"Not exactly," Haruki replied to Julis's comment with a blunt, humble tone. "The Phoenix Festa requires teams of two. If you don't partner with me, I don't have the legal standing to enter the tournament. Legally, I'm stuck without you."
"So you're saying you can't even start the game without me?" Julis asked, a smirk playing on her lips.
"In a strictly technical sense, yes."
"You really don't hold back with that tongue of yours..."
In the past, Haruki's cold attitude would have sent Julis into a literal red-hot rage, demanding a duel on the spot. But after the incident with Silas—witnessing the overwhelming, almost alien power Haruki possessed—her perspective had shifted. She had developed a high tolerance for his bluntness. In fact, she had even started asking him for advice on her own combat techniques.
It was clear Julis had realized Haruki was on a level far beyond her own. Or perhaps, her growing fondness for him was simply making his coldness easier to swallow.
While Haruki suppressed Julis during their sparring sessions, he was secretly a student of her flames. He had been on the verge of mastering the Fire Fluctuation for a long time, but he lacked the catalyst to bridge the gap. Watching Julis manipulate her mana provided that missing link. He used their sessions to deconstruct her rhythm, seeking the pinnacle of the "Wave" path.
"Again!"
Haruki's eyes burned with an intense light. He looked ready to spar until dawn.
Julis, however, was reaching her limit. While she was a princess with a strong will and plenty of stamina, she wasn't a "training ghost" like Haruki. Sparring for an hour or two was one thing; a week of near-constant combat was a psychological and physical grind she wasn't prepared for.
She stood up anyway, gripping her Lux. She had promised to be his partner, and she wouldn't back down. But the moment she braced her legs, the world went dark. Her consciousness slipped, and her body collapsed forward.
"Julis?!"
Haruki caught her before she hit the floor. He checked her vitals and realized she had simply passed out from exhaustion. For the first time in a while, Haruki felt a twinge of guilt. He realized that his standard for "training" was a death sentence for a normal human.
He carried her to the school infirmary. After asking the nurse to look after her, he headed back to the training grounds. If he couldn't spar with her, he would continue his solo cultivation of the fire element.
By now, he could manifest large-scale flames just like Julis or Stella, but his ability had two flaws. First, his range was smaller than Stella's raw explosions. Second, his fine-tuned control wasn't as precise as Julis's.
To most, being "the middle ground" between two legends would be an achievement. To Haruki Aizawa, it was a failure. He sought a state where he was the strongest in both categories—a master without a single crack in his armor.
With Julis resting, Haruki spent the morning alone on the training field.
RUMBLE!
He concentrated energy into his palm, visualizing the vibration of heat. The moment he snapped his wrist, the air ignited.
"Explosive Wave Sword!"
A tide of scorching flames erupted from his hand, slamming into the training arena's energy barrier. The heat was immense, lingering for several seconds before dissipating into mana particles.
If Julis had seen it, she would have been speechless. She wouldn't have believed a "pure" swordsman could manifest such high-level elemental magic. But to Haruki, it still felt "thin." He continued to search for the weight behind the heat, practicing until the sun reached its zenith.
Eventually, hunger forced him to stop. He headed toward the academy cafeteria.
It was mid-July, and the heat of summer was reaching its peak. The Phoenix Festa was less than a month away. Haruki walked through the corridors between the middle school and high school wings, his mind occupied with tactical theories.
Suddenly, his Sense of Fluctuation flared.
A pedestrian was approaching from a blind spot behind a massive pillar. They were moving at an incredible speed, and more importantly, their footsteps were entirely silent. Haruki only noticed them at the last millisecond. To avoid a collision, he pivoted to the left.
Whoosh.
To his surprise, the stranger pivoted to the same side at the exact same moment.
Haruki frowned and darted to the right.
The stranger mirrored him again.
It was an impossible "coincidence." If they didn't stop, they would slam into each other. Haruki reacted with a burst of speed, channeling power into his legs and leaping high into the air to clear the path.
But as he reached the apex of his jump, he found himself staring directly into a girl's face.
She had leaped at the exact same time, with the exact same force.
What is this? Haruki wondered. An assassin?
He looked at the girl. She seemed just as shocked as he was. Realizing she was about to crash into him mid-air, she panicked and tried to abort her momentum. This caused her to lose her balance, and she began to fall uncontrollably toward the hard tile floor.
Haruki realized she wasn't an attacker—no professional assassin would be this clumsy in the air. He reached out and caught her, pulling her into his arms and landing gracefully.
"Ah!"
The girl let out a soft gasp. She looked up at Haruki, her face a mix of confusion and embarrassment.
"Are you alright?" Haruki asked.
"Y-Yes... I'm fine," she whispered, a shy smile touching her lips. "Um... could you... put me down now?"
"Of course."
Haruki set her on her feet. Now that they were standing, he could see her clearly. She looked like a middle schooler, wearing the junior high uniform. She had shimmering silver hair tied into twin-tails and wide, watery eyes. She was an undeniable beauty, radiating a fragile, doll-like aura.
However, as she hurriedly smoothed her skirt and clutched her arms around herself, Haruki's gaze didn't linger on her face. It fixed on the long, ancient-looking blade hanging from her waist.
It was a physical sword, not a Lux. And based on the wear on the hilt and the way it hummed with a faint, residual "Sword Intent," Haruki knew it was a blade that saw daily use.
Furthermore, her earlier movements—the silent walking, the mirrored reactions—weren't accidents. They were the result of high-level martial training.
Haruki felt a surge of excitement. After months of dealing with magic-users and tech-heads, he had finally found a genuine practitioner of the Way.
"You're a student here, but you've clearly spent a lot of time developing yourself," Haruki said, his voice full of genuine respect for her skill.
"Um...?"
The silver-haired girl looked at Haruki, and her expression immediately shifted to one of wariness. She took two steps back, looking at him as if he were a dangerous creep.
She had completely misinterpreted his comment.
Haruki was a "battle junkie." When he said she was "well-developed," he meant her swordsmanship fundamentals, her muscle memory, and her spiritual growth. But the girl—who happened to be quite physically endowed for her age—assumed he was making a crude comment about her body.
Haruki, oblivious to the social minefield, continued to size her up.
"You're from the middle school, right?" Haruki asked, his eyes burning with the desire for a challenge. "For someone so young, your 'foundation' is remarkably solid. It's rare to see that level of growth."
"T-That... uh..." The girl's face turned a shade of purple-red. She clutched her chest, her eyes filling with tears of indignation. To her, Haruki Aizawa had just confirmed he was a predatory pervert with a "little sister" fetish.
Haruki, still thinking only of the blade, took a step closer. He wanted to know her lineage. "Tell me your name. If you have the time, I'd like to go somewhere private where no one will disturb us. I want to interact with you deeply."
A private place?! "Interact deeply"?!
"PERVERT!!" the girl shrieked.
She didn't wait for an explanation. She reached for the hilt of her sword, her aura exploding with a sharp, icy killing intent that even surprised Haruki.
The Sword Ghost had finally found a fellow swordsman—but he had accidentally branded himself as the academy's biggest creep in the process.
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