Grace turned toward the left side of the battlefield, where Irene stood engulfed in white flames while Elara and Mira pressed forward despite clear exhaustion.

Her teeth ground together.

She wanted to help, but her attention was split in too many directions.

Class S had arrived first. They had prepared the area. They had positioned themselves perfectly around the statue, giving them every possible advantage.

By all logic, they should have won already.

But nothing had gone right.

The rune planted on the statue.

Iris strained by backlash she should never have faced, slowing the process.

Class B fighting harder than expected – far harder than Elara’s inexperience should allow.

Luca pinned on the western side, unable to break free without exposing himself. 𝘧𝑟𝑒𝑒𝘸𝘦𝘣𝑛𝑜𝘷𝑒𝓁.𝘤𝘰𝓂

Freya’s loyalty uncertain, her movements just slightly off enough to raise questions Grace couldn’t afford to investigate right now.

Aura nowhere to be seen when Class S needed every advantage.

And worst of all, half of those problems felt deliberate.

Engineered.

As if someone had studied her plan, identified every weak point, and struck them all at once.

Had she been so predictable? She didn’t think so. She thought of the one man who could have been responsible for this, the one anomaly she hadn’t confronted.

Perhaps it was due to him being unfamiliar. Everyone else, she could handle. She knew them well. She’d written them.

Confronting an anomaly like Ronan?

Perhaps it was cowardice.

Grace narrowed her eyes as she pushed those thoughts to the side, ordering the support students to cast long range spells towards the students east who were getting too close.

If it were only Irene and Elara, Grace could handle it.

One problem was fine.

Take control, reinforce the left, stabilize the synchronization.

If it were leading Class S and managing the fight simultaneously, she could do that too.

Two problems at the same time wasn’t bad either.

But coordinating defenses against three classes, managing Iris’s recovery, watching for sabotage, tracking Luca’s situation, and now dealing with Freya stepping forward toward her own sister–

Too many variables.

Grace inhaled sharply and forced herself into motion, ignoring her growing headache.

Light magic flared around her hands as she began layering support spells across the battlefield. Class S students became stronger, faster.

Mana shields reinforced around Iris, stronger this time after the stunt the Mira girl had pulled.

Stamina recovery directed toward the outer defenders.

Communication threads threaded through her remaining squadrons so orders could reach them faster.

Her voice cut through the noise, sharp and clear.

"East! Regroup!"

Several Class S students hesitated, but most obeyed.

The formation tightened.

Grace moved toward the statue herself, positioning where she could see the widest stretch of battlefield while still supporting Iris.

Her mind raced through contingencies, backup plans, emergency responses.

Then, Grace sent out a final command to all the support students, a silent one that only they could hear through the use of a short distance communication artifact, almost like a radio.

If they wanted to win this, they would need to go all in.

After this war, she thought bitterly, I’m taking the longest bath in Academy history.

—

Elara watched the shift in Irene’s demeanor. The raw intensity drained from her frame as if a silent command from Grace had just been issued. Her white flames dimmed. Her stance loosened.

She took a step back.

Then Freya did the same, and both women took more defensive postures around the statue.

Elara blinked, confused.

Stalling would benefit them.

Iris had lost control for a moment because of Mira, and the synchronization faltered.

The flow remained unstable from the looks of it.

Class S should be desperate to finish, yet Irene and Freya weren’t pushing.

They weren’t capitalizing on Elara’s exhaustion or Mira’s near collapse.

They were just... waiting.

And then Elara saw it. The change.

Barriers rose around Iris.

Layered. Dense.

The support mages had abandoned every other task and funneled everything into protecting her.

Iris’s expression changed – no longer worried, no longer distracted by threats or incoming attacks – she looked focused. Utterly, entirely focused.

Her eyes closed.

Elara’s chest tightened.

They’re doing a last ditch effort to win.

Iris was trusting her classmates to shield her completely while she threw every ounce of concentration into stabilizing the dual-node flow alone. No defenses of her own. Just raw synchronization under perfect conditions.

All the support students were focused on defending Irene, even Freya and Irene.

Elara had a feeling she could break through those barriers if she used every last bit of mana she had into a final attack, but Freya would never let her do that.

It was the right play.

Elara hated that it was the right play, but she couldn’t deny it. And she hated it even more because she had thought for sure they had won.

But the thing that unsettled her most wasn’t the strategy.

It was the trust.

Iris’s eyes were closed.

She wasn’t watching for threats. She wasn’t even glancing toward Elara or Mira or anyone else who might break through.

She trusted them that much.

Was it because she knew this was their last chance ?

Elara’s gaze shifted to Mira, still kneeling, barely upright. They were both exhausted. Both running on fumes.

But they were still standing.

And then Freya stepped forward.

Directly in front of Elara.

Face to face.

Elara stiffened.

Freya’s expression was gentle.

Almost proud.

Her eyes swept over Elara slowly, taking in the burns on her skin, the torn uniform, the trembling hands – everything.

The older sister who always looked perfect smiled softly.

"I never expected you to look like such an effective leader."

The words were warm. Sincere, even.

Elara felt something twist inside her chest – a flicker of warmth, of recognition, of validation from the person she’d spent her entire life trying to measure up to. Her whole life being compared to.

She stepped on it immediately.

"Move," Elara said flatly.

Freya didn’t respond.

Just kept smiling.

Elara charged.

Her mana flared – what little remained – and she threw a direct strike toward Freya’s center.

Freya deflected it with ease.

Not with overwhelming force, nor with flashy technique.

Just precise positioning.

A slight shift of weight, a palm redirecting Elara’s momentum past her shoulder.

Like a teacher toying with their students.

Elara snarled and she tried again.

Freya blocked.

Again.

Dodged.

Again.

Blocked.

Every attack met with calm, measured defense. She wasn’t hurting her. She was just... holding her off.

Like she didn’t even need to hurt her to win.

Elara growled under her breath, frustration boiling over.

There’s no opening.

That’s what it looked like as Elara mindlessly attacked, angry. Angry at herself, at Freya, at Ronan.

Freya’s defense was seamless. And worse – Elara could tell Freya wasn’t even trying that hard.

She looked... patient.

And to add insult to it, she doesn’t even want to hurt me.

That thought stung.

Elara knew logically it wasn’t fair. She was injured. Low on mana. Fighting someone with more experience, better control, and no disadvantages.

But the comparison still arrived anyway.

She’s so far ahead, and I’m so–

From the corner of her eye, Elara noticed Mira struggling.

Irene had shifted to offense against her, and Mira was barely dodging. No counterattacks. Elara forced herself to refocus.

But then she noticed something.

Something she should have seen earlier.

Maybe she didn’t because she was tired.

Maybe because she didn’t think it was possible for Freya to make mistakes.

Maybe it was because she was so angry.

But despite what she thought, there were openings in Freya’s defense.

They were subtle, and if anyone looked from an outside view, it would look like Freya was defending perfectly.

But Elara could see the openings...

Her right side dipped too low when she blocked high, messing up her balance.

Her footwork left gaps that shouldn’t exist for someone of her skill.

And the way Freya was looking at her...

The openings weren’t mistakes.

Are they... invitations?