I swear I am not a Villain

Professor Zeke’s sharp eyes scanned the crowd of hundreds. Reaching into the pouch at his waist, he flung a handful of glowing crystal plates into the air. As soon as they left his grasp, each one split into hundreds of identical copies, drifting toward separate practice circles.

One hovered in front of Amos, and slowly, a number began to form.

Circle 143.

"So, it's random or did he prepare this beforehand?" Amos muttered.

Willow looked at her own.

"Mine is 118."

"I'll pray for whoever gets matched against me."

She blinked.

"Confident."

"Nope."

Amos shook his head.

"I'm praying for myself."

Willow stared.

"Never mind then."

Students gradually dispersed toward their assigned circles. The arena buzzed with nervous conversations.

"I hope I don't get one of the top students."

"Please don't let it be the Saint Candidate. She is too precious for this world."

"I heard Aurelia can cast seven spells at once."

"I seen eight."

"Damn."

Nearby, Chester Reinhart rested his hand on the hilt of his sword, looking eager rather than nervous.

"Hmph."

He clearly hoped for Amos, or at the very least a strong opponent. Several circles away, Estelle quietly adjusted the sleeves of her white uniform before offering a small prayer.

"May everyone avoid unnecessary injuries."

Not far from her, Aurelia calmly read a thick book while waiting, seemingly uninterested in the excitement around her. Even while reading, small spell circles lazily rotated around her fingertips.

Meanwhile, Elodie chatted cheerfully with several nearby students as if today's lesson were a social gathering. Edith stood beside her with her notebook tucked against her chest, observing everything quietly.

Professor Zeke watched all of it.

Then—

BOOM!

He stomped once. The entire arena instantly fell silent.

"No distractions."

"If I catch any of you playing around..."

His grin slowly widened.

"I'll personally spar with you."

Hundreds of students immediately faced forward.

"..."

"Good."

Professor Fred stood beside the combat instructor Zeke.

"The first assessment is simple."

The students looked puzzled.

Professor Zeke continued.

"I don't care who wins."

"I care about how you fight—your footwork, balance, timing, and sense of distance. I notice your decision-making, how you react when you panic or hesitate, when you overcommit, and when you understand it’s time to stop."

He folded his arms.

"A talented fool loses faster than an ordinary veteran."

Several students quietly nodded. A professor wearing green robes raised his staff. Hundreds of translucent barriers rose around every combat circle. Each shimmered with pale blue light.

"They'll prevent stray attacks from reaching nearby students," Professor Fred explained.

"They'll also stop the match if a decisive blow lands."

"So don't worry about accidentally killing your classmates."

"..."

"That sentence somehow isn't reassuring."

A few students laughed nervously.

Professor Zeke reached into another pouch.

This time he withdrew a thick stack of cards.

"The pairings."

He glanced at the first one.

"Circle One."

Names echoed through the arena in steady succession as students made their way to their designated circles and the first matches kicked off. Wooden practice weapons clattered, and magic-charged bodies darted across the stone floor. Some bouts ended in mere seconds, while others turned into tense exchanges that earned approving nods from the watching professors.

"Good stance."

"Too reckless."

"Excellent defense."

"Terrible awareness."

"Next."

Professor Zeke continued calling names.

"Circle Ninety-Seven..."

"Circle One Hundred and Twelve..."

"Circle One Hundred and Twenty..."

Amos rested the practice rapier across his shoulder.

"This is taking longer than expected."

Willow smiled.

"Impatient?"

"I was hoping to finish early."

"You still think you'll get to go home?"

"A man can dream."

She laughed softly.

***

Then Professor Zeke looked at another card.

"Circle One Hundred and Eighteen."

Willow straightened up as a young male student from another class stepped forward, gripping a longsword with visible nerves. She offered him a polite smile before stepping into her circle. As the barrier shimmered to life around them, Amos crossed his arms.

"..."

"Good luck."

Willow gave him a slight nod, the signal to start only seconds away. Amos watched quietly from beyond the barrier, curious to see how his first friend at the academy would fight. He leaned casually against the low stone railing, the practice rapier balanced across one shoulder, his gaze fixed on the arena.

"..."

Willow stood opposite her opponent with a plain academy longsword held comfortably in both hands.

Amos tilted his head slightly.

"Willow definitely a protagonist material."

Her opponent, however, seemed much more on edge. He shifted his stance twice, adjusted his grip, glanced at Professor Zeke, and then back at Willow.

"Begin."

The moment the signal rang, the boy charged forward with a simple overhead slash—no feints, no preparation, just pure momentum. Willow stepped lightly to the side, and the blade sliced harmlessly through the air beside her.

At the same moment—

Tap.

Her wooden sword tapped his wrist—lightly, not to hurt, just enough. The boy’s grip loosened on instinct, and his blade dipped. Willow didn’t take advantage of the opening; instead, she stepped back twice, giving him space to regain himself.

"..."

Amos blinked once.

"Honorable too."

She wasn’t trying to overwhelm him. Her movements felt less like those of a duelist and more like the gentle flow of water. The boy struck again, this time with a horizontal swing. Willow lowered her stance, slipping under it with ease. She tapped his shoulder with another light strike before retreating once more.

"..."

Amos rested his chin on his hand.

"Great foundations."

The third exchange dragged on. The boy finally settled down, no longer charging in without thought. He moved in slow circles, testing, waiting. Willow matched his movements. Neither made the first move.

"..."

"Oh?"

Amos's eyes brightened slightly.

"She's fast learning too."

She had realized her opponent settled down and adjusted her own pace accordingly.

Not bad. Not bad at all, I am now 90% sure that Willow is the protagonist of this world.

Eventually, the boy lunged forward with a thrust. Willow slipped just outside the line of attack, caught his sword arm for a brief moment, and smoothly redirected his balance. His own momentum pushed him ahead, making him stumble, and Willow’s wooden blade came to a halt just an inch from his neck.

Then the barrier shimmered, and a soft bell rang out.

"Match."

Professor Zeke's voice rang across the arena.

"Winner."

"Willow Brew."

The barrier disappeared. The boy scratched the back of his head awkwardly.

"I lost terribly."

Willow smiled apologetically.

"You fought well."

He laughed sheepishly.

"Thank you."

They exchanged a respectful bow before leaving the circle.

Watching from afar, Amos nodded to himself.

"It might be bad for me if she is a cheat munchkin type character."

"That means I just got to be a great friend to her"

A booming voice echoed through the Arena.

"Circle One Hundred and Forty-Three."

Amos straightened.

"Finally."

He picked up his rapier and began walking toward his circle, wondering which student Professor Zeke had chosen for him.