"Sister Edna, You're back!" Jessica's voice alerted the worried Orphanage children. Quickly, they raised from their seats to hear the details.

"Children, there's nothing to worry about. Koji is doing just fine. There weren't any internal injuries, and his chest has already recovered. All he needs to do is rest. Allen is watching over him for now, so there is nothing to worry about."

The children heaved a sigh of relief. After a few more words, they returned back to their seats.

***

"Koji. You did your best. I know it sucks, but it happens man."

" . . . "

Koji finally peered over to Allen. It was just as he thought. Allen was on the edge of his wooden chair, zealously trying to cheer him up. He couldn't help but leak out a grin, seeing that animated face. It was thanks to him that he was able to open up with others, and once again, he's doing what Allen does.

"Koji your bounces were really striking! Like they were even more jumpier than the time we faced the mole beasts during the Exam! Next time we ever encounter those moles, it would be a piece of cake."

Koji waited patiently until Allen's arsenal of words were becoming stagnant. It was then Koji decided to speak.

"Thanks Allen. But I know I'm weak. You can stop now," Allen said. Self-mockery and pity plastered over his face.

Allen felt there was something off about him. If it was the usual routine, Koji would display his vex and shrug it off as if he didn't care. "Uh . . . was Hayate really that strong?"

Koji widened his eyes in surprise. (Allen you're always so carefree . . . but you have an amazing intuition.) It was unexpected that Allen was on course with the muddles in his mind.

"I was not even considered an opponent in his eyes." Traces of anger flickered in his eyes. The lights only remained for a moment before they returned to being spiritless.

Allen found that unbelievable. He bet that nobody else was more glued to that match than him. It really did appear to be a close battle. However, when he contemplated a little further, he did notice a few odd things.

Koji was unusually agitated. There was a disparity between Koji's usual demeanour during the battle, and Koji fighting against Hayate. Instead of acting like a lone wolf, he was more of an unrestrained beast. Was this just Koji simply trying his best to win?

Another point was that Hayate was rather slow in counterattacking. Allen had seen Hayate fight a couple of times and knew that he himself wouldn't be able to face him. No matter how much ground Koji managed to cover, Hayate had plenty of time to at least use the Hidden technique gasify.

As more unpleasant thoughts arose to his mind, Allen felt that he was closer to understanding Koji's feelings. Concurrently, a sour stimulation discomforted his mouth as he rubbed the side of his legs with his palms.

"Koji . . . did he at least respect you?" Allen disliked bad mouthing people, moreover, if it was behind their backs. Asking in a roundabout way was close to the bare minimum he could do.

" . . . "

Perceiving the masked fumes and gaining no response, Allen clenched his fists. His instincts were indicating that this was not on a level of a straightforward contempt from a Feeria: it had to be much more than that.

Allen soberly asked, "could you tell me what happened between the two of you?"

***

"Melvin's third duel is coming soon! At his current pace, he will definitely make it out of his group!"

"The opponents he faced were too overconfident, Stilla." Dalis was somewhat indignant. (It can't be helped. We are the youngest contestants. It is natural for the older ones to judge us. Furthermore, we are not knights in their eyes. We are just children.)

"Next duel. Melvin Serven vs Hayate from the Caleyar Orphanage. Participants, please enter the stage."

Two suave boys tarried their way into the arena. Along the way, Melvin could be seen peacefully combing his perfect blonde hair. Rather than readying himself for a duel, it appeared as though he was preparing to enter a prom. Many of the remaining participants couldn't help but twitch their brows when they saw this. There weren't any signs of loose hair sticking out or any blemishes across the board for that matter. And yet, he appeared to have the audacity to grumble his inner thoughts of how “discontent” he was. All of the superficial nonsense spewed out of his mouth was unanimously bullshit.

"Dear Mother, do you think I should go over and lend him my hairbrush? It wouldn't be pleasant for the eye to see him in such an untidy appearance," a young noble girl requested.

The mother looked at her daughter. "Jenny, I do not see anything wrong with his appearance."

"Mother! You're not even paying attention! That's the wrong stage. Can't you see how troubled he looks while he's adjusting his hair? He needs my hairbrush. I just know it." She pointed towards Melvin.

"Right right let's see this boy then." Following the finger, the mother turned to inspect a closer view at the suave blonde boy. (Ugh, a commoner.) Although her initial impression was bad, she then felt something amiss. The participants on standby were staring at the boy like a pack of watchdogs; the bigger hounds were stealthily grooming their weapons. Even the judge looked ready to pounce on him.

"Mother, do you see now?"

"See what?"

"His appearance!"

"A commoner?"

"Mother!!"

The mother ignored her daughter and let out a long sigh of annoyance. Then, she peered over resentfully to the peasant who was responsible for leading her daughter astray. To her disbelief, she found no flaws with his appearance besides his uncouth attire. In fact, his attire was unbelievably posh for a bunch of rags, and his good looks were irritably on the same level as someone like Prince Barry. It was appearances after all!

"Jenny! Where do you think you are going?"

"I'm going to—"

"No you are not! How can the Lady of my Distinguished Clifford Family do such an unbridled act?" (Why is my daughter so idiotic? I was never like this at her age.)

***

On the stage . . .

The judge shook his head side to side between the duelers. No matter who he was looking at, they both appeared to be isolated in their own world. Neither of them seemed to have acknowledged . . . ? the existence of their respective opponent. One of them had his head turned left, gazing upwards wandering adrift clouds, pondering, while the other had his head turned right, gazing upwards to the fringe of his hair, combing.

Two more minutes the judge could only vexedly offer before forcefully commencing the match.

***

Participants, the duel will now begin! (I can't believe I have the conscience to give these wretches another second of my life.)

" . . . "

" . . . "

" . . . "

There was no movement; they pretended to not have heard him at all.

The judge's patience was moments from snapping and exploding. He will give them one more chance! Deep inside, he was hoping they would dare cross his bottom line.

"Ahem. It seems you wre. . . children did not hear me. Participants, the duel will now begin!!" His icy, exasperated voice resounded so hatefully as though he wanted to run up and murder them.

“Coincidentally” and concomitantly, their mirrored heads swung to the front, meeting their opponent.

"Oh ho?"

"Oh?"

"Oh ho, Oh ho?"

"Oh, oh oh?"

The two, who had “noticed” each other, began to let out “oh sounding” astonished groans, ambling their way to greet.

During their slow and deliberate footsteps, Melvin smoothly and naturally moved his arms to the back, clasping them. The motions of his chin, too, elevated to properly address the other party.

Meanwhile, perhaps it was due to a phenomenon caused by the wind, Hayate's stature rose. Gradually, he placed his left arm on his hip, and his right arm moved closer to his neat high collar. At an appropriate conversing distance, his right hand began to caress his chin.

It was at this point, they approached a standstill, staring at one another. Although direct words should be exchanged, they were not. Instead, their egos were at an all-time high, exuding, and battling it out in an intense confrontation. Imposingness, arrogance, disdain such nuances were fueling into the furnace. They were as lofty as chimneys as they greedily combusted their resources for everyone to see.

In many serious duels, it was not particularly rare to have fighters stand their ground and observe their opponent. However, never in the history of Cresuilge have people seen fighters walk up face to face just metres apart and try to overwhelm their opponent through pressuring their presence alone.

It was a colossal collision between an arrogant pair.