Fen stared at the glowing ODICIOS prompt hovering between him and Arga. The flush of humiliated rage on his face was now mixed with genuine, stuttering shock.
"You are initiating a formal challenge against a Noble Lord?" Fen sneered, his voice carrying enough volatile pitch that it echoed across the courtyard. "Are you genuinely this eager to have your circuit shattered?"
"Tap the prompt, Carault. Or are you going to decline a three-on-one advantage while everyone here is still staring at your leaking mana?"
It was a brutally effective corner. In the rigid, mana-based hierarchy of Odia-Prime, declining a heavily advantaged duel after your fundamental incompetence had just been publicly laid bare was social and institutional suicide.
Fen's hands shook with white-hot rage. "I will make sure you never cast again," he hissed, and violently tapped his wrist against the prompt.
His two vassals frantically did the same.
─────────────────────────────────────────────────────
[ ODICIOS / DUEL PROTOCOL — Confirmed ]
All participants acknowledged.
Barrier integrity : STABLE
Monitoring array : ACTIVE
[ BARRIER LOCKED ]
─────────────────────────────────────────────────────
A translucent hum of cyan energy rippled outward from the center of their confrontation. As the safety protocol engaged, a soft kinetic pulse gently swept Alya Pance Varine backward, pushing her safely past the twelve-meter boundary. She stumbled slightly, clumsily catching her heavy-framed glasses before they slipped off her nose, right as the barrier solidified and completely isolated Arga, Fen, and the two vassals inside.
The ambient noise of the courtyard was instantly muted behind the humming energy shield.
Beside me, sitting safely behind the thick, soundproof glass of the indoor Atrium lounge, Syevira finally looked up from her textbook.
Her amber eyes tracked the towering cyan dome, then moved to the lone boy standing casually against three upper-tier students who were already reaching to materialize their Shards.
"He just deliberately locked himself inside a twelve-meter cage against a three-point array, and he hasn't even bothered to summon a weapon," Syevira observed. Her voice was as flat and informational as a weather report. "That is either a profound death wish, or he already knows how this ends."
"He knows," I murmured, watching the unbadged boy stand perfectly still out on the grass. "And he is about to hand out free Credits to anyone smart enough to see it."
My ODICIOS interface chimed again.
─────────────────────────────────────────────────────
[ ODICIOS / BETTING — Duel #0014-D1 ]
BETTING WINDOW OPEN
Current odds — Challenger (Arga) : 1 : 12.0
Current odds — Respondents (Fen) : 1 : 1.1
[ Place bet ] [ View details ] [ Dismiss ] ─────────────────────────────────────────────────────
I stared at the translucent blue numbers hovering in my field of vision. The massive disparity in the multiplier was almost offensive.
But it could be better.
In the ODICIOS betting ecosystem, odds were dynamic. The payout multiplier was directly tied to the total Credits staked on the opposing side. If I wanted to maximize my return, I needed more people to blindly throw their money at the Noble Lord.
And right now, dozens of wealthy first-years and other upperclassmen were sitting inside this climate-controlled Atrium, entirely oblivious to the fact that a heavily disadvantaged duel had just been locked on the grass right outside the glass.
"The current multiplier is only one to twelve," I said, staring at the blue overlay.
Syevira did not look up from the courtyard. "A statistically absurd return for a guaranteed loss."
"It's only one to twelve because the people with the most disposable income are currently looking at their tea instead of the window."
Syevira paused. Her amber eyes shifted from the cyan dome to the oblivious groups of upper-tier students sitting at the nearby tables inside the lounge. She read the trajectory of my logic instantly.
"You are about to do something socially abrasive."
"I am about to perform a public service." I corrected.
I stood up from the stone bench.
I stepped away from Syevira's invisible isolation radius, moving toward the center of the indoor lounge. I did not scream. I did not hype the crowd. I simply projected my voice with the flat, unbothered cadence of an automated train station announcer.
"May I have your attention, please," I called out, my voice carrying cleanly across the quiet hum of the indoor conservatory.
The conversations at the nearby stone tables paused. Several dozen heads turned toward me.
For a second, there was only confusion. Then, the recognition set in. The whispers rippled through the lounge, sharp, immediate, and entirely unfiltered.
"Is that him? The one from the platform?"
"The Liar. The Reader called him a Liar three times!"
"I saw him in the northwest corridor! He's the lunatic who made a Haldia second-year drop to his knees!"
"Why is he covered in mud? Is that a fern?"
I ignored all of it. I had a multiplier to inflate.
"For those of you currently unaware," I stated smoothly, gesturing toward the massive glass wall behind me, "there is a formal 1v3 Duel Protocol active in the courtyard. Three armed Glyphron upper-tier students are currently facing a single commoner first-year."
Dozens of heads instinctively turned toward the glass. Through the thick, soundproof panes, the towering cyan dome was glowing unmistakably on the manicured grass outside.
"The ODICIOS betting window closes in approximately sixty seconds," I continued seamlessly. "For anyone interested in absolutely free, risk-free Credits, I strongly suggest you open your interfaces now. Thank you for your time."
I turned around, walked back to my seat next to Syevira, and sat down.
For two seconds, the indoor Atrium was completely torn between whispering about the 'Lunatic Liar' and processing the financial reminder he had just delivered.
Then, the collective realization of aristocratic greed kicked in.
The noise inside the lounge hit an absolute fever pitch. Chairs scraped violently against the stone floor as students rushed to the windows to get a better look at the trapped Haldia boy. The sound of wrists frantically tapping against terminals was deafening.
"He's right! Look outside! Put two hundred on the Glyphron side!"
"It's literally free money! The Haldia boy is dead meat!"
"I'm staking my entire month's stipend on Carault!"
I watched the glowing betting window. As hundreds of first-year students aggressively dumped their stipends onto the three Glyphron nobles, the odds began to violently shift in real-time.
1 : 18.5
1 : 28.0
1 : 42.5
Most of the first-year and other upperclassmen were blindly feeding my multiplier.
I looked at the remaining 122 Credits in my monthly stipend.
He is not the flawless mastermind I remember. But he is still the protagonist of this world. And the protagonist does not lose on Day One against three mob characters. I trust you, my money maker! Go make me rich!
I tapped my wrist against the interface.
─────────────────────────────────────────────────────
[ ODICIOS / BET CONFIRMED ]
Challenger : Arga OrlandoAmount bet : 122 CR [ ALL IN ]
Final odds locked at : 1 : 42.5
Potential return : 5,185 CR[ Payout on result confirmation ]─────────────────────────────────────────────────────
Beside me, Syevira did not return her gaze to her textbook. Instead, she quietly closed it, aligning the edges perfectly on the stone table as if deciding that the reality unfolding in front of her was currently far more absurd than academic theory.
She picked up the empty ceramic cup she had stolen from me. She didn't try to drink from it—there was nothing left. Instead, she slowly swirled the irregular chunks of melting ice at the bottom.
She didn't try to drink from it—there was nothing left. I stared at the empty cup.
It had been less than three minutes since she stole a massive, ice-filled beverage from my hands. From a purely thermodynamic and digestive standpoint, the speed at which she had consumed it was slightly terrifying.
The faint clink, clink of the ice against the ceramic was rhythmic and grounded.
"You just delivered a public service announcement to deliberately manipulate the student body's financial ecosystem and inflate a payout multiplier," she observed, her amber eyes tracking the frantic, greedy upper-tier students crowding the glass. "And then wagered your entire monthly stipend on an unbadged student facing a three-to-one disadvantage."
"I am aggressively budgeting," I replied, tapping my wrist to dismiss the interface.
"That is not budgeting," she said, the ice clinking softly as she swirled the cup. "That is financial suicide."
"He is going to win."
Syevira finally turned her head. Her amber eyes weighed my absolute, irrational certainty against the visible reality of the lone, exhausted boy inside the barrier out on the grass. "Based on what data?"
"Based on the fact that I really need the money," I said. I gestured faintly toward the glass window. "If you want to fund any future experiences with processed sugar this month, put your money on him."
She looked down at the empty cup in her hands. For a fraction of a second, a silent calculation ran through her eyes. Then, her composure smoothed over.
"I do not gamble on statistical anomalies," she murmured.
"Your loss," I replied, turning my attention back to the cyan dome outside.
Inside the twelve-meter isolation field, the ambient noise of the courtyard had vanished entirely, replaced by the heavy, suffocating hum of Odic Circuits flaring to life.
The system's voice echoed through the Atrium, cold and absolute, as the final constraint lifted.
[ Weapon inventory access : UNLOCKED for all participants ].
Fen raised his left hand. A Shard materialized over his right shoulder—a flawless, silver-encased Grade II crystal that hummed with a pale, arrogant light. Through the connection of his materialized Shard, he reached into the empty air of his pocket space and drew a sleek, silver-coated rapier.
His two vassals summoned their own Shards—standard-issue Gate-Needles that flickered with sharp, anxious energy—as they drew standard Odic Gear Weapons and fanned out.
Arga Orlando let out a slow, heavy breath.
He didn't summon a pristine, expensive crystal. His Shard materialized directly behind his head—a jagged, unpolished fragment that burned with the dull, heavy, immovable light of a dying star.
With his Shard anchoring the space, Arga reached into the air and pulled out a battered, heavy Odic Gear broadsword that looked like it had survived a war.
"Participants, take your positions," the system announced.
The ODICIOS interface flared across the inner dome, projecting the final parameters not just to the combatants, but broadcasting them to the spectator ring outside.
─────────────────────────────────────────────────────
[ DUEL PROTOCOL — PARAMETERS LOCKED ] Victory Conditions:
Victory Conditions:
• Depletion of opponent's Composite Vitality Index (CVI) below safety threshold.
• Explicit surrender via verbal or digital YIELD command.
• Duration Limit Expiration: ODICIOS calculates and designates the victor based on final CVI standing.
[ ⚠ WARNING ] A submitted YIELD is absolute. Any offensive action taken after a YIELD is registered constitutes a Class-A conduct violation. ─────────────────────────────────────────────────────
The three Glyphron students took a calculated triangular offensive stance, their Odic Veins beginning to glow faintly beneath their skin. Arga simply planted his boots into the grass, resting the heavy broadsword against his shoulder.
The ODICIOS interface pulsed one final time.
[ Barrier integrity : STABLE ][ Monitoring array : ACTIVE ][ Duel begins in: ]
"Three."
The hum of the cyan barrier deepened, locking the isolation field into the earth.
"Two."
Fen's rapier flared with a pale silver-white Vein-light, the mana condensing sharply along the edge.
"One."
"Begin".
As the system's cold voice echoed across the courtyard, a completely different, much more grounded kind of horror finally pierced through my compartmentalization.
It was no longer about the overarching plot. It wasn't about the script or the narrative trajectory of this world.
It was about the fact that I currently had exactly zero Credits left to my name.
My F-Rank circuit was actively cannibalizing my physical reserves just to keep the toxic anomaly residue from crystallizing my lungs. My survival in this Academy required a massive, daily caloric intake—and I had just wagered my entire food budget for the month on a profoundly exhausted boy wielding a piece of rusted scrap metal against three fully armed aristocrats.
If Arga Orlando lost this duel, my meta-knowledge wouldn't matter. I wasn't going to die to a cosmic entity, a villainous plot, or a narrative glitch. I was going to literally starve to death in the East Tower by next day.
So, you'd better not lose, Protagonist!