The door opened with a timid creak, as if someone were trying to sneak in, and the uncertain steps gave away no intent to hide. A late evening breeze slipped through the narrow opening.

The day I first met you is still so vivid in my memory. If I had to put it into words, I could recount every small gesture of yours, the changing expressions on your face, even the dusk settling over the training grounds, down to the very last detail. If I were to capture it in a painting, I could render each strand of your flowing hair, even the long shadow cast by the scarecrow.

“Still training?”

That’s how you spoke to me. My heart raced, though I didn’t show it. A fleeting smile passed over your face, full of curiosity. From that moment, you became etched in my memory with that smile.

For the first time, the steps my teacher taught me felt slow. Even the pace of the wind seemed stifling. Faster, faster. I wanted to move faster than the wind rushing through the alleys.

Like an arrow piercing the sky, Maxime threw himself into the skies above the capital. His jet-black hair, under the guise of Arsen Bern, fluttered like raven feathers. The cold winter air filled his lungs and escaped once again, feeling like a snowstorm coursing through his veins. His entire body, from head to toe, was fully immersed in this sensation.

“Maxi.”

I remember the nickname you used to call me. Your voice was light, with a playful undertone, landing on my ears like a snowflake. Whenever your hand rested atop mine, even though I never said it out loud, I was overwhelmingly happy. That warm sensation… I can no longer feel it, no matter how tightly I clench my fists. The memory of you, which I thought would fade, remains vivid, etched into me along with the pain.

“Where should we go tomorrow?”

I remember when you tied us together with the word "we." I don’t know why I felt so shy about that simple word back then. “We” didn’t make you a stranger. With no barriers, no lines, I became you, and you became me.

“After we graduate, where would you like to go?”

I remember when we talked about the future with such ease. We were young, and we were optimistic that we had far more time ahead of us together than the time we’d spent so far. We imagined tomorrow, the day after, next month, even next year.

The distance blurred. Unlike yesterday, the sky was now thick with gray clouds, resembling the color of your eyes. Not that your eyes looked like the clouds; rather, it was the clouds that mirrored your eyes. Maxime stomped forward. As he soared and descended, the breath escaping his lips painted faint lines, like a lingering afterimage.

“Let’s break up.”

The words I should never have said to you. Even as I said them, I wanted to tear my own mouth apart. The thought that it should have really ended there was a lie. I didn’t want it to end. I wanted us to keep looking in the same direction, for our futures to always align. At the very least, it shouldn’t have ended that way.

Maxime caught sight of the edge of the coliseum. He quickened his pace. He was getting closer to you. Not just physically, but truly moving closer to you.

People’s gazes converged on him. Maxime, like an arrow fired from a bow, was returning to the coliseum. The murmuring voices grew louder. The guards were strictly controlling the crowd. They pushed people aside. One guard tried to stop the knight flying toward the coliseum’s entrance at breakneck speed.

“Hold on-!” “The finals... I'm not too late, am I?”

The knight, recognizing Arsen’s face, nodded quickly.

“Please, hurry inside! There's not much time left. Where on earth were you until now?”

The crowd’s murmurs spread like wildfire upon hearing the guard’s words. Maxime entered through the coliseum’s main gate without stopping. Along the way, some staff members tried to halt him in surprise, but they had neither the reason nor the strength to stop Maxime, who shoved them aside. They could only look at him in bewilderment, unable to comprehend how he’d made it back.

Maxime dashed past them, heading down the corridor to the waiting room. He saw the door leading to the waiting room. Beyond it, you were waiting. Standing by the door opposite me, you were there, waiting for me.

Without hesitation, Maxime opened the door to the waiting room, gripping Baek-Ah’s hilt.

There was no "next" for us. Our paths, once united as "we," had split back into "you and me." And yet, I still wanted to see the next. Even if it was forced. If the path had already broken, I’d pull at both ends to try and reconnect it. Just because I wanted to see it so badly.

I’m coming to meet you.

The Coliseum, spectator seats.

The audience gathered to watch the finals expressed their impatience, glancing at the judge still waiting on the field.

“The finals should be starting by now, but the other competitor hasn’t shown up yet?” “Do you think he’ll forfeit like in the semifinals? If he can’t make it on time… he’ll be disqualified automatically.”

Charlotte closed her mouth, anxiously watching the judge keeping track of the time. Beside her, Christine looked almost pale, as if she might collapse at any moment. Charlotte worriedly placed a hand on Christine’s knee, trying to reassure her.

“Christine….” “He’ll make it. Senior will make it.”

Christine forced a smile, trying to appear unaffected. She was the one hoping for Arsen’s arrival the most, so Charlotte said nothing more and simply waited with her.

“Arsen.”

Louis murmured his name quietly, clenching his teeth. His mentor had always exceeded expectations, but this time, he couldn’t afford to be optimistic.

“…He’s not showing up.”

First Princess Michelle spoke in a voice tinged with disappointment. In the end, it wasn’t her knights who made it to the finals, but Louis’s. Marion, sitting beside Michelle, shook her head.

“Sir Arsen will be here.”

Michelle looked at Marion with curiosity. How long had it been since Marion expressed her own opinion like this? Though Marion’s blue eyes remained fixed on the coliseum, they shone with a resolute faith.

“How unexpected, to hear such words from you. Do you know that knight personally?” “…Yes. And Sir Arsen has always repaid the trust placed in him.”

“Did it not occur to you that there might be interference?”

Marion’s gaze wavered slightly, but her determination didn’t falter. There were times, while speaking, when her eyes took on a look of unwavering conviction, as if steeling herself for something. Michelle sometimes envied that strength in her.

“Even so, I want to believe in him.”

“The 120th Martial Tournament Finals—competitors, enter!!”

The judge’s voice boomed. The crowd murmured, unaware that Arsen had arrived, spreading a restless tension about whether the final might end in a forfeit.

“Theodora Bening of the Crow Knights!!”

Setting aside the forfeit, those supporting Theodora cheered and chanted her name fervently. Her face, however, wasn’t particularly bright as she walked slowly to the center of the arena with an empty expression.

“And—! Arsen Bern of the Second Guard!”

The crowd, who had been cheering moments before, fell silent. Even though the judge raised his voice, Arsen showed no sign of entering. The judge, too, subtly glanced toward the entrance where Arsen was supposed to appear. It remained quiet.

So, it would proceed as they’d prepared, without any announcement of his withdrawal.

The judge furrowed his brows as the crowd murmured. The official, who should’ve stepped in to announce Arsen’s disqualification, remained absent, as if something unusual had happened.

The entire coliseum fell silent, seemingly waiting for Arsen. When people began whispering again, unable to bear the quiet, the door to the waiting room burst open.

“Huh?” “He’s coming! It wasn’t a forfeit!” “Then why is he arriving so late?” “I don’t know, as long as he’s not forfeiting!”

The crowd’s confusion soon turned to excitement. Footsteps echoed from the other side of the waiting room. Arsen Bern, his black hair disheveled, stepped into the arena. Had he been caught in a snowstorm? Although his breathing was steady, he looked a mess. With the finals about to proceed as planned instead of ending in a forfeit, the crowd erupted in cheers.

The judge swallowed nervously as he watched Arsen’s entrance. Arsen paid no attention to the judge, his focus solely on his opponent. The judge cleared his throat, spread his arms wide, and declared,

“Competitors, ready!”

Seeing that face, Maxime’s mind emptied. The memories of the past, which had been flooding his thoughts, were powerless before those storm-gray eyes fixed on him. Maxime, responding to the judge’s command, drew Baek-Ah. Theodora looked at him with a strangely relieved expression. In her hand, Black Wolf was already drawn, letting out a low growl.

“I thought you wouldn’t show up.”

Theodora would fight with all her might. Maxime could sense this as he looked at her, feeling grateful that he had made it in time. His mouth curled into a faint smile, though it was more bitter and awkward than he remembered.

“…You made it through the rounds.”

They hadn’t made any foolish promises to meet in the finals. When they’d met briefly in the workshop, all they’d exchanged were a few words of encouragement for the next match. But Maxime had taken those words as a promise to meet in the finals. Raising a slight smile, he asked,

“Did you think I wouldn’t make it?”

“Well, if I’m going to win, I’d rather not do it by forfeit.”

Theodora’s words were not a joke. Whatever Duke Bening had told her, she was determined to win. Likely, it was the weight of having prevented Dennis’s death that bore down on her shoulders.

“Yes, that’s true.”

Theodora composed herself, her aura unraveling like a thread. The arena seemed to be consumed by her mana-infused presence. Just standing face to face, Maxime could feel she was stronger than before.

But I won’t be easy either, Theodora.

The wind blew. Maxime blended with the environment that Theodora couldn’t control. The overcast sky, the air thick with moisture, and the solidified ground all became his allies. Theodora’s eyes widened slightly, as if surprised by Maxime’s resilience.

Maxime chuckled softly at her reaction.

Come to think of it, we once crossed swords like this. Three years ago, when I first met you. When I still wore the same black uniform. Back then, your gaze had been a storm of longing, disdain, and regret. You couldn’t bring yourself to expel me, only demote me from vice-commander. Your gaze back then, through the falling rain, had been as sharp as a dagger.

Seeing Maxime’s smile, Theodora furrowed her brows, as if she intended to retaliate against Arsen’s mockery. Her aura grew even fiercer.

Baek-Ah let out a low hum. If Baek-Ah’s sound was like a distant northern song, Black Wolf’s cry opposite was a fierce, lonely howl of a beast. The two swords resonated, producing a strange harmony.

“I will win.”

To Maxime’s words, Theodora nodded.

“Then you’d better be prepared.”

Prepared? Not everything in life could be settled with mere resolve. Maxime smiled bitterly again. But without that resolve, there would be nothing left but to be swept away.

“As much as I need.”

The judge, sweating from the mounting tension, dropped his raised arms, igniting the fuse.

“The match, begin!!”

A tremendous cheer erupted. Maxime didn’t hesitate and charged first. Theodora simply stood, watching him to see how he would attack. His sword sliced through the air, closing in on her.

The clash of their swords resonated differently. Looking at her sword deflecting his, Maxime felt it again—he knew, but he could feel just how strong she had become.

So, you’re just observing how I’ll approach this.

Maxime’s mouth lifted in a slight smile. Thinking back, he’d been truly pathetic that day. On a rainy early summer day, you waited for aura to rise from my sword. And when your sword finally emitted its own aura, I fell to the ground, tears in my eyes.

How about now, Theodora?

It won’t be aura, but maybe I can give you a different feeling this time.

Maxime’s sword left afterimages. The rapid strikes surprised Theodora, her eyes widening. Silently, Baek-Ah’s blade met hers.

Clang-!

Maxime’s sword slid off, and Theodora swung her sword in response. Her strikes came with an odd rhythm, each slash trying to overpower him. The expression on her face became peculiar as she countered his attacks, seemingly trying to shake off the intent in his strikes.

Theodora attempted large motions, trying to brush off his blade, but Maxime didn’t allow her to complete her movements. When she raised her sword to bring it down, he blocked it; when she swung her arm wide to push him back, he intercepted with a strike.

Memories surfaced from a distant time—a clash in the rain during early summer, back when they’d been evenly matched at the academy’s training grounds, their blades crossing as equals.

With each spark their swords sent into the air, Theodora’s expression wavered. Maxime’s strikes didn’t slow down; they kept coming. He could feel her mana growing thicker. As the uncertain probing of Black Wolf’s strikes grew blurred, blending with Baek-Ah’s path, her aura surged even stronger.

“No…”

He heard her mutter. The white and black blades intertwined in mid-air and froze.

Then,

Boom-!

A massive explosion of mana occurred. Maxime was thrown back, skidding across the ground and leaving a long trail. White, thick dust billowed up. As the dust settled, Maxime saw a platinum mist rising before him. Catching his breath, he looked upon Theodora.

Her face, draped in aura over Black Wolf, was twisted in confusion, as if she were on the verge of tears.