Chapter 549: A lackey
The fight had turned into something no one had expected. Vance, once so confident, was now clearly out of his depth. Sweat streaked down the sides of his face, mixing with the dust and faint traces of blood where Misha’s strikes had landed. His stance was no longer the proud, calculated posture of a platinum guild heir—it was defensive, hesitant, and desperate.
When the S-Rank observers stepped in to stop the exchange before it turned ugly, Vance’s sword lowered a fraction too fast, as if the intervention had been his only salvation. The tension broke like glass under pressure, but instead of withdrawing quietly, Vance immediately began talking—fast, and in a tone that tried to straddle humility and self-justification.
"I... I only acted this way because of how I was raised," he began, looking between Hiro and Misha as if they might understand. "Where I come from, your worth is measured by your family, your wealth... and nothing else. I was taught to believe that background and money were the ultimate forms of power. When people bowed, I knew exactly why—it wasn’t respect for me, but for what I represented. You have to understand, it shaped everything I am."
It might have been a touching confession in another context, but here—on the stage, after his defeat—it came across more like an attempt to save face. Hiro stood across from him, arms loosely folded, his gaze fixed and unwavering. There was no malice in his expression, but there was no sympathy either—only the calm firmness of someone unwilling to excuse the damage caused by arrogance.
Misha didn’t even grant him the dignity of a glance. She had already stepped to the sidelines, lowering herself to sit on the cool edge of the stage. She wasn’t sulking, nor was she brimming with pride—she simply looked done with the matter, quietly resting her arms on her knees as she caught her breath. Her indifference to his words said more than anything she could have spoken.
The officials conferred briefly, their voices low but urgent. When they finally turned back, the head referee’s tone left no room for debate. "The match is over. Victory goes to Hiro and Misha."
The announcement drew a ripple through the crowd—first a murmur, then a wave of noise. Cheers and whistles rang out, punctuated by heated discussions. The audience wasn’t just talking about the duel they’d seen—they were buzzing about the potential of the others in the group. Some voices called out Lisa’s name, others gushed over Sylvia’s skill. Everyone seemed to have picked their favorite, already forming invisible lines of fandom and rivalry.
From the corner of her vantage point, Mia watched it all. Her lips curved slightly—not just at the result, but at what she had seen unfold. Misha’s growth, the way she had kept her composure even in the heat of provocation, was a marked change from the shy, reserved girl Mia had first met. Quiet pride settled in Mia’s chest as she stepped forward to congratulate them.
"Well done," she said simply, her tone carrying a warmth that needed no embellishment. Hiro nodded in acknowledgment. Misha offered a small, almost sheepish smile before lowering her gaze again.
It might have ended there—another match concluded, another lesson learned—but Vance’s presence didn’t vanish with the verdict.