Dimensional Overseer: I Can Manipulate DNA!

Jake's sword came crashing down on Elizabeth, brute force behind every swing. She stumbled back, her knees buckling from the sheer impact, barely managing to keep her grip on the wooden sword in her trembling hands.

Jake smirked. "Just give up and I won't hurt you!" he said, his tone smug and condescending as he stepped in again, delivering a rapid flurry of blows. His movements weren't particularly refined—they were fast, heavy, and utterly relentless. Against someone as untrained as Elizabeth, they were more than enough.

Clack! Clack! Clang!

Each hit sent painful vibrations through her arms. Her shoulders ached, her fingers screamed from holding the hilt so tightly. She tried to back away, desperate for space to breathe, but Jake closed the gap immediately and pressed on.

'He's too fast… and strong!' Elizabeth's wide eyes followed every strike, but she could barely keep up.

"It's pointless! I will win!" Jake shouted, fully confident.

Tears threatened to spill over as Elizabeth gritted her teeth. Frustration clawed at her chest, tighter and tighter with every missed block, every hit absorbed, every failed swing. Her feet stumbled as she backed away further.

'No! I… I need to do something. I need to think!'

But her thoughts, instead of guiding her, turned against her. Memories of failure, doubt, weakness—every whisper of inadequacy returned louder than ever.

'I've never been strong enough… not once in my life.'

The words weren't new. They were etched deep into her bones. Her small, delicate frame had always failed her. While others learned to spar and fight, she sat on the sidelines with books in hand. She had tried—truly, desperately—but her body simply refused to keep up. So she gave in to logic. She leaned into what she was good at: learning, studying, excelling in theory.

Her mind became her refuge.

She became the top of her class in academics. A prodigy in knowledge and analysis. But none of that mattered now—not when a wooden blade was swinging straight at her face.

Cling! Cling!

Each clash of swords rattled her like an earthquake. Even trying to push back felt futile, her swings weak and ineffective. Jake laughed as he advanced. The crowd was silent. Everyone could see what was about to happen.

'I'm not made for this. I'm not strong enough. I'm just… useless.'

The edge of the arena was approaching fast. Jake had her cornered, his sword raised again. Elizabeth's eyes fluttered shut.

And then—she saw him.

A figure standing among the crowd, silent, unmoving. Zane.

His eyes weren't filled with scorn. No mockery or amusement.

He was angry.

But not at her.

His expression was tight, jaw clenched, his eyes fixed entirely on Jake. And in that moment, a single sentence surfaced from his thoughts, rising unbidden like a whisper in her mind.

'Come on. Don't give up.'

Elizabeth's eyes snapped open.

'He's… encouraging me?'

She had never heard such conviction from him. Zane, who barely trusted anyone, was willing her to stand.

A warmth flooded her chest, mingling with the panic—but unlike the fear, this feeling steadied her.

Zane believed in her.

He thought she could still fight.

She couldn't let that go to waste.

Her breathing slowed. Her grip adjusted.

And for the first time, she saw the battlefield not with fear—but clarity.

Jake swung again, his blade aimed at her torso. But instead of blocking it as she had tried before, Elizabeth shifted—stepping back and twisting at the waist.

Whoosh!

The blade missed her by mere inches.

"Huh?!" Jake's eyes widened.

Elizabeth's own gaze locked on him—and she struck back with all the force she could muster.

BANG!

"Damn it!" Jake growled, swinging his sword up just in time to deflect her counter. He gritted his teeth. 'How the hell did she dodge that?! She's not that fast!'

But she didn't stop.

Another swing.

Another dodge.

Another counter.

Elizabeth's footwork became sharper. She moved with calculated steps, reading Jake's positioning with eerie accuracy. She began slipping just out of reach, responding with perfectly timed strikes that came dangerously close.

The crowd murmured in disbelief.

Even Zane blinked.

'Wait… her stance. Her movement. It's completely different now.'

Gone was the timid girl holding her sword like a broomstick. In her place stood a warrior. A clumsy one, yes—but one who had found rhythm. Precision.

Understanding dawned on Zane like a slow sunrise.

'She's reading his mind. She's predicting every swing before it happens.'

His eyes narrowed as he watched her duck another blow. 'She really is brilliant. She figured out how to use her ability mid-fight…'

His opinion of her shifted in that instant. She wasn't just smart in the academic sense—she was clever. Adaptive. Fierce, even.

The battle wore on.

Jake grunted with every swing now, struggling to land a clean hit. Elizabeth kept moving, kept dodging, kept predicting his flow. It wasn't perfect—far from it—but it was just enough to keep her alive.

But nothing lasts forever.

After a minute and a half of back-and-forth, the toll caught up to her.

Her movements grew sluggish.

Sweat dripped into her eyes.

Her legs trembled.

Jake, sensing the shift, charged in harder. His sword crashed down again and again. Elizabeth blocked and dodged what she could, but she was cracking.

Her final counter missed by a breath.

Jake's blade swung past her guard and tapped her shoulder.

"Enough!" Mr. Judge called out firmly. "Winner: Jake Barton."

Silence fell over the arena.

Elizabeth stood there, sword limp at her side, chest heaving. "I… I lost?" she whispered.

Jake pumped a fist into the air. "Haha! Yes! I won! Damn, that got tough at the end. Hey—thanks for the match. That was more fun than I expected."

Elizabeth didn't respond. Her fingers trembled as she looked down at them.

She'd lost. That was the truth.

But…

'I dodged his attacks.'

She could still feel it—the rush of moving with purpose, of striking back, of fighting. That moment when she had stood tall and traded blows with someone stronger… it had felt intoxicating.

'I actually did it… I fought back.'

Tears welled up in her eyes—not from defeat, but from the sharp, stinging realization.

She could have won.

She had found a strategy—an opening—and used it with stunning success. But it had come too late. By the time she realized her own power, her body had already run out of strength.

'Why didn't I think of this sooner?! Using my mind reading to track his attacks… it was so obvious…!'

The bitterness hit her like a wave.

If she had figured it out just a little earlier, this might have ended differently.

She left the arena in silence, shoulders slumped—but her thoughts louder than ever.