"What just happened?"

"I swear I watched the first year lose."

Surprise was evident in the voices of the crowd as they looked down the arena. Standing tall with a grin on his face, even though the side of his lips was dripping blood, was Devon.

Laying on the arena floor, knocked out cold with the bell slowly disintegrating behind him, was Andrew.

The announcer seemed to hesitate before announcing, "winner, Devon Zuberi from the first year."

The crowd was completely silent, with only one thought passing through their minds,

What the hell just happened?

***

[A few minutes back]

Andrew watched as Devon closed his eyes, and he was sure this was over. After all, his opponent seemed to have already given up fighting.

He surrendered.

But Andrew wasn't about to allow that. The first year had to learn his place before this fight ended, and he was fully intended on making sure he did.

"Stay down," Andrew said, throwing a punch towards Devon.

But inside Devon's head, something clicked.

"…nah," Devon muttered. "That ain't how this ends."

Since the bell was preventing him from seeing Andrew's incoming attacks, he stopped trying to.

The Bellshot technique relied on desyncing perception, messing with SE flow, disrupting timing, forcing the opponent to react to lies.

But Devon's clan technique wasn't reaction-based.

It never had been.

It was a technique that the Demoness had somehow been able to learn and teach to Devon, even though it was supposed to remain a secret.

According to her, in order to full master the technique, he had to master anticipation and since there are opponents like the bells, Devon had to learn to anticipate with his everything.

Right now, he was only relying on his eyes, which evidently wasn't working so he changed tactics.

He abandoned his eyes and relied on all other senses.

He could feel the punch closing in, but he did nothing. He two fake punches pass through him, but the moment the third landed, Devon's eyes snapped open.

"Gotcha." He said with a grin as he grabbed Andrew's, the real one's, combat suit.

He could feel the energy flowing through his body, determined to wreck it, but Devon didn't allow it to.

Instead he redirect all of it into his left arm, then his hand, before he unleashed it all into Andrew's stomach.

Andrew let out a wheeze as his vision went completely white and a ringing was heard in his ears.

But Devon wasn't done yet.

Before Andrew had the chance to recover, he slammed another fist into his stomach, over and over again.

The crowd was shocked at the sudden switch of advantages as Devon slammed his fist over and over into Andrew, who, at this point, was swimming between unconsciousness and back.

Devon wound his fist all the way back, pouring as much SE into his Gauntlet as possible before attacking, this time, letting go of Andrew's shirt.

The punch caused him to be launched backwards, slamming into the bell behind him.

Although the sound disoriented Devon a little, he continued standing still, waiting for Andrew to get up again.

But he didn't.

The bell behind him slowly faded into motes of light indicating that SE transfer to it had been cut off.

The crowd was completely silent before they erupted in a wave of questions, as they were all in disbelief.

The announcer seemed to hesitate for a short while before Declaring Devon the winner as he finally opened his eyes and showed a grin.

The first years immediately broke out in cheers as they finally registered the fact that a first year had won against a second.

The cheers from the first years rolled through the arena like a delayed shockwave.

They jumped to their feet, shouting Devon's name, some screaming themselves hoarse as if they'd just witnessed a miracle—which, to them, they had.

"HE WON!" "A FIRST YEAR WON!" "DID YOU SEE THAT?!"

Second years, on the other hand, were far less enthusiastic.

Some stared at the arena floor in stunned silence. Others looked toward the VIP section, hoping—expecting—someone to explain what they'd just seen.

Andrew Bellshot lay unmoving.

Medics were already rushing in, sliding under the barrier as the announcer cleared his throat again.

"Medical team, proceed," he said, voice steadier now. "The winner advances."

Devon exhaled slowly, the adrenaline finally draining from his limbs. His shoulders sagged just a little, though the grin never left his face.

"…damn," he muttered under his breath. "Ain't gon' lie… that hurt."

He flexed his left hand as it slightly trembled.

***

In the VIP section, the Bellshot patriarch's expression had hardened.

The smile from earlier was gone, replaced by a thin, unreadable line.

"…he redirected it," one noble muttered.

"Impossible. That level of control—"

"—for a first year?" another scoffed weakly.

Nathaniel Burns leaned back in his seat, fingers steepled.

"Interesting," he repeated, eyes never leaving Devon.

"Very interesting."

It seemed the people his brother surrounded himself with were a bunch of freaks, especially after being trained personally by Ascended Dawn.

Nathaniel smiled faintly.

"That boy's dangerous."

On the arena floor, Devon glanced at Andrew one last time as the medics lifted him onto a stretcher.

***

"…you fight dirty, man," Devon said softly, "but I ain't gonna lie, you're hella strong."

With that, he walked off the arena, but not before shouting,

"Yo Cass, be sure to go all in on yo boys aight."

And just like that, he walked away, leaving Cass to sigh and just stand up, intending to go to the mini betting booth, setup by the students themselves.

It was allowed because it was seen as harmless.

"How much would you like to stake?" The one manning the bet said.

"Ten thousand credits on first year Nox and the same for first year Devon." The student paused, looked up at Cass, immediately recognizing him so he asked no questions as he placed the bet.

***

Back in the waiting room, Devon walked in with a grin before turning to Nox, "told you I'd kick some ass."

Most of the second years were now looking at him different.

He then turned to to the third year female student from before and smiled, "you impressed."

"A bit," she replied with a smile.

"Bet," he muttered, "let's get you fully impressed."

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