A bead of sweat slid down the tip of Aron's chin and dropped to the floor.
He steadied his ragged breathing and adjusted his grip on the wooden sword. His palm was thick with hard calluses from swinging it every day for a week without rest.
The academy's regular ranking adjustment matches.
This was the day the students' rankings were officially reshuffled and their results recorded.
The sparring ground had been filled with fierce tension since early morning.
"Hey. If you haven't finished warming up, forfeit while you still can. Don't get yourself beaten and carried off to the infirmary."
Across from him, in the waiting area.
A man with a long spear resting on his shoulder spoke with a sneering smile.
Derek Molton, a spearman currently ranked 298th.
To him, Aron, the perennial last-place student ranked 312th who had lost every academy sparring match without a single victory, was easy prey.
"The result's obvious anyway, so let's not wear ourselves out. Right?"
Derek's voice dripped with arrogance and contempt for his opponent. Several other students waiting nearby snickered in agreement.
"Aren't you going to answer? Scared?"
"No. I'm measuring the distance."
Aron answered flatly without letting his gaze waver.
He had no reason to grow impatient or afraid because of the provocation. He had already learned, through being sent rolling across the training ground, not to ruin his breathing with anger. His eyes simply traveled from Derek's head to his feet, calm and cool.
'The spear's length. The difference between its reach and my wooden sword's. And his stride.'
Aron's eyes moved keenly.
Derek clicked his tongue and turned the spear shaft to take his ready stance.
At that moment, a familiar cool sensation brushed Aron's eyes, and translucent text appeared in the air.
[Excessive right-wrist rotation]
[Spear recovery slows after third consecutive thrust]
[Unstable balance when turning left]
Three clear weaknesses.
Aron slowly turned the sentences over in his mind.
'He uses his wrist too much. Each successive attack leaves a bigger opening, and his lower body gives way when he turns left.'
One week.
After Professor Kairon's painful criticism, Aron had practiced nothing but shifting his balance through his lower body and drawing back his sword along a tighter path, over and over with near-mad intensity.
Those grueling, desperate hours would turn these three short lines of information into a real opportunity.
"Getting my first win since enrolling against the last-place guy feels a little cheap, but what can I do? Blame your luck. I'll finish this in an instant."
Derek aimed the spearpoint at Aron and gathered his fighting spirit.
"Both sides, prepare."
The evaluator in the center raised his hand, his voice indifferent. The murmuring around them fell silent at once.
"Begin."
The evaluator's hand had barely dropped when Derek kicked hard off the ground.
"Hah!"
With a sharp battle cry, Derek's spear shot toward Aron's chest.
Fast.
Among ordinary students in the lower ranks, that speed was quite fierce and threatening.
But Aron did not try to swing his wooden sword wildly and knock the spearpoint aside.
'Only half a step.'
Repeating it in his mind, he moved his right leg slightly backward.
The smallest shift of balance, drilled into his body over the past week.
The spearhead stirred a cool wind as it passed, barely brushing Aron's collar.
"Where do you think you're going?"
When his first attack cut through empty air, Derek spat out the words in irritation and drew back his spear. He immediately followed with a second thrust.
This time its sharp path aimed low at Aron.
SNAP—!
Aron twisted his upper body and lightly redirected the spear shaft with the side of his wooden sword.
At the same time, he concentrated magic power in the tips of his feet for an instant, forcing his body to keep its balance. With no wasted steps, his center did not waver at all even after he deflected the attack.
"You bXstard, scurrying away like a rXt!"
Derek's eyes became bloodshot as his attacks missed one after another. His boast that he would finish Aron at once was beginning to ring hollow.
As Derek's breathing tangled, Aron clearly saw him put too much force into the wrist holding the spear.
'Now.'
Derek twisted his upper body and drove out his third thrust roughly.
A savage, straight attack aimed at Aron's face.
SWISH—!
Instead of ducking or retreating, Aron pivoted on his ankle and hurled himself straight toward Derek's blind spot on the left.
Derek's spearpoint barely scraped past Aron's cheek. His skin split slightly and red blood beaded there, but Aron did not even blink.
'Spear recovery slows after third consecutive thrust.'
The information that had appeared in his vision was accurate.
After driving his spear hard into empty air, Derek hurried to pull it back and recover from the missed attack. But the shaft, gripped with excessive force, had grown noticeably sluggish.
It could never catch up with Aron as he moved in during that brief gap.
"Wh-what?"
Derek turned sharply to the left, searching for Aron, who had suddenly vanished from his view.
'Unstable balance when turning left.'
The moment Derek's lower body gave way under the force of the turn, Aron was already fully inside his reach. Without delay, he swept his wooden sword upward from below.
It followed a short, efficient path, free of wasted force.
CRACK—!
"Aagh!"
Aron's wooden sword struck Derek's right wrist precisely and without mercy.
It was the one opening left utterly undefended by the excessive rotation of his wrist.
The dull, bone-rattling impact twisted Derek's face in pain. He did not lose his grip on the spear entirely, but his knees buckled under the shock and he pitched forward.
Just before the nape of the staggering Derek's neck, Aron's wooden sword, carrying a chill, stopped close enough to touch the fine hairs there.
"……."
A heavy silence fell over the sparring ground.
For a moment, even breathing could scarcely be heard.
Aron's stance as he looked down at Derek, who had sunk to the ground with his spear, did not waver in the slightest. His foot had not stepped too far, and his center of gravity had not collapsed. He had recovered into a stable position, perfectly ready for the next defense.
"Winner, Aron."
The instructor's firm judgment broke the heavy silence.
At once, an incredulous murmur burst from the students who had surrounded the sparring ground and watched with bated breath.
"Hey, did you see that?"
"Didn't Derek trip over his own feet?"
"No, he dodged three spear thrusts? That last-place guy?"
"Looks like he got into the blind spot by luck."
"Of all places to hit, he struck the wrist. Talk about lucky."
Dismissive murmurs came from every side, but Aron's expression did not change.
He withdrew his wooden sword and quietly took three steps back from Derek.
"FXck! Hey, that doesn't count!"
Derek, still on the ground and clutching his reddened wrist, shouted with veins standing out.
"My foot slipped, that's all! Do it again! I said, do it again!"
Furious at his absurd defeat, Derek seized his spear again on impulse and staggered to his feet.
His eyes were full of shame at having been brought down in one blow by the perennial last-place student he had looked down on. He looked ready to rush in swinging his spear again.
But Aron merely glanced at him and turned away.
"The official match result has already been declared."
"What? You're not coming back right now?"
"If you want a rematch, apply for one formally at the next ranking adjustment. I'm not going to indulge you just so you can vent your feelings."
A dry, rational answer.
Aron's firm refusal to entertain his anger left Derek opening and closing his mouth as if he had swallowed honey and gone mute.
"You... You bXstard, you win once by luck and now you're looking down on me……!"
"Derek Molton! Do you intend to dispute the result? Put down your weapon and return to the waiting area at once!"
At the evaluator's thunderous order, Derek could not resist any further. He bit hard into his lip in frustration and hurled his spear roughly to the ground.
"Ah, FXck this!"
While Derek's curse faded into the air, Aron had already left the sparring ground and was gathering his belongings.
He did not look around in a glow of superiority or cheer his victory. Instead, he was coolly reviewing the brief exchange in his mind.
'A fluke, was it?'
Aron stifled a wry laugh as the surrounding murmurs brushed his ears.
The moment before he struck Derek's wrist.
If he had stepped his right foot just a little farther forward. Or if his balance had tipped forward even slightly.
His move past Derek's spear and into the blind spot would have come a beat too late.
Derek's spearpoint would have pierced his chest before his wooden sword ever touched the wrist.
'I didn't miss my chance to attack solely because I kept my lower body balanced.'
Seeing an opponent's weakness did not mean victory came automatically.
Unless he built a body and fundamentals capable of actually reaching that opening, the words in the information window were nothing but an illusion.
The path he had corrected over a week of breathing dust and falling thousands of times.
Without it, he could never have achieved that narrow result.
Aron rolled his aching ankle gently and turned toward the large board in the central lobby.
As the evaluator operated it, the names on the magic power rankings board changed rapidly.
[298th. Aron]
[299th. Derek Molton]
Aron's gaze rested on the new number beside his name.
No longer in last place.
To someone else, it might still be a laughable rank near the bottom. To Aron, it meant something entirely different.
Clear confirmation that his strange analytical ability and the relentless training in fundamentals he had built around it worked in real combat.
"I wasn't wrong."
Aron murmured as he tapped the wooden sword slung across his back with a finger.
The faintest smile appeared at his lips and vanished. Brushing his sweat-soaked bangs back, he headed toward the training ground with a firmer conviction in every step.