Battle Academy [4]

We were marching like an army of superheroes in training, through a corridor so white and sterile it would make a lab look colorful. The goal? To reach one of the numerous battle arenas scattered throughout the academy, as if they were Starbucks in a big city.

As we proceeded in line, I felt a grip on my wrist that anchored me to the moment, a physical reminder that the battle was near. My heart leaped as if trying to escape my chest - perhaps it knew something I didn't.

Tilting my head slightly back, my eyes met those of a boy with hair as white as snow and eyes that burned with the intensity of a solar flare. It was Viktor… the guy with a gaze that could freeze hell, staring at me as if I were the last slice of pizza in the box.

He stopped, and the grip on my arm was not just a touch, it was a silent command for me to stop as well. The line continued to move, leaving us behind as if we were just shadows forgotten by the sun.

With the distance between us and the other students growing, Viktor finally spoke, his voice laden with an intensity that made me freeze in place. "What are you doing here?" he asked, as if I were a ghost who shouldn't be there.

I could only respond with a confused "Huh?", my mind spinning in search of an answer that didn't come. I was as out of place as a fish out of water, and Viktor's question only served to remind me of that.

"You should be dead. So, what are you doing here? Standing and in front of me?" Viktor raised his tone, the urgency in his voice was almost palpable. The girl who always accompanied him noticed that he had stopped and looked back, frowning with concern. "What did he do to make Viktor like this?" she murmured, more to herself than to anyone else, as a heavy silence fell over the two of us, heavy as the air before a storm.

"Answer me!" Viktor insisted, his patience running out like sand in an hourglass.

I wasn't expecting a confrontation so soon. Doesn't this guy realize I want nothing to do with him? My two pistols are holstered at my waist, quiet, but drawing them would be like declaring war. And I'm not in the mood to start a revolution before breakfast.

With a resigned sigh, I said, "Just leave me alone, and I won't tell anyone about your secret unicorn socks."

Suddenly, Viktor's grip begins to burn, a tingling that quickly turns into searing heat. He has the power to control fire as if he were a chef in a gourmet kitchen, and now he's using that superpower to give a new meaning to the term "warm handshake."

I winced in pain, but it was bearable. It wasn't the end of the world, but it certainly wasn't like winning the lottery.

"You're going to revert to the state you were in before. Either you do it, or I will," Viktor threatened with the subtlety of an elephant in a china shop. He was basically saying: 'Off yourself, or I'll give you a reason to use band-aids for the rest of your life.'

Biting my lip to contain the discomfort, I was about to snap back a sharp retort when a cold, subtle voice cut through the silence. "Release his wrist, or I will end you." The voice was so icy it almost froze the air.

Viktor and I looked up, startled by the threatening tone, as if someone had switched the channel to a thriller movie. And there he was: Neo, with a gaze so frosty it could turn vodka into ice and a relaxed stance, staring down Viktor from just thirty centimeters away. It looked like the show was about to begin.

The palpable surprise; Neo's presence was like a ghost - unfelt until it manifested. The line of students, previously indifferent, was now paralyzed, their curious gazes fixed on the unfolding tension. Peter, the teacher, with a smile that could be as much approval as expectation, murmured: "It has begun…"

Viktor hesitated, his mind clearly in conflict with the implications of what was to come. "Are you saying I can't keep squeezing his wrist?" The doubt in his voice was almost tangible, as if he were trying to find a loophole in the academy's unwritten rules.

Neo replied without hesitation, his voice so cold and sharp it could freeze fire itself: "Yes."

Viktor's red eyes flared, a visual reflection of the fury beginning to burn within him. "I'm not done with him yet." His statement was a mix of challenge and threat, a warning that the battle between them was far from over.

Neo stepped forward, imposing, the calm on his face a stark contrast to the emotional storm Viktor represented: "You're done with him."

The flames in Viktor's eyes intensify, as if he were about to cast a high-level fire spell. His white hair begins to tinge with red, a change that screams danger as much as a traffic light. But before he can turn the corridor into his own personal arena, Neo intervenes with the authority of a judge in a courtroom.

"This corridor is not the place to resolve disputes. It's not a place to use your superpowers," says Neo, his voice growing in authority like the background music of a suspense movie. He concludes with the finality of a period: "If you have a problem with him, resolve it in the arena."

"Great, this just complicates things for me… Am I in for a double beating?" I think to myself, wondering if my fate would be to be the punching bag of the day.

Moved by Neo's words, or perhaps by some unknown reason that not even the best psychics could decipher, Viktor releases my wrist. The mark left is a dark and blackened reminder, as if my skin had decided to dress up in charcoal for a gothic party.

Viktor's eyes, once a beacon of fury, lose their fire, returning to normal as if someone had pressed the reset button. His hair, which had begun to change color, returns to its usual white, as if nature had decided that red was not really his color.

Neo looks at the injury on my wrist with a flash of surprise in his eyes, as if he had just witnessed a magic trick gone wrong. "That injury is too severe. He probably lost his left hand," he thinks, concerned, as if considering whether to call a doctor or a magician - anyone who could fix this.

Turning to Viktor, Neo says firmly: "It seems someone needs to teach you about limits." His voice is so firm it could be used as the foundation for a statue.

"Limits?" Viktor repeats, defiantly, as if the word were an alien concept. "Those who aim for the top of this world cannot afford to have limits." The tension between them is so thick it could be cut with a knife - or, in this case, a sword.

However, before any blow can be struck, Peter, our teacher, intervenes like a referee entering the ring. He steps between the two and holds me firmly, his expression laden with concern. "Damn, we need to take care of these injuries immediately," he says, recognizing the urgency of the moment as if he were in an episode of a medical drama.

Peter turned his head toward Jade, whose slightly interested look suggested she was more entertained than concerned. "Keep an eye on the class until I return from the infirmary," he instructed, with the authority of someone who already expected the unexpected. "Do not allow any confrontations to happen outside the arena!" He emphasized, as if foreseeing the near future.

Jade nodded with understanding, her polite voice cutting through the tension like a butter knife. "Please, get back in line," she requested, and it was hard to tell if she was more concerned with the order or with the possibility of missing the spectacle.

Viktor, with a shrug that could be interpreted as disdain or indifference, passed by Neo with a calm that bordered on insult. The audacity and arrogance only further inflamed Neo's irritation. He grabbed Viktor by the shoulder firmly, stopping him as if his fist were made of steel. "I think I'm not done with you yet," he said, and there was a promise in those words that didn't need to be spoken aloud.

Before the tension could escalate to an even more dangerous level, or before Peter, beside them, could intervene with the wisdom of a veteran, Taiho slightly lifted his foot and slammed it down on the floor. The entire corridor trembled as if struck by an earthquake, a show of strength that made clear who really had the power there. Everyone struggled to maintain their balance as they were tossed from side to side, like leaves in the wind. Taiho's impatient voice resonated, a veiled threat that didn't need to be repeated: "If you don't form a line now, I'll make you form one." And at that moment, there was no doubt that he would do exactly that.

As I got up from the ground with both hands, still somewhat dazed by the earthquake, I couldn't help but notice the chaotic scene in front of me. Students scattered on the floor, some with visible injuries, and there was Taiho, displaying his power like a lion that needs to prove its dominance.

I looked at Neo, who, despite being hit by the tremor, maintained a surprised and interested look. He was recovering and trying to understand the situation, just like me. "Wait, two hands?" I thought, confused. I looked at my left hand, which should have been immobile and injured, but to my surprise, it was perfect, without any sign of the previous injury.

Peter, who had also been affected by Taiho's tremor but was already standing, noticed the same thing. "Huh?" he exclaimed, clearly confused. "Wasn't his wrist burnt a second ago?"