Ohta did as instructed by Miss Carol— walking to the free space behind the class.
When he first arrived, he had thought of this space as unnecessary for a classroom.
But now knowing what he did about this school, he more than understood why.
"Since the match is one sided on the use of mana," Miss Carol began, "you can use any weapon of your choice, but in stun mode. I’ll allow only three moves for each side. Remember, If your three moves are exhausted, any more will ensure you receive penalties.
Is that clear?"
"Yes Miss Carol." Ohta and Wu ying answered in unison.
Miss Carol waved a hand.
Wooooom...
A force field appeared from nowhere surrounding the open space.
Wuying looked at Ohta like he was some puzzle.
And she seemed mildly annoyed that she couldn’t solve it. After all, she knew.
She knew that he had somehow defended against the seduction technique she used the moment she rose from her seat.
"I am starting to believe you actually drink blood." She stated amusingly, eyes scanning Ohta like she was trying to uncover the man behind the rumors."
She paced around, and so did Ohta.
"I could say the same thing for you." Ohta replied. "Your name, ’Wu’... very familiar."
His eyes focused on her closely—tracing every inch of her attire and body.
Ohta subconsciously swallowed.
Ohta had seen dangerous people before.
In his previous life he had sat across tables from cartel lords, arms dealers, and men whose names alone emptied entire city blocks.
He knew what dangerous looked like.
It rarely announced itself.
The ones that announced themselves were usually compensating for something.
The truly dangerous ones looked like exactly what Wuying looked like right now.
Perfectly ordinary.
Except she wasn’t.
Why?
She still wore the Avalon uniform — but the way she wore it made it look like the uniform had been specifically designed for her and everyone else was simply borrowing it.
The blazer was standard issue black but she had replaced every button with small circular jade clasps. Deep green. Carved. Old looking. The kind of detail that didn’t happen by accident.
Each clasp had a tiny character etched into its face that Ohta couldn’t read from where he stood but somehow suspected he wouldn’t want to.
Again, the name ’Wu’ rang in his mind.
Beneath the blazer she wore the standard white inner shirt but the collar had been replaced entirely.
A high mandarin collar rose from her throat instead — fitted, structured, edged in a thin line of deep red embroidery that ran up one side and stopped just below her jaw.
The embroidery was too precise to be decorative alone. It looked like text. Old text. The kind written by people who believed words had weight.
Spells... Ohta concluded.
This was a woman proud of being called Zhōngguó rén. (Author’s note: it means people of the Middle Kingdom)
Her skirt was where everything changed.
Unlike most girls in the classroom who wore the standard uniform skirt, Wuying’s fell all the way to the floor. Long and straight and black as ink.
A single slit ran up the left side stopping just below the knee — practical without being deliberate about it.
Along the right side of the skirt from hip to hem ran a vertical column of the same red embroidery as her collar.
Characters. Dozens of them. Small and perfectly spaced.
Again, Ohta had no idea what they said.
He had the distinct feeling he was better off not knowing.
Her shoes were barely visible beneath the hem — black flats with a thin red line around the sole. The only concession to anything resembling ordinary.
But it was what was on her that made Ohta’s old instincts lean forward slightly.
Her ears carried piercings from the lobe all the way up the cartilage of her left ear — the shaved side. Seven of them. Each one a small silver needle.
These were decorative needles shaped to look like earrings. Actual needles. Thin. Pointed. Held in place by small clasps that could be removed with a single practiced motion.
Her right ear, the side hidden beneath her sweeping black bang, had three more.
That’s already Ten needles. Hiding in plain sight as jewelry.
At her waist she wore a narrow sash instead of the standard belt. Black silk. Tied in a flat knot at her left hip. It looked purely decorative until Ohta noticed the slight weight distribution along its length.
The way it sat just a fraction too stiff in certain places. Too deliberate in others.
Ohta had carried concealed weapons long enough to recognize when ordinary fabric was doing a second job.
How many needles were in that sash he couldn’t guess.
He suspected the number would surprise him.
Her sleeves were the last detail.
Standard length at first glance. But the cuffs were wide. Wider than the regulation.
Folded back once in a neat roll that stopped at her forearm — a style that looked casual and traditional simultaneously. The inside of each fold carried a thin strip of fabric looped in small individual slots.
Each slot held a needle.
Ohta counted eight on the left cuff before she turned slightly and he lost his angle.
Ohta exhaled slowly through his nose.
In his previous life his right hand man who betrayed him had been a man who carried seventeen knives on his body and looked like a librarian doing it.
Wu ying made that man look like an amateur.
’A weapon. This girl was a weapon true and true. Clothes, jewelry, shoes, demeanor, mana. She is the freaking full package.’ Ohta thought to himself.
With everything she carried, she must as least weigh several hundred kg. But she walked around like it was nothing.
Ohta suddenly felt like he had been cheated when it came to his opponent for this fight.
But just as he took a ready stance to fight, she moved.
No... she disappeared from his line of sight.