After the preparations for the duel — weapons drawn and basic rules explained — Professor Rock finally raised his voice.
"Begin."
That single word was enough.
The air grew heavier the moment the sparring was authorized. Samael felt his body react before his mind could even form a plan. His heart pounded — not with fear, but with anticipation.
A hunger for movement.
Across from him, the Legacy adopted a proper stance. Trained. Elegant. Every step calculated, every breath controlled. His style was clean, refined — almost artistic.
Samael, on the other hand, didn't think about stance.
Didn't think about technique.
He simply moved.
He glanced at the Legacy's wooden sword… then at his own.
Slowly, Samael lowered it.
Not into a guard.
Not into an attacking stance.
It was strange. Almost careless. As if he had no intention of fighting "properly" at all.
Several students frowned in confusion.
"What is he doing…?" someone whispered.
Before anyone could answer, Samael charged.
He ran.
The Legacy reacted instantly, stepping forward and delivering a clean strike with his wooden sword, aiming for Samael's torso.
Samael didn't retreat.
He raised his own sword just enough to deflect the blow — and didn't stop there.
In the same motion, he threw his body forward and slammed his shoulder into his opponent's.
CRACK.
The dry sound echoed through the gym.
The Legacy staggered back, shocked by the impact. Samael lost his balance for a brief instant, feeling the collision ripple through his body — but he recovered far too quickly.
Too quickly for someone considered "weak."
That strange smile was still there.
The Legacy growled and rushed in again, swinging in anger.
That was when something no one expected happened.
Samael turned around.
And ran.
Not in desperate retreat.
Not in cowardly flight.
It was calculated.
Predatory.
A murmur spread through the class.
"Is he… running?"
"What the hell is that?"
As Samael sprinted across the gym, the Legacy hesitated — just for a second.
One second too long.
When rage finally took over, he charged after Samael, heavy steps pounding the floor, breathing ragged.
"You coward!" he shouted. "Fight like a man!"
Samael didn't answer.
He ran, feeling the air rush past his face, the sound of his footsteps echoing beneath him. There was something liberating about it — as if, for the first time, his body was exactly where it was supposed to be, doing exactly what it was meant to do.
Then he reached his destination.
A wall.
Lined with wooden swords, neatly arranged in racks.
Without slowing down, Samael grabbed one with his free hand. He twisted his body in the same motion, turned to face the Legacy charging toward him at full speed…
And threw.
The sword flew like a spear.
The Legacy tried to defend himself, but he was moving too fast — far too fast. His own momentum ruined his guard.
THUMP.
The sword struck his arm, tearing a grunt of pain from his throat.
"What the hell is this?" a student muttered, wide-eyed.
Leon, meanwhile, broke into a wide grin, eyes gleaming.
"How interesting…" he whispered.
Samael didn't stop.
A second sword was already in his hand.
Then a third.
One after another, the wooden blades cut through the air, forcing the Legacy to retreat, defend, stumble over his own rhythm. Each throw shattered a little more of his elegant posture. A little more of his trained confidence.
It wasn't beautiful.
It wasn't honorable.
But it worked.
And Samael… was having fun.
He wore the same expression as a child playing their favorite sport — bright eyes, loose smile, body in constant motion.
Unfortunately, the swords ran out.
The Legacy advanced again, steps heavy, rage burning in his eyes.
And Samael did the obvious thing.
He ran again.
"Are you kidding me?! He's running again?" someone complained.
"Hey… he's coming this way," another student said, alarmed.
"Looks like it," Leon murmured, completely absorbed, eyes shining like someone watching the greatest show of their life.
Samael charged straight into the crowd of students, sword in hand, that strange smile still on his face. The Legacy followed close behind, blind with rage.
Panic spread.
Students scattered, scrambling out of the way, unwilling to be swallowed by the fight.
But Samael wasn't fleeing.
He began to circle through them.
Sharp turns. Sudden shifts. Vanishing behind one body, reappearing behind another. The Legacy tried to keep up, but the battlefield had turned chaotic.
Then, in a quick and ruthless motion, Samael shoved a girl aside.
Not hard enough to hurt her — just enough to break the rhythm.
The Legacy instinctively dodged.
A mistake.
In combat, a single second was everything.
Samael seized it.
He slipped past two students, shifted his center of gravity, and attacked from an impossible angle. The Legacy realized too late — the wooden sword was already arcing toward him.
THUD.
The blow struck his side, knocking the air from his lungs.
The Legacy staggered, gasping.
Samael gave him no space.
He pressed forward relentlessly, delivering another heavy strike.
This time, the Legacy barely managed to block it.
Barely.
Samael followed with a low kick, aiming for the solar plexus.
The Legacy twisted aside, teeth clenched.
Finally, he regained some composure.
And Samael noticed.
In a direct confrontation, he could win…
But it would take too much effort.
So he did what he did best.
He ran.
"Stop running!" the Legacy yelled, voice shaking with rage. "Do you think fighting like this will let you survive in the Dream Realm?!"
Samael didn't answer.
"No wonder your father was accused of being a traitor!" the Legacy continued, furious — not because of the insult itself, but because that cowardly style was working.
That was unacceptable.
Blinded by anger, he charged again.
And ran straight into Professor Rock.
He hesitated.
A fatal mistake.
Samael had used the professor as a barricade.
In the next instant, he slipped around the obstacle and delivered a brutal strike to the Legacy's chest.
THUD.
The impact was solid.
Final.
The Legacy dropped to his knees.
The dojo fell into silence.
Scattered across the space, the students stared in disbelief:
The powerful Legacy, defeated…
And Samael standing before him — breathing hard, drenched in sweat, exhausted.
But still standing.
Victorious.