Can You Keep Up?

If you were to ask who the strongest spellsword in the academy was, the answer—up until the year before last—would have been Iris Midgar.

However, once she graduated, an era without a champion fell upon the Midgar Academy for Spellswords. At least, that’s what everyone thought.

Then, a new ruler suddenly appeared.

In a way no one could have imagined, a person no one expected ascended the throne, reigning at the summit of the academy as its absolute champion.

Her name was Rose Oriana.

An international student from the land of the arts, the Oriana Kingdom, she was the daughter of King Raphaello Oriana. While her study abroad program had been planned as part of the alliance between our kingdoms, no one expected a princess from a country of artists to become the undisputed powerhouse of our school.

Well, frankly, I didn't care whether they saw it coming or not.

The problem was that my first round in the Selection Tournament was against that very same Rose Oriana.

I did have the option to withdraw. Hyoro was currently covered in bruises after getting "hazed" by some upperclassmen, and Jaga had been placed under house arrest for "unauthorized entry" into the girls’ dormitory. In other words, as long as I had a decent excuse, I could get out of participating.

But when I thought about it carefully, isn't the guy who gets absolutely demolished by the champion in the first round a total mob trope?

Oh, it’s mob-like, all right. No doubt about it.

Withdrawing was now out of the question. I had a mission: to show the world the most mob-like battle ever fought—a battle of the mob, by the mob, and for the mob.

And so, I drew my sword amidst the roar of a massive crowd.

Standing at the opposite end of the arena was Princess Rose Oriana. Her honey-colored hair was elegantly curled, and she wore a fashionable set of combat gear while brandishing a slender rapier. Her features were soft, her figure was top-tier, and honestly, everything about her screamed "stylish." As expected of the land of the arts.

Furthermore, despite being a second-year transfer student, she already served as the Student Council President. Between her beauty, her skill, and her popularity, the cheers from the stands were deafening.

Not a single person was calling my name. Cheer for your own countryman, you traitors, I thought for a split second, but I let it go. This was the perfect stage for a mob. It was glorious.

Rattle, rattle.

My sword trembled in my hand. Had I ever been this nervous in a fight before? Victory, murder, or evaporating someone into dust—those were easy. I wasn't looking for a simple conclusion. What I needed was a defeat more "background character" than anyone had ever seen before.

What is "mob-ness," anyway? I was stepping into the realm of philosophy here.

But there was no need to worry. For this very day, I had mastered the "48 Mob Secret Techniques."

"Rose Oriana versus Cid Kagenou!" the referee shouted.

Rose’s honey-colored eyes and my mob-tier eyes locked, sparks practically flying between us.

Oh, Rose Oriana. Can you keep up? Can you follow me to the extreme... of mob combat?!

"Match start!!"

The moment the signal echoed, Rose’s rapier danced. It blurred through the air, drawing a beautiful, sharp trajectory toward my chest. It was a strike an ordinary mob could never hope to react to.

I could see it perfectly, of course. I saw it... but I didn't react. I couldn't show even a hint of being able to keep up. Why? Because I was a mob.

I didn't move an inch until the very microsecond the rapier touched my chest. The edge had been blunted for the tournament, but it would still hurt like hell if it landed properly.

The rapier pierced my chest. At that exact moment, I made my move.

Without showing any visible motion, I used only the strength in my toes to spring backward. I took the force of the rapier’s thrust and used it to add a sickening twist to my body. Simultaneously, I reached into a hidden pocket in my sleeve and tore open a bag of blood I'd prepped the night before.

The entire process took less than a tenth of a second.

While being blown backward, I spun through the air like a drill, spraying blood in every direction like a malfunctioning fountain.

"Pegyoeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!"

My crimson tornado painted a masterpiece of gore across the arena.

Mob Secret Technique: Bloody Tornado.

I hit the ground pathetically, bounced once, and rolled to a stop. The crowd’s cheers shook the stadium.

"Gu—guh... Hwarghhhh!" I tore another blood bag and vomited a fresh puddle.

Perfect!

There wasn't a soul in the audience who doubted my status as a weakling. I almost flashed my pearly whites at my own ten-out-of-ten performance, but I held it in. It wasn't over yet. Not by a long shot.

"Gugeh... Gevohhhhh!!"

I forced myself up, acting like a man who had exactly ten seconds left to live. That’s right... I still had forty-seven more Mob Secret Techniques to get through.

ROSE ORIANA

Why? How can he keep standing?

Rose Oriana shuddered as she watched the boy rise again and again. He was covered in blood, and he looked like he could barely even figure out which end of the sword to hold. He was in no condition to fight; the fact that he was even on his feet was a miracle.

Rose’s sword was slender, but it was far from light. The edge was blunted, but the Magic Power she poured into it was the real thing. A single clean hit should have been enough to incapacitate anyone.

And yet... just how many times had this boy taken her blade?

It wasn't once or twice. He had been bathed in over ten slashes, yet he continued to rise with indomitable fighting spirit. Why did he go so far? His body had clearly passed its limit, but his eyes weren't dead. Those burning eyes told her that he still had something he had to do.

His spirit had transcended his flesh. It was his sheer will that supported his broken body.

Rose felt a wave of emotion wash over her. Just how much resolve had he brought into this match? He clearly had a reason why he absolutely could not afford to lose.

The gap in their strength was immeasurable. There wasn't even a one-in-ten-thousand chance of him winning. Nevertheless, he hadn't given up. He glared at Rose with those intense eyes.

It's not over yet. I can't let it end here.

Rose was moved by the sight of him—a brave figure challenging an impossible foe, refusing to break. She began to feel a deep respect for the boy named Cid Kagenou, and with it, a profound sense of guilt. She had looked down on him as an easy opponent.

Perhaps in a contest of blades, it wasn't even a competition. But in a battle of hearts, Rose had suffered a complete defeat.

"It ends with the next strike," she declared.

That was why she chose to end it quickly. If she let this continue, he would keep standing until he actually died. She didn't want to kill him... not a boy with such a bright future.

The cheers in the arena had died down. The audience was watching in stunned silence, completely put off by the boy's gruesome state. Rose funneled the greatest amount of Magic Power of the day into her sword. The air trembled, and the crowd began to murmur in apprehension.

But even so.

"I see you still won't give up."

His eyes were shining with a fierce heat. There wasn't a shred of fear in his gaze, only infinite fighting spirit.

If that was the case, she would give him everything she had.

Just as Rose’s sword let out a roar—

"Stop!! That’s enough! The match is over!"

The referee jumped between them, forcing the match to a halt. He had judged that any further combat would be life-threatening.

Rose let out a sigh of pure relief.

The boy, however, looked devastated.

"No way... I still have thirty-three left..."

I can still fight. His eyes said it all.

"The winner: Rose Oriana!!"

A roar of cheers finally blessed Rose. She responded by waving to the crowd, then turned and gave a deep, respectful bow to the collapsing Cid Kagenou.