NOVEL NEXT Chapter 13: JUST ENOUGH
The jeers rolled like thunder, but above it, the professors' voices cut sharp.
"Silence."
The word cracked like steel across the arena, and the laughter faltered into uneasy echoes. A robed figure descended the platform, glyphs rippling from the hem of his sleeves. His eyes swept over the gathered students, lingering briefly on the boy who lay sprawled on the ground.
Eran.
Murmurs fluttered. "Would they cast him out now? Would the professors confirm what everyone saw that he was nothing more than a failed commoner?"
The head instructor raised a hand. The crest shimmered faintly, answering. yes but alive.
The professors conferred in low tones. "It responded to him."
"Flickering light, unstable output, but nonetheless.. mana resonance was established."
"It qualifies as recognition."
"Barely."
Finally, the verdict fell.
"By the decree of Crest Protocol, Eran is to remain in the declaration roster. His output places him at the lowest threshold, but it is valid. He shall participate in the grade duel."
Gasps shot through the students. Then the storm broke again.
"What?!"
"Impossible!"
"He should have been thrown out, not granted a place!"
"Lowest threshold? That's no place for us nobles... he'll be crushed in the first round!"
The nobles erupted with scornful laughter once more, but this time tension simmered beneath it. For all their mockery, the professors' announcement meant the commoner could not be dismissed. He was one of them, whether they liked it or not.
Miyu's sharp voice cut through the noise.
Her eyes, like twin daggers, fixed on Eran.
"That… weakling?" she hissed under her breath, her lips curling. "How dare they put him in the same duel bracket as us?"
Her confusion was clear. She had seen him flicker—seen the crest flare for a heartbeat, but it made no sense. Rage prickled in her chest, twisting with something else she refused to name.
On the floor, Eran shifted faintly, one hand pressing against the cold stone as though struggling to rise. His hair hung loose across his eyes, his breaths ragged. To the watching crowd, he looked pitiful. Frail.
But Selene saw the subtle tilt of his mouth, the curve hidden beneath his feigned struggle. She smirked, lowering her lashes to hide her knowing amusement.
The professors began reading the duel pairings, their voices echoing over the chamber. Each name announced sent a ripple through the students, whispers and anticipations swirling like a tide.
And when Eran's name finally rang out...
The arena seemed to pause.
A commoner's name, carved into the declaration, etched into the duel roster with nobles who would not hesitate to grind him to dust.
The tension thickened until it choked the air.
This was no mistake.
Eran was in.
The professors raised their hands, and once more the chamber fell into silence—thin, strained silence.
"By mandate of the Crest Trials," the head instructor declared, "the following duels are to take place. Pairings are to be honored, outcomes recorded, and ranks adjusted."
Scrolls unfurled with a shimmer of mana, names burning into the air like fire across parchment. One by one, voices read them out:
"Velcroft, versus Halder of Lorn."
"Lor of the Seventh House, versus Kaelen of Ironspire."
"Miyu the house of velmeirion, versus Eran…"
The air cracked.
Every neck turned. Eyes widened. Then the chamber broke into chaos.
"No way!"
"He's dead before the duel even starts!"
"Paired against Miyu? That's slaughter!"
"She'll humiliate him until he begs for mercy."
The nobles laughed, cruel and loud. Some even clapped their hands, delighted at the spectacle promised to come. To them, this wasn't a duel anymore.. it was entertainment.
Eran remained where he was, shoulders slightly hunched, pretend his body trembling like he barely had the strength to stand. His hair curtained his face, hiding the glint in his eyes.
For a moment, his gaze flickered up. It met hers.
Miyu's.
Her eyes burned with a storm of contempt, lips pressed tight in rage she didn't bother to disguise. To her, this was insult, a commoner daring to stand on the same stage, to be named as her equal in declaration.
And yet… the longer her glare held his, the more unsettled her chest felt, like some thread she couldn't name tugged against her heart.
Eran smirked faintly.
SYSTEM ALERT!
[Target: Miyu ]
[Status: Hostile , Prideful]
[Condition: Emotional Trigger Detected]
[Proximity Lock: Established]
[Charm Influence: +5 IP]
[Quest Progress: 35%...]
A ripple of satisfaction curled through him. She was biting. Already, her hatred, her pride, her fury, they were turning into fuel. All he had to do was play the weakling, and her eyes would never leave him.
Let her come closer. Let her think she was the predator.
When in truth, she was already inside his snare.
The professors finished the declaration, voices cutting through the last murmurs of disbelief.
"These are the pairings for the Crest Duels. They shall be held under academy jurisdiction. You are dismissed until the appointed time."
The scrolls snapped shut with a crack like thunder. The chamber began to disperse, students buzzing with mockery, predictions, and hushed tension. Nobles boasted of their victories to come. Common-borns whispered in awe or fear.
And through it all, Eran rose slowly, shakily—like the weight of standing alone threatened to crush him. He kept his head low, his smile hidden.
Selene lingered at the edges, her smirk soft, unseen.
The academy grounds hadn't calmed since the duel announcement. Students still whispered in corners, nobles sneered with their usual pride, and instructors debated Eran's strange flicker of mana. To most of them, he was still nothing more than a commoner who stumbled his way into survival.
But Selene knew better.
She waited until the crowds thinned, until the sun had shifted lower, staining the training halls with gold. Eran stood near the edge of the sparring field, back against the cold stone pillar, as if letting the day wash over him. A faint smirk already tugging at his lips like he had been waiting for her.
Her steps were quite, measured, but her gaze betrayed something softer "You played it well," Selene's voice came smooth, silk-wrapped steel, as she stepped into view.
Eran's eyes flicked toward her, then narrowed into a faint, knowing smile. "Did I?"
She tilted her head, strands of silk hair catching the light. "Don't toy with me. You know why you're still standing." Her lips curved into the kind of smirk that didn't ask permission—it declared. "That flicker wasn't yours. I resonated my mana into the crest long before the duel began. A little tether, hidden. Just enough to keep the stone alive when your palm brush closer."
Eran let the silence stretch, gaze steady, before he chuckled low in his throat. He pushed himself off the pillar and stepped closer, eyes locked on hers.
"So," he said, voice quiet, edged with amusement. "It was you after all. My phantom hand."
Selene's smirk widened. "A professor keeps her word. I promised to give you help, didn't I?"
Eran tilted his head, lips curling into something darker. His steps slowed deliberately as he closed the space between them. "So you couldn't resist," he said, voice soft yet edged with dominance.
Her brows lifted, playful and sharp. "Does it matter? Either way, you owe me now."
He stepped close enough for the tension to hum between them. His hand rose—light, deliberate as he brushed a knuckle beneath her chin, lifting it slightly. The boldness in his smirk never wavered.
"I knew you would," he whispered, savoring each word. "My professor."
The title rolled from his tongue like sin.
Selene's breath caught, but she laughed, low and husky. Her fingers ghosted over his chest, dragging down slowly enough to tease. "Eran…" she whispered, his name soft, craving. "Do you know what you do to me?"
He leaned closer, lips grazing the space near her ear without touching. "I know exactly," he answered, the smirk dangerous. "And I'll make you say it."
Her lashes fluttered, lips parting as she smiled faintly.. submissive, sultry. "Then make me."
Their gazes locked, his smirk dangerous, hers sharp and sultry. Words gave way to silence heavy with promise, the kind that carried the taste of power, hunger, and inevitability.
The day carried on around them, but in that golden-lit corridor, time slowed to their rhythm alone.