"Misery, how are you feeling?"
"I’m ready. My mind is calm."
"Good! You’ve worked hard this past week. Today, give it everything you've got and show him exactly what you've achieved!"
A week had already passed since Berbar had challenged Misery to a duel.
At the practice grounds, the two combatants prepared to face off, while Yugo and the others stood by to witness the match. Berbar had brought along the same two friends from a week prior, and he wore a smirking, self-assured grin.
Yugo and his companions could see the arrogance in his expression—a mixture of certainty in his own victory and blatant contempt for Misery. As he approached them, he sneered.
"I’ll give you credit for not running away, at least. Of course, that just makes you a fool since you're about to get thrashed. Don't go crying to me when you're black and blue, Misery."
"..."
Misery didn't take the bait. She ignored his cheap provocation, merely casting a cold, passing glance his way before turning her back on him.
Berbar clicked his tongue in annoyance at her lack of reaction and slunk back to his friends.
"...She’s holding it together well," Yugo noted. "It sounds like she meant what she said earlier."
"It’s just as you told me, Master. Today, I intend to focus entirely on applying the results of our special training. I’ve cast aside my grudges and my hatred. I only care about fighting with everything I have."
Yugo nodded silently, sending a silent vote of confidence her way. Seeing Misery so composed—a far cry from the distressed, wavering girl she had been a week ago—the rest of the group offered their own encouragement.
"You’ll be great! The way you are now, Misery, there’s no way you can lose!" Melt cheered.
"It was only a week, but it was a week well spent," Marcos added. "We’ve all seen how hard you worked. Now, all that’s left is to show those low-lifes how much you’ve improved!"
Anhel chimed in next. "You adjusted perfectly to the magic items I tweaked. They were subtle changes, but you’ve become a knight capable of making the most of them. Hold your head high, Misery."
"I haven't been able to do much to help..." Fee said, "but I'm going to cheer for you with everything I've got. Good luck, Misery!"
"Thank you... truly," Misery said, bowing her head in gratitude. "I can never thank you all enough. I’ll repay this debt by showing you exactly how much I’ve grown through this fight."
She expressed her heartfelt thanks to Melt and the others, who had done more than just spar with her; they had taught her advanced magic power manipulation and painstakingly adjusted her equipment to fit her new style. Yugo and the rest of the group, having watched her blood-soaked efforts over the past week, prepared to send her into battle with pride.
"...Master, before the match starts, there's something I want to say. Will you listen?"
"Sure, what is it?"
"I... I had lost all confidence in myself. I went through so much pain and humiliation that my heart nearly broke. But I realize now that even those experiences were necessary. Every encounter happens for a reason. All that sadness and suffering was the path that led me to you and everyone else... I think the fact that I can feel that way now is the greatest way I’ve grown."
There had been times when she was crushed by her own powerlessness and the sting of being discarded. But those frustrations had driven her to aim higher, and they had ultimately brought her to Yugo.
Nothing she had experienced on her journey had been a waste. She could finally say that with conviction. As she spoke of the growth she felt within herself—something even more profound than her new combat techniques—Yugo met her gaze with a smile and a nod.
"...You haven't forgotten the most important thing, have you?"
"Yes, of course. I remember it well."
"Alright! Then... go get 'em, Misery. I know you’re going to win!"
"Yes... I’m going, Master."
Answering her mentor with quiet resolve, Misery tightened her grip on the Wasp Needle equipped to her left fist. With the support of her friends and her Master at her back, she stepped onto the field of combat. Berbar, having finished his own preparations, called out to her.
"Here we go! I'm about to show you that no matter what you try, it's useless. Don't go crying when I snap that pathetic needle of yours in half, you hear?"
"...Is that breastplate the source of your confidence?" Misery asked calmly.
"Hm? Heh, turning pale already? As long as I'm wearing this, your attacks will never land a decisive blow. My victory is guaranteed."
Berbar held his usual straight sword, but he was now wearing a magnificent breastplate that Misery had never seen him use before. It was clear that his absolute trust in the gear’s ability to protect his vitals was the root of his bravado. Looking at the triumphantly grinning Berbar, Misery spoke.
"I don't care how you got your hands on that armor. No matter how incredible the equipment is... what matters is the person using it. I have no intention of losing to someone like you, who relies entirely on the specs of a magic item."
"You little...! Fine then! I'll put you in your place right now!"
Berbar’s face flushed red with rage, his expression twisting into a vicious snarl.
As both combatants heightened their fighting spirit and circulated their magic power, they took their positions. Marcos, acting as the referee, confirmed they were ready and gave the signal.
"Now... let the match begin!!"