Two more students stepped forward,A young man and a young woman.
The young man was tall, slender, with long black hair tied in a ponytail. He wore the uniform but had removed his robe, leaving a simple black shirt and his arms covered in old bandages.
The young woman was slightly shorter, with curly red hair falling over her shoulders. She wore the full uniform but had rolled up her sleeves. Her green eyes were sharp, and her face expressed quiet confidence.
They stood in the center of the courtyard, facing each other.
No one spoke. Neither greeted the other. They simply looked at each other.
Then the fight began.
*********
The young man moved first.
He didn't attack directly. Instead, he launched a small fireball toward the ground in front of the woman. It hit the sand, raising a cloud of dust and small pebbles. The fire wasn't strong, but the dust was enough to distract her.
But the woman was faster. She didn't dodge. Instead, she received it with her left arm, raising a thin shield of water just before impact. The flame met the water shield, and steam exploded between them. She screamed as the heat penetrated the shield, burning her skin through the evaporating water. But she didn't retreat.
At the same moment, she fired a focused water arrow toward his chest. The arrow was dense, spinning as it flew, aimed precisely at his sternum.
The flame struck her arm. She gritted her teeth, her face contorted in pain, but her eyes never left him.
The water arrow struck his chest. It was as strong as a small stone shot from a sling, hitting him just below the collarbone. He staggered back two steps, gasping, the air knocked out of his lungs. His hand instinctively went to the impact point, feeling the bruise already forming.
The woman looked at her arm. The skin was burned, red and swollen, and the sleeve of her uniform was scorched black. She tore the burned fabric away, revealing the angry red mark beneath. But she raised her head and looked at him, her green eyes blazing with a mixture of pain and determination.
She smiled and said.
"This really hurts."
the young man replied.
The young man smiled grimly.
"You're really crazy."
*******
The fighting style changed after that. It became more violent, more desperate.
The woman no longer fired only arrows. She began shaping weapons from water – a short sword that shimmered in the afternoon light, a spear that she thrust toward his midsection, even a thin whip that coiled around the young man's foot, trying to trip him. She moved like a dancer, her steps quick and precise, her body pivoting and twisting as if she knew where he would strike before he did. Her red hair flew around her face like a halo of fire.
The young man was stubborn. He used fire as a shield, creating bursts of flame to deflect her water attacks. Steam filled the air around them, making the courtyard hazy. His movements were less elegant than hers, more brute force, but every time she got close, he released a wall of flames to push her back.His breathing was becoming labored, and sweat poured down his face, evaporating before it could drip because of the heat radiating from his own body.
The burn scars on his arms had turned from pale pink to an angry, inflamed red. The old bandages were dark with fresh sweat and, here and there, spots of blood where the scars had cracked open.
The woman noticed. Her eyes flicked to his arms, then back to his face.
she said.
"Your scars."
he admitted, his voice strained.
"They burn every time, Every time I use fire. But I'm used to it."
She paused for a fraction of a second, something shifting in her expression. Then she attacked again.
This time, she raised both hands together, palms facing each other. Water gathered between them, swirling and condensing, forming a dense, almost spherical mass. It grew larger and larger, and the effort showed on her face. Her jaw was clenched, her teeth grinding. Her fingers began to crack – the skin on her fingertips splitting open, tiny beads of blood mixing with the water.
The young man saw it too. His eyes widened for a moment, but he didn't stop. He couldn't.
She launched the water sphere. It wasn't an ordinary water ball. It was compacted, dense, heavy as stone. It flew toward him with terrifying speed.
He had no time to dodge. He raised both hands, summoning a thick wall of fire, the hottest he could produce. The water sphere struck the fire wall, and an explosion of steam erupted, so violent that it knocked nearby students back a step.
For a moment, no one could see anything. The steam was thick as fog, swirling and churning.
When it cleared, the young man was on his knees. His shirt was torn open, his chest red and raw. The water sphere had not been completely evaporated; enough of it had gotten through to slam into him like a battering ram.
He was breathing in short, painful gasps. His hands trembled. The burn scars on his arms were weeping fluid.
But he raised his head and looked at the woman.
She was also exhausted. Her hands were bleeding from the cracked skin, and her face was pale. Her green eyes were bloodshot, but she stood straight, her chest heaving.
she said.
"It's over,You can't continue."
he said.
"Maybe,But neither can you."
She looked at her hands. The blood was dripping onto the sand And little of its spark remains.
she asked.
"Then what do you propose?"
He smiled. It was a tired, painful smile.
"One last exchange. Everything we have left. No holding back."
She stared at him for a long moment. Then she nodded.
They faced each other. The crowd fell silent.
The young man raised his right hand. A small flame flickered to life in his palm, pale orange, weak. It was all he had left.
The woman raised her left hand. A thin stream of water coiled around her wrist, barely enough to fill a cup.
They looked at each other.
Then they both charged.
It was not a grand clash. It was not spectacular. They met in the middle, and he threw his weak flame, and she threw her weak water, and the two attacks collided weakly, producing a pathetic puff of steam.
Then they stood there, face to face, gasping, both empty.
No one had won. No one had lost.
He extended his hand. She looked at it, then at his face.
he said.
"Good fight."
She shook his hand.
she replied.
"Good fight."
They left the courtyard together, supporting each other slightly, neither willing to admit how badly they needed the support.