan of Southern Peaks."
Anay stood.
Kairan was already in the ring — a tall, broad-shouldered student with a battle staff and a confident smirk. "Fresh meat?" he asked.
Anay said nothing as he stepped into the circle. A simple training spear manifested in his hand a standard spiritual-grade gave for practice.
"Begin!" the instructor called.
Kairan lunged first — fast and aggressive, using wide sweeps with his staff. Anay didn't block — he slid aside, letting the wind of the strike pass him. He kept his spear low, circling.
Wide swings leave the side open… bait him to repeat it…
Another swing. This time, Anay stepped in with perfect timing, tapping Kairan's exposed ribs with the blunt edge of his weapon.
The students watching gasped.
Kairan growled. "Lucky shot."
"No," the instructor corrected. "Calculated."
Now Kairan was angry. He charged again — feinting left, then striking from the right.
Anay caught the change mid-move. He parried the strike, spun low, and reversed his spear behind Kairan's knee. The bigger boy stumbled.
He's powerful, but impatient, Anay noted. If I slow the tempo… he'll beat himself.
Kairan tried to end it with a downward staff slam, but Anay stepped into the arc, rotated, and brought the back end of his spear to Kairan's chest, halting the match.
The arena fell silent for a moment.
Then the instructor clapped once.
"Enough. Winner: Anay."
Anay exhaled slowly, lowering his spear.
The instructor walked over. "Tell me, mountain boy — how many formal battles have you had before this?"
"…None," Anay admitted.
The instructor nodded, eyes sharp. "Interesting. You don't fight like a first-timer. You listen. You adapt. We need more minds like yours here."
Anay returned to his seat, heart steady but mind ablaze. He wasn't just surviving anymore.
He was learning — and he liked it.