Moments after Jazmín challenged her brother, she approached him.

  —In this duel, I bet my medal —she told him in a low voice, showing it to him. With a subtle movement, she flipped it over, revealing the back, where she had adhered a platinum coin.

  Marco's eyes opened as if he had seen a treasure. Jazmín knew her brother; she knew he would take the duel lightly if there wasn't a real incentive. ?Surely he plans to win a couple of fights so they won't bother him about his performance at the academy?, she had thought in her room while sticking the coin. ?It's possible this slacker was sent here as a punishment. He needs motivation?.

  The platinum coin, equivalent to a high official's monthly salary, was more than enough. Marco thought of the fastest way to win. ?That sword looks powerful. This will suffice?, he told himself, choosing a heavy weapon. Jazmín, on the other hand, took only a small round shield.

  The combat began with excessive fury. Marco, with his Ether channeling far above normal, lunged at Jazmín as if he wanted to crush an insect.

  —Come on, Jazmín, make it easier! Throw yourself out of the field and let's end this! —he shouted condescendingly, while hammering his sister's shield.

  Jazmín did not utter a word.

  Blow after blow, a brutal rhythm resonated in the arena. It seemed like a public stoning that dragged on for several minutes. Marco changed the direction of his attacks, but Jazmín, with perfect economy of motion, managed to block most of them. Second by second, the intensity of the impacts diminished and the time between each blow lengthened. Sweat ran down Marco's face.

  —Come on, Jazmín, I'm already getting bored of hitting you! —he shouted, his voice tinged with frustration.

  She remained immutable.

  Desperate, Marco took the sword with both hands and resorted to a vertical strike, unloading an immense amount of Ether. The impact sounded like an explosion, but the result was unexpected: Marco was sent flying backward by Jazmín's perfectly calculated counterattack. Surprised, he jumped to repeat the attack, only to be blocked again and thrown even further away.

  Finally, Jazmín spoke.

  —Did you get tired already?

  The dynamic of the combat inverted. Now it was she who was attacking, using the edge of her shield as a battering ram. Marco defended himself clumsily, his exhaustion evident with every failed block.

  —Did you get tired? —Jazmín repeated with each blow, until, with an accurate impact, she sent her brother's sword flying out of the field.

  Marco, defeated, gave up on the idea of winning the coin. He preferred to lose and assume the cost later; it wasn't the first time he would be reprimanded. But when he tried to run toward the edge of the field, Jazmín's shield was thrown like a discus, hitting him in the legs and knocking him down.

  —Did you get tired already, Marco? —she said, her voice dangerously calm—. Because I haven't.

  She lunged at him, beating him mercilessly and dragging him back to the center.

  —I surrender, I surrender! —he shouted, but the referee didn't flinch. The rules were clear: the encounter ended when one left the field or lost consciousness.

  Jazmín took him down and locked him in a chokehold. She squeezed until she felt Marco starting to faint, then she let him go and slapped him to wake him up.

  —Do you know what I did when I thought of you? —she whispered in his ear—. I ran. I ran to fill my mind with exhaustion, so much that I would faint. I turned it into my training. And when I wasn't running, I used my mind on any game that would distract me. —She took a breath, her voice trembling with fury and pain—. But you know, I think I found a better game to distract myself.

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  She hit him again.

  —Come on, entertain me more! —she shouted.

  After several minutes, Marco's arrogance broke, replaced by genuine terror.

  —Jaz, please! —he sobbed—. Jaz, end it! Jazmín, I'm sorry!

  Upon hearing those words, she stopped.

  —This is no longer fun —she said, and let him go.

  But the most surprising thing was that Jazmín didn't stay to celebrate. She jumped, not toward her brother, but out of the combat field.

  —Winner... Marco Jarn —announced the referee, bewildered.

  For Jazmín, winning was never the goal. She just wanted to teach him a lesson, so that for once in his life, her brother would understand that she was neither a bank account nor a servant. That "I'm sorry" felt like the first crack in his armor of arrogance. To continue torturing him would be to become someone without codes like him.

  Deep down, she still had hope. She wanted him to change, for him to know that this was her last good deed: a platinum gift to remind him that, in this life, everything has a price.

  The other duels developed with formidable power and skill, as was expected among the elite of the academies. However, a couple of combats captured everyone's attention due to their singularity.

  While the echo of Jazmín's last blow still resonated, the public's attention diverted to the adjacent arena, where Liam Vargo's extravagant style was already on display. Liam Vargo, from Jared VI, against Lucian Zhong, from Jared V. Liam demonstrated great weapon handling with an unusual combination: a long staff and a short sword. His style was flashy, using the reach of the staff for defense and the close-range power of the sword for attack. Lucian, on the other hand, presented a minimalist style, armed only with a pair of gauntlets that Zenit had rejected.

  At first, Liam maintained the advantage, but his speed and strength abruptly diminished after receiving a couple of blows from Lucian. Zhong's style, though simple in weapons, was majestic in its movements: a dance that mixed rigid, powerful strikes with fluid, aesthetic transitions. It was like a river flowing between fast, tight bends only to open up into calmer currents. With every impact, it seemed as if Liam were drowning in that martial torrent. Finally, the combat ended with Lucian as the winner, after a final blow that left Liam unconscious.

  Another duel that did not go unnoticed due to its peculiarity was that of Miguel Crocianto, from Jared I, against Damian, from Jared IV. Both had desisted from competing in the trials, so they were paired by default. No other cadet had dared to challenge them; Miguel, for being a Crocianto known for his power, and Damian, for projecting a strange aura, not of fear, but of a strength that didn't need to be demonstrated.

  The physical difference was notable: Miguel was a colossus, but Damian showed not a shred of fear. As the combat began, the audience knew it would have been more entertaining to watch a snail race.

  When the signal sounded, both sat on the ground and did nothing, each lost in his own world. After several minutes, a shout was heard from the stands.

  —Miguel, enough! —roared Director Carlo Crocianto.

  Miguel simply yawned. —How boring —he said, and then addressed his opponent—. Hey, you, how about we settle it with rock, paper, or scissors?

  Damian nodded.

  Although it seemed like a child's game, internally, neither wanted to lose to avoid the lecture, but neither wanted to exert themselves. However, when superhuman strength exists, "rock, paper, or scissors" ceases to be chance and becomes a game of technique, a mental combat where one attempts to predict the opponent's movement based on gestures and speed.

  —Rock, paper, or... scissors!

  Miguel felt an invisible, icy pressure constricting the tendons of his forearm, preventing him from opening his hand and making him throw rock. Damian, on the other hand, threw paper.

  Damian smiled, but Miguel's face lit up with happiness. ?What just happened! I knew he was going to throw paper, and I was going with scissors, but I couldn't open my hand! That was a pulse of Ether directed at my arm. Awesome! I want more!? thought Miguel.

  Upon seeing his rival's smile, Damian made a strange gesture. —I'll give you the next round. —He left his hand open in the shape of paper in front of Miguel, with a macabre smile.

  Miguel's eyes opened with even more expectation. He began to channel Ether in such an accelerated way that it was noticed by the public. Upon lowering his hand, his forearm muscles were tense to the maximum, and Damian's face contracted in a grimace of obvious effort. In the second round, Miguel managed to throw scissors and won the pass.

  —All or nothing —said Miguel.

  —All or nothing —nodded Damian.

  The next round would define the winner. Both hid their hands behind their backs, beginning to channel an absurd amount of Ether for such a trivial movement. When their fists shot forward...

  —Rock, paper, or...!

  Miguel's fist seemed to pulsate, as if containing an explosion. Damian's hand, in contrast, moved subtly, as if he hadn't decided yet.

  —Scissors! —they shouted in unison.

  The duel ended with a great pulse of Ether. Miguel had thrown rock and Damian, scissors. Miguel was the winner.

  —Well, I think it was better to leave it like that —said Damian with a calm voice.

  —Maybe... maybe... I was quite entertained. Thanks —responded Miguel.

  Being one of the last duels, Silas was able to observe it all. From the outside, it looked like a simple game. But in the last round, he had seen the truth: Damian had launched a pulse of Ether to force Miguel's forearm to open and form "paper". Miguel resisted, keeping his fist closed in "rock", but just at the end, he began to open it, tempting Damian to switch to "scissors". In the last thousandth of a second, Miguel closed his hand again, securing the victory.

  This would not be the last time he would see a Crocianto in a duel.