Mr. Huo raised his voice—again, as if he thought we were stationed on opposite mountaintops.
"PAIR ONE—GET UP TO THE PLATFORM! You'll have three rounds, then rotate!"
He didn't wait for acknowledgment. The matches began.
One after another, students stepped up to the sparring ring—12 teams total. Each pair was called, and each match followed the same rhythm: a quick flurry of offense, wild defensive scrambles, and the occasional overly dramatic collapse that got a few snorts from the audience.
This was a human-only sparring round—no beasts allowed. Not yet.
The first few matches were messy. Half of them looked like toddlers fighting over a foam bat. But there were a few moments that caught my eye—some unexpected strategies, clever bait moves, coordinated footwork that showed real thinking behind the chaos.
The first match was… a masterpiece in disaster.
Mr. Huo shouted, "BEGIN!" and both students leapt into motion—though "leapt" was a generous word.
It was mostly frantic flailing.
One kid opened with a qi technique that was supposed to create a fireball—but ended up producing a faint puff of smoke and a loud wheeze. The other countered with what looked like a wind slice but sliced nothing except the air in front of their own nose.
They both dodged the spells anyway. Just in case.
"What are they dodging?" Maxius murmured from the bench.
"Each other's imagination," Lufei replied, delicately licking spicy powder off her hoof.
The students staggered closer, fists flying in slow motion. One landed a soft punch—more like a tap—on the other's shoulder. The second responded with a full-body lunge that missed entirely, causing him to stumble and do a dramatic 180 spin.
The first student tried to follow up with a flying kick, but forgot the 'flying' part and ended up kicking air. Momentum betrayed them. They collided, arms flailing—then both tripped over each other's feet.
There was a beat of perfect, weightless silence.
Then they tumbled off the edge of the platform in a tangle of limbs and groaning complaints.
Mr. Huo facepalmed. Loudly.
"The match is over!" he barked. "Double disqualification! You tripped each other off the ring!"
The class roared with laughter. A few students near the front actually gave it polite applause, which made it even more ridiculous.
I didn't laugh. I just zoomed in on my phone.
"They dodged an empty spell. Overcorrected their steps. Minimal core stabilization. Zero posture control," I muttered.
"Elegant chaos," Maxius said.
"I give it a four out of ten for entertainment," Lufei added. "Minus three for the footwork. But plus one for the fall."
Jin Minhe, watching quietly, blinked once and leaned over. "That punch was a friendship tap."
I nodded solemnly. "The kind you give before you betray someone in a cafeteria line."
We all looked back to the arena as the next two students were called.
If the first match was anything to go by, this was going to be a very long—and highly educational—afternoon.
Still, I watched them all like a hawk, arms folded, recording every match on my phone.
The second match started with a little more promise.
Mr. Huo barely had time to shout, "Begin!" before the green-haired kid launched forward, feet sliding into a low stance, eyes locked.
His opponent—taller, but a bit stiff—mirrored the move a moment too late.
They clashed mid-platform, fists flying. This time, the punches actually landed.
The green-haired kid ducked a sloppy uppercut, rolled to the side, and jabbed twice into the ribs with quick, efficient strikes.
Qi shimmered faintly around his arms—he was channeling it into his muscles, enhancing speed and impact. It wasn't polished, but it was there.
The taller kid growled and swept out a wide leg kick. The green-haired kid stumbled—overcorrecting—but recovered with a backward spring and a palm strike straight to the chest.
The impact made a satisfying thump.
I leaned forward, recording. "Finally, someone remembered to use their core."
Maxius let out a thoughtful hum. "That palm strike was decent. Timing's still off."
Lufei was chewing a crisp. "Mm. Six out of ten. He needs to pivot on the balls of his feet, not the heels."
They traded a few more blows, a couple fueled with erratic bursts of qi. A bit wild, a bit raw—but the effort was there.
Then—bam.
The green-haired kid spun, qi flaring faintly around his elbow, and clocked the taller boy right in the side of the head.
The sound echoed.
The taller kid staggered once, eyes glassy—then collapsed like a sack of wet laundry.
The class gasped.
Even Mr. Huo blinked. "Winner—Qin Fei!"
Green-hair, panting, turned and gave a sheepish thumbs-up.
The crowd broke into real applause this time.
I hit pause on the video and made a note:
"Qin Fei. Efficient channeling. Uses lower body strength. Wild elbow timing. Opponent: poor guard maintenance. Look into the elbow arc angle—recreate in training."
Jin Minhe was scribbling something on a small notepad. I peeked.
It just said:
"Green-hair spins. Hits hard. Avoid elbows."
I nodded at him. "We're gonna get along just fine."
Lufei nudged Maxius. "Better than the last match."
Maxius preened. "Anything would've been better than the last match."
The arena cleared as the next two students stepped up.
Round three. Time to see if anyone else would manage not to fall off the platform by accident.
Maxius sat perched on a bench beside Lufei, who had stretched herself out like a lounging queen. Between them was a neat arrangement of snacks and drinks I'd set up to keep them entertained.
But I wasn't running a daycare.
I turned back to them and narrowed my eyes.
"You two better be watching," I said, voice low but firm. "This is study material."
Match 3 and 4 ended in a flash.
The third kid—a thin girl with wind qi trailing behind her like a veil—didn't even wait for the match to settle.
She just threw out a hand and shouted, "Jet Gale!"
A blast of compressed wind slammed into her opponent's chest, launching them straight off the platform with a yelp.
Boom. Match over. Applause. No one even blinked.
"Note to self," I murmured, recording. "Wind types are fast and rude."
Maxius snorted. "That was not elegant."
Lufei, chewing on a spicy seed chip, grinned. "But effective."
Match 4 was even weirder.
The kid this time—a sleepy-eyed wizard with robes way too big for him—muttered something under his breath and tossed a string of enchanted scrolls at his opponent.
What happened next?
A puppeteer's curse.
The poor victim flailed, spun, and started dancing. Not just bad dancing. Goofy, arms-flopping, full-body wiggles. He even did a hopping chicken strut right off the edge of the platform.
Mr. Huo looked vaguely horrified. "Uh… Match 4… Winner… Zhou Jin."
A moment of silence. Then the crowd howled with laughter.
Even I cracked a smile. "Alright. That was dumb. But I respect it."
I kept recording—zooming in on the scrolls' faint glow, the sluggish qi threads hanging from the victim's shoulders.
"Useful in team battles," I muttered to myself. "Mental qi disruption. Quick cast."
Lufei leaned close. "Would that work on Mystic?"
Maxius made a noise. "Only once."
I smirked. "Mystic would punt that wizard into next year."
—
Matches 5 through 10 were a blur.
A few punches, some predictable flame bursts, and one unfortunate miscast that ended in someone blasting themselves off the platform. The crowd stayed entertained, but I could tell—these weren't high-level contenders. Just early learners testing the waters.
But match 11?
Oh. Match 11 was art.
The moment those two stepped up—an eleven-year-old girl with snow-white braids and a boy with dark copper skin and stormy eyes—the arena shifted.
Even Mr. Huo lowered his voice. "Next round… begin."
They didn't rush.
They stood still. Both in strong, balanced stances. No obvious openings. No overconfidence.
Their eyes locked.
I stopped chewing my snack. Lufei froze mid-float. Maxius narrowed his visible eye.
"Experienced," I whispered. "Not normal students."
The girl struck first—fast. She blurred into movement, her qi subtly coating her legs. A low, slicing kick aimed for the boy's shin.
He matched her. Not quite dodging—just sliding back far enough to neutralize the force.
They exchanged two quick strikes—palm, elbow, then a shoulder feint—and retreated in perfect sync.
No wasted motion. No excessive flair. Just tight, controlled combat.
"Footwork's clean," Maxius muttered.
"Girl favors momentum," Lufei said softly. "Look at the ankle rotation."
Then it changed.
The girl raised a single hand, and an eight-foot spear of ice exploded from her palm, slamming into the platform with a crystalline crack.
The temperature dropped.
Before I could react, she used the planted spear like a lever—kicking off with one leg, launching toward him. The boy ducked, then hurled a small lightning dagger.
She twisted midair, graceful as a leaf—barely avoiding the blow—but it sliced her arm. Blood dripped down her sleeve.
She landed with a grin.
Then she spun the spear like it weighed nothing, dropping into a low squat and sweeping his legs out.
He fell—but rolled immediately, dodging the spear's retaliatory stomp. He kicked up into her stomach, making her gasp, and lunged to capitalize—
Only for her to catch him.
Her arm locked around his shoulder. Her legs wrapped around his neck. She twisted mid-fall, dragging him down into a deadlock.
Headlock.
Backlock.
His arms flailed once—then he tapped.
The whistle blew.
The arena exploded with noise.
I stood up, fist pumping. "Oh come on—that was so clean!"
Maxius clicked his beak in appreciation. "A proper match."
Lufei added, "She used her own pain to bait him in. Clever. Blood always sharpens the field."
I hit save on the recording and whispered to myself:
"Ice user. Flexible. Uses misdirection. Boy's reaction speed high. Lightning affinity. Grappling skills—rare in kids. Add both to 'potential sparring partners' list."
Even Jin Minhe tilted his head slightly, visibly impressed.
I couldn't stop grinning.
This wasn't just fun anymore. It was exhilarating.
This world—this life—was full of people with weird, wild, wonderful talents. I wasn't the only outlier. The variety made everything better.
And I would learn from all of them.
Even the dancing curse guy.
Especially him.
Lufei blinked slowly, chewing on a sugar-dried lotus petal.
Maxius tilted his head and ruffled his feathers, the visible wing shifting while the other—his phantom one—stayed completely still, cloaked from sight.
"You're not on break. I expect feedback," I added. "I'll be asking for full analysis. Timing, positioning, whether the opponent used scrolls as bait or distraction—everything."
Maxius let out a low whistle, which I decided to interpret as reluctant agreement.
Lufei pawed a meat crisp off the plate and nodded in her dignified deer way.
"Good," I said. "Because I'm not fighting with a beast that zones out halfway through a duel because they were thinking about snacks."
"You mean like Jin?" Maxius muttered under his breath.
"He has strategy," I deadpanned. "His strategy is snacks."
Jin Minhe, standing beside me in the shade, nodded as if I'd just explained high theory.
We watched the eleventh match wind down—someone tried to win with a dramatic backflip. It ended in a faceplant. Classic.
Then Mr. Huo bellowed again.
"FAN YUMEI. JIN MINHE. TO THE PLATFORM. NOW!"
Jin Minhe blinked once, then calmly walked forward.
I cracked my neck and followed, already rolling my shoulders as we climbed up the steps.
Lufei and Maxius remained where they were, their snack pile between them like a peace offering. But their eyes followed us, alert now. Focused.
They knew the real match was about to begin.
And so did I.
⸻