News didn't spread.
It ignited.
By the time Riser stepped back onto the training grounds—
People were already there.
Not gathered.
Not officially.
But waiting.
Clusters of students.
Watching.
Talking quietly.
Eyes shifting the moment he appeared.
"…That was fast," he muttered.
Lyra walked beside him, arms crossed.
"…You expected subtle?"
"…I hoped for it."
"…Wrong place."
Riser exhaled lightly.
Because this—
This was exactly what Ravel meant.
Not noise.
Attention.
Focused.
Measured.
Watching him—
Not as a joke.
Not as background.
As something worth evaluating.
"…Yeah," he said quietly.
"…This is different."
Lyra glanced at him.
"…Still want to do this?"
He smirked faintly.
"…Now I definitely do."
They stepped onto the field.
The shift was immediate.
Conversations died.
Movement slowed.
Eyes locked in.
No announcement.
No signal.
Just—
Expectation.
Lyra stopped a few steps ahead.
Turned.
"…You sure about this?"
Riser rolled his shoulders once.
"…You're still asking?"
She sighed.
"…Don't make me regret it."
"…No promises."
A few people in the crowd laughed quietly.
Good.
That meant tension—
Not hostility.
Ravel stood off to the side.
Watching.
Silent.
Not participating.
But controlling the situation—
Just by being there.
Riser noticed.
Of course he did.
"…Nice setup," he muttered under his breath.
Lyra took a step back.
Lowered her stance slightly.
"…Same rules."
"…No killing?"
"…Preferably."
"…Comforting."
A faint smirk touched her lips.
"…Don't fall behind."
"…Wouldn't dream of it."
Silence.
Then—
They moved.
No signal.
No countdown.
Just like before.
But this time—
Everyone was watching.
Lyra moved first.
Fast.
Clean.
Direct.
Her strike came toward his center.
Riser didn't rush.
Didn't react late.
He stepped—
Shifted—
Redirected.
The strike grazed past.
A murmur spread through the crowd.
"…He read that."
"…That was clean."
Lyra's eyes flickered slightly.
"…Better."
"…I've been practicing."
She didn't slow.
Second strike—
Sharper.
Riser met it.
Blocked—
Not perfectly—
But controlled.
The impact pushed him back half a step.
But—
He didn't lose balance.
Didn't break stance.
"…Good," she muttered.
They clashed again.
Faster now.
Strike—
Counter—
Shift—
Step—
This time—
Riser wasn't chasing her movement.
He was reading it.
Matching it.
Not fully equal—
Not yet—
But close enough—
That it mattered.
From the sidelines—
"…He's keeping up."
"…Not just surviving."
"…He's thinking."
Ravel didn't react.
But her eyes—
Sharpened slightly.
Lyra stepped in closer.
Reducing distance.
Testing pressure.
Riser adjusted.
Didn't retreat.
Held position.
Their movements tightened.
Faster.
Cleaner.
More precise.
Lyra's hand shot forward—
Riser caught it.
Not clean.
Not perfect.
But enough.
The same moment—
As before.
A brief freeze.
Their eyes met.
But this time—
No hesitation.
Lyra twisted—
Breaking free instantly—
But—
Riser moved with it.
Adjusted mid-motion—
And countered.
A strike—
Stopping just short of her shoulder.
Silence.
The crowd—
Not loud—
But—
Focused.
"…He got in."
"…That wasn't luck."
Lyra glanced at his hand.
Then back at him.
"…You're not holding back anymore."
"…Neither are you."
A faint pause.
Then—
They both stepped back.
Reset.
No one spoke.
Because this—
Wasn't about winning.
It was about showing.
Lyra moved again.
Faster this time.
No testing.
No probing.
Direct engagement.
Riser didn't hesitate.
He stepped forward—
Met her head-on.
Their movements collided—
Not perfectly equal—
But synchronized.
Not planned.
Natural.
The rhythm—
Matched.
Strike—
Block—
Counter—
Flow.
For a moment—
They weren't two fighters.
They were—
Aligned.
The crowd felt it.
"…That's different."
"…They're in sync."
Ravel's gaze sharpened.
Because that—
Wasn't something you could fake.
Lyra broke the rhythm first.
A sharp push—
Creating distance.
Riser slid back slightly—
But didn't fall.
Didn't lose footing.
Still standing.
Still steady.
Silence.
Then—
Lyra exhaled softly.
"…That's enough."
A few people blinked.
"…That's it?"
"…Already?"
Riser raised an eyebrow.
"…Passing me again?"
Lyra smirked faintly.
"…Something like that."
She turned slightly—
Facing the crowd now.
"…He's improved."
Direct.
Clear.
No exaggeration.
No hype.
Just—
Statement.
That carried weight.
Because it came from her.
Riser exhaled quietly.
"…That works."
From the sidelines—
Whispers started again.
"…She acknowledged him."
"…That's not small."
"…He's not just noise anymore."
Ravel stepped forward slightly.
Just enough.
To be seen.
"…That concludes it," she said calmly.
Her voice—
Didn't need to be loud.
It carried anyway.
"…Training is over."
Simple.
Controlled.
Final.
People started to disperse.
But slower than usual.
Because now—
They had something to think about.
Something to watch.
Something—
Defined.
Riser rolled his shoulders once.
"…Well."
Lyra glanced at him.
"…You didn't embarrass yourself."
"…High praise."
"…Don't get used to it."
He smirked.
"…Too late."
Ravel approached them.
"…Good."
Short.
Direct.
Effective.
Riser nodded.
"…That enough?"
She met his gaze.
"…For now."
A pause.
Then—
"…They'll start coming."
"…Who?"
"…The ones who matter."
Silence.
Riser exhaled slowly.
"…Yeah."
Because this—
Was just the beginning.
The real part—
Hadn't even started yet.