Given the staggering number of handicaps Ozma-san had accepted—the fact that he wouldn't move faster than I could track and was confined to a four-meter circle—I’d harbored a secret hope that this might actually be easy.
However, twenty minutes into the match, the sheer naivety of that outlook came crashing down on me.
"Huff… huff… This is… brutal…"
"Hmm. You move surprisingly well, Miyama-kun. Do you make a habit of exercising?"
Ozma-san stood before me, wearing a breezy smile while I doubled over, gasping for air.
I couldn't land a blow. Not a single one. To be honest, I didn't even feel like I was capable of hitting him.
His movements were leisurely, yet they were incredibly deceptive. As promised, he certainly wasn't moving faster than my eyes could follow. But those movements were just too precise. Even when I could react, my body couldn't keep pace, or he would strike from an angle that exploited my blind spots, making it impossible to track him.
He evaded me with a fluid grace, moving like a falling leaf that slips through your fingers just as you think you’ve caught it.
When I tried to spread my arms and lunge at him with my entire weight to cut off his escape, he simply hopped over me on one leg.
In reality, my movements probably looked like slow motion to him, making evasion a trivial matter. But I wasn't entirely out of options. It was time to play my trump card.
"Oh, a magic circle… How terrifying. I wonder what you’re planning? This old man is shaking in his boots."
Despite his words, Ozma-san’s expression remained a gentle, relaxed smile. I hoped this magic would be enough to break that composure. If it didn’t, I truly had no path to victory.
With my meager magic power and lack of combat experience, my only real ace was Auto-counter. However, that was a purely reactive spell, unsuited for an offensive. The magic I was about to use was an improved version of that spell: Auto-pilot. It was designed to execute a predetermined action at the absolute maximum speed my body could handle without breaking.
After spending a few minutes configuring the magic circle, I activated the spell.
"Auto-pilot!"
"Whoa!?"
The moment I spoke the keyword, I felt control over my body slip away.
I had set the command to "attack." My body surged forward, taking the shortest, fastest path toward Ozma-san. Because we were already close, I reached him in an instant and swung my fist. Ozma-san pivoted his torso to dodge, his movements light and effortless.
But the true strength of Auto-pilot lay in what came next. My body reacted instantaneously to his evasion, redirecting the momentum of my swing into a follow-up strike.
He leaned back, his upper body arching away to avoid the blow.
Faster than I could even register that my punch had missed, my body dropped into a low crouch and transitioned into a sweeping kick.
Auto-pilot was essentially a "super-reflex." It bypassed the cognitive process of thinking before acting, executing the pre-set goal at the level of a spinal reflex. It allowed me to demonstrate the absolute peak performance my physical form was capable of.
Or so I thought.
Ozma-san dodged the sweep with a one-legged backflip. He then effortlessly avoided the follow-up punch I launched while he was mid-air, touched one hand to the ground to spin away, and completely neutralized my pursuit.
"My, my, you're fast. Even this old man finds it a bit tiring to dodge that."
"……"
Despite his casual commentary, Ozma-san evaded every single strike with room to spare, almost as if he knew exactly where my attacks would land before I even made them.
To think he was this incredible… This was bad. While Auto-pilot was far more versatile than Auto-counter, its mana consumption was astronomical. I only had a few minutes of energy left. At this rate, I wouldn't be able to lay a finger on him.
Finally, the effects of the spell wore off, and I collapsed onto one knee.
"Guh… huff…"
"Master!?"
One of the major downsides of Auto-pilot was that while the spell was active, it forced the body to ignore exhaustion. Once it ended, the accumulated fatigue hit all at once. I felt like I could pass out right there on the floor.
As I sat there, utterly spent, Ozma-san placed an unlit cigarette in his mouth and looked down at me.
"Miyama-kun, may I offer a bit of advice?"
"Huff… What… is it?"
"That magic isn't particularly effective against someone like me. It attacks with perfect efficiency, doesn't it? Well, to an old guy like me who’s spent far too many years fighting, that just makes it predictable. I can tell exactly where and how you’re going to strike. I can even bait you into creating openings by controlling your movements."
"…!"
He was right. Auto-pilot prioritized the most efficient path. To a master of his caliber, it was probably the most telegraphed attack in the world.
"Well, you fought hard. Everyone has their strengths and weaknesses. Perhaps it’s time to call it a day?"
"…Huh?"
"Boss Megiddo might have set these rules, but you don't really owe him anything. Knowing when to quit is an important life skill. You lose nothing by failing here. There’s no need to force yourself through this pain. Why not retire now and go enjoy the festival with that girl over there?"
"…I suppose… you’re right."
He wasn't mocking me; he was speaking with a gentle, fatherly tone. I nodded once in response to his words… and then, forcing my trembling legs to move, I stood back up.
"Oh? You’re still going to stand? There’s no need to push yourself this far, you know. Are you that determined to live up to Boss Megiddo’s expectations?"
"That’s part of it… but honestly, more than that…"
Why was I trying this hard? I could think of many reasons. I didn't want to let down the people who had helped me, and I didn't want to disappoint Megiddo-san. Those were valid reasons, but I wasn't such a noble person that I could endure this on those grounds alone.
No, the reason I was pushing myself was far simpler.
"…I’m a man, after all… and every now and then, I just want to look good in front of a cute girl."
"…Hahaha! I see. Well, in that case, I suppose you have no choice but to give it your all. This old man was mistaken. Very well—come at me however you like."
"Here I come!"
I had almost nothing left—neither physical strength nor magic power. I only had one shot.
I sprinted toward Ozma-san and threw a punch. As expected, he evaded it with ease. But that was exactly what I was waiting for. I used my remaining magic for Sympathy Magic, projecting my emotions directly at him. It was the same technique I had used to intervene in the fight between Chronoa-san and Ein-san.
I blasted him with my desperate determination not to lose. Caught off guard by the sudden mental intrusion, Ozma-san’s movements faltered for a fraction of a second. I lunged at him with everything I had.
This was a one-time trick. It wouldn't work again. Reach him!
Even with his delayed reaction, Ozma-san began to move out of the way. I reached out, stretching my fingers as far as they would go.
It was by the thinnest of margins—only my fingertips grazed him—but my hand definitely made contact with Ozma-san's body.
"Guh…!"
"Whoops, steady there."
As my legs gave out and I began to fall toward the ground, Ozma-san’s arms caught me, supporting my weight.
"Master! Are you all right!? Are you hurt?"
"Anima? I’m… I’m fine. Just a little worn out."
Leaning on Ozma-san, I managed a weak smile for Anima as she came rushing over. She let out a long sigh of relief.
"My, my. Well played. You got me."
"Thank… thank you very much."
"You look exhausted. You should rest here for a bit. I’ll bring the stamp over once you’ve recovered."
"…Thank you."
"In that case, I’ll go brew some coffee. Young lady, would you mind helping me carry the cups?"
"I will help."
Anima nodded at Ozma-san’s request. I sank down to the floor, leaning my back against the arena wall.
Dear Mother, Father—I managed to clear it, though it was by the skin of my teeth. My whole body is heavy with fatigue right now, but at the same time, I feel a real sense of accomplishment. It wasn't a bad feeling at all.
As they walked away from Kaito to prepare the coffee, Anima spoke to Ozma.
"…Why did you let him hit you at the end?"
"Hmm? Whatever do you mean?"
"Don't play innocent. I saw your expression. You were smiling when Master made his move."
"Hmm. You have sharp eyes."
Ozma let out a soft chuckle at Anima’s observation, his expression turning gentle.
"Like I told you, I’m the weakest of the Five War Generals. I’m just a softie, I guess. I’ve always had a weakness for kids who push themselves like that. I can't help but want to see them succeed."
"So, it was intentional?"
"Well, if Miyama-kun hadn't put in that much effort, I wouldn't have let him win. But I’ve never liked stories where someone gives their heart and soul to reach a goal, only to be shut down by a simple wall of talent. It was just a bit of self-indulgence on my part."
"…I see. Then you have my gratitude."
"No need for that. Instead, make sure you praise Miyama-kun. Tell him he did a good job."
"…I will."
"Good grief, youth is a wonderful thing. It’s enough to make me jealous. I’ve really turned into an old man… but I suppose being able to look fondly on a straightforward kid’s hard work is one of the few perks of growing old."
With those words, Ozma finally lit his cigarette and smiled peacefully.