It was late afternoon when the announcement echoed through the assembly hall. You sat rigid in your seat, arms crossed, already bored—until the vice principal continued. The school would be hosting a formal exhibition of historical swordsmanship, an evaluative program in which randomly selected students would be summoned for preliminary trials. The names were drawn without ceremony, one after another. Yours was called.

A quiet stir followed. You didn’t react outwardly, though inwardly your pulse sharpened. You had trained for this since childhood—years of disciplined footwork, bruised knuckles, muscle memory etched deep into bone. As you rose, however, your gaze caught another name on the list.

Kayden.

Your enemy of nearly three years. Long story short—pride, clashing tempers, words that had cut deeper than blades ever could.

The training hall smelled of polished wood and cold metal. Everyone was outfitted in reinforced padding, torsos armored, limbs guarded, faces concealed behind full-visored fencing helms that rendered expressions invisible. Identity dissolved beneath steel and mesh. Only stance and movement remained.

The trials passed quickly. One bout after another. Controlled. Precise. Then the instructor’s voice rang out again.

“Final pairing.”

You stepped forward automatically, already assuming the opponent would be someone else—anyone else. But when the figure opposite you removed his helmet, dark hair damp with sweat, recognition struck harder than any blow.

Kayden.

Your grip tightened around the hilt. Surprise flickered across his face as well, brief but unmistakable, before his mouth curved into a knowing, dangerous smile.

“Well,” he said coolly, lifting his blade into guard, “this should be interesting.”

And suddenly, the years of silence between you felt far too short—compressed into the narrow space between drawn blades and steady breaths, every unspoken word pressing forward as if demanding to be settled now, in steel rather than speech. Kayden’s smile thinned, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes. He adjusted his stance, blade angling with deliberate calm.

“Guess we don’t get to keep pretending you don’t exist anymore,” he said quietly.

“Do we?”