FRSBS 05

Chapter 5

The Banya Festival.

The one and only time when the academy, usually overflowing only with students and instructors, opened its gates to outsiders.

As the festival ripened, students enjoyed snacks with their friends and threw themselves into the events with laughter and chatter.

Food trucks filled the courtyards, and student council–run attractions brought even more crowds to the academy.

It was the first day of the three-day event.

As evening drew near, people began gathering at the great dome in the center of the academy to watch the opening round of the tournament.

“Guess the top student’s going to win again this year?”
“You never know. The second-ranked senior might take it if he’s prepared well.”

Speculation buzzed among the crowd as students debated who would claim victory.

They were seated now, waiting for the first match to begin.

“Now that I think about it, the first match is the vice top student’s, right? Who’s his opponent again?”
“Let me check…”

A second-year student scrolled through the matchup list posted on his phone. After a brief pause, he muttered the name.

“Jeong Juhyeok?”
“Ah…”

His friend made a knowing face.

That name was already well known throughout the academy.

The guy who did nothing but eat and train.

If you counted the hours spent in the training grounds, he’d easily rank first in the academy’s entire history.

“So that senior’s participating too, huh.”
“Yeah, though I heard he didn’t even make the top 200.”
“That’s something in itself.”

He wasn’t famous just for his obsessive training.

Despite an inhuman amount of practice, his grades had been abysmal—failing even to break into the top 200.

He was the kind of senior who made people sigh in pity.

“Even if he faced someone else, he’d still lose, but going up against the vice top student? That’s rough.”
“Still, who knows? If he just puts on a good fight, that alone might help him.”

He was set to graduate with miserable marks.

Once he left the academy, no mid- or small-sized guild would treat him well.

So everyone assumed he had joined the tournament to snatch even a sliver of redemption.

“Well, the guy’s got determination, I’ll give him that. Some guilds might appreciate that spirit.”
“Yeah, but what good is that? He’s got no results. If it hasn’t paid off by now, shouldn’t he just give up?”

Every junior recognized his effort—but if asked whether they wanted to be like him, they’d shake their heads.

If he were even slightly improving, maybe. But to train like a madman every day and still sit in the lower ranks? That wasn’t admirable—it was pitiful.

People wanted to root for him, but reality was cold. Most reacted skeptically to the news that he’d entered the tournament.

If he faced the vice top student, they figured the match wouldn’t even last a minute.

[The first round of the Banya Festival Tournament will begin in five minutes.]

“Hey, where are you going? It’s starting soon.”
“The vice top’s gonna win anyway. I’ll just go hit the bathroom.”
“…”

The second-year walked off indifferently.

No point wasting time on a fight with such an obvious outcome.

“You’re staying to watch?”
“It’s the vice top’s match. Of course I’m watching.”
“Suit yourself.”

His friend disappeared into the crowd.

Glancing around, he noticed many empty seats left unoccupied—others must’ve had the same thought and left.

Only the scouts, who looked like professional talent spotters, remained, eyes focused on the arena below.

Even then, the stands were sparse for a tournament match.

He looked down toward the stage.

Two students were warming up.

The third-year vice top, and Jeong Juhyeok.

Seeing them, he recalled the image of Juhyeok training alone like a machine in the yard a year ago.

“…I hope he shows us something, at least.”

“Are both participants ready?”

The instructor acting as referee shouted to the two.

The mic wasn’t on, so his voice echoed faintly through the dome.

“I’m ready.”
“Me too~”

Unlike the focused Juhyeok, Hyeongju’s tone was relaxed, almost mocking.

Their faces were stark opposites.

“Alright, then let’s begin.”

The instructor coughed lightly, gestured in the air, and, once the mic crackled to life, shouted with vigor—

[The first round of the Banya Festival Tournament begins in ten seconds!]

A roar of cheers filled the dome.

Numbers flashed on the big screen and began counting down.

10, 9, 8…

“Don’t even think about surrendering early. That’d be boring.”
“I’ve never surrendered in my life.”

7, 6, 5.

“Not like a certain someone who gave up after getting stomped by the top student.”
“…”

A vein twitched in Hyeongju’s forehead.

He’d thrown a jab and ended up eating one instead.

4, 3, 2.

His pulse quickened.

Hyeongju lifted his sword into stance and sneered.

“I’ll shut that mouth of yours first.”

1.

The countdown vanished, and the instructor’s shout tore through the air—

[Begin!!!]

At once, Hyeongju lunged forward.

He was faster than he’d been during the sneak attack days ago—faster and angrier.

He couldn’t afford to embarrass himself before his father again. He opened with a full-force strike.

Clang!

Blocked.

A clean defense.

The swords met with a sharp, ringing sound.

More blows followed, but Juhyeok stayed composed, defending each strike with perfect form.

“Not bad~ What’d you do for a week, hole up somewhere and take steroids?”

He’d expected a bit of improvement—but this was more than that.

That parry and that ambush last time hadn’t been flukes. The difference from the old Juhyeok was night and day.

Still, Hyeongju reminded himself—Juhyeok was a bottom-ranked student, not even in the top 200.

He was the academy’s number two.

No matter how much Juhyeok had trained, there was no way he could surpass him in just a week.

“Stop just blocking! Do something! You see the crowd yawning?”
“…”

Hyeongju pressed forward arrogantly.

To spectators, it looked like one-sided domination—one student relentlessly attacking while the other only defended.

Juhyeok had spent a full minute of the five-minute round purely on defense.

But a few sharp-eyed people—scouts, instructors, and other skilled students—noticed something different.

‘Still not enough people watching.’

Juhyeok’s eyes flicked casually toward the stands as their swords clashed.

Plenty of empty seats.

So he stayed on defense.

[Stop!]

The referee’s call rang out.

[The regular round has ended. We’ll take a short pause before overtime.]

“Persistent bastard…”

Panting heavily, Hyeongju returned to his spot.

Juhyeok didn’t even glance at him; instead, he scanned the crowd.

The seats had filled up noticeably.

Word must have spread—a top student and a bottom-ranked nobody had gone into overtime.

‘That’s enough.’

Any more attention would be unwanted.

Honestly, if he hadn’t wanted any spotlight, he should’ve stayed out of the tournament—but Juhyeok was still human. He had pride. He wanted payback.

Juhyeok looked at Hyeongju and spoke evenly.

“Do you know why I came here?”
“…”
“To impress the scouts? No. I couldn’t care less about them.”

The artifact was still embedded in his body.

Drawing public attention now would only bring trouble.

Even if a major guild offered him a position after this, he wouldn’t accept.

“Out of pride? No, not that either.”

Maybe he could win by luck?

Not a thought like that crossed his mind.

When he’d parried Hyeongju’s sword and landed that clean ambush, he’d known for sure.

“I just accepted because I knew I wouldn’t lose to you.”

He wouldn’t lose.

There wasn’t an ounce of fear in him—as if the man in front of him were a mere child.

Perhaps it was arrogance.

“You talk big for a guy who only knows how to block…”
“You missed something important.”

Juhyeok stomped the ground.

“If I’d been struggling just to block you, I’d have been pushed around and cornered by now.”

The dirt floor was proof—footprints scattered all around Hyeongju, but near Juhyeok, the ground was clean, undisturbed.

If he’d been desperate, the floor beneath him would’ve been a mess. But he hadn’t budged an inch.

“Have you seen me step even once backward from this spot?”
“…”

Hyeongju felt something off.

Not just the footprints—he realized he was drenched in sweat, arms trembling, while his opponent hadn’t even broken a sweat.

He hadn’t realized it, but while he’d been swinging in earnest, Juhyeok hadn’t even gone all out.

And still, not one of his blows had landed.

[Overtime, begin!]

At the signal, Juhyeok finally moved.

This time, he didn’t defend. He exploded forward, sword like lightning.

Kang!

“Kh–!”

Hyeongju barely raised his blade in time. His wrists screamed from the impact.

Too late.

The late defense opened a gap—and Juhyeok didn’t miss.

“Up.”

He hooked their locked blades upward, breaking Hyeongju’s guard.

The chest lay wide open. Juhyeok drove the pommel of his sword into his solar plexus.

“Guh!”
“Now we start. One minute—count it well.”

Left shoulder. Right temple. Back of the knee.

He struck every weak point methodically, delivering just enough pain to keep his opponent standing.

For this one minute, he repaid every humiliation of the past three years.

Each blow carried the weight of sleepless nights and unspoken resentment.

‘Time to finish this.’

He’d done enough. Any more would only draw unnecessary eyes.

He’d vented his anger; all that remained was the final strike.

“Hrgh!”

Hyeongju twisted his body.

He read the path of Juhyeok’s blade toward his thigh and barely managed to intercept it.

Barely—his block had no strength behind it, but the important thing was that he’d followed the movement.

‘He blocked that?’

Up to now, Hyeongju’s eyes couldn’t even track those attacks.

How had he reacted to that blind-spot strike?

‘So that’s talent.’

The answer was simple—growth.

Even while being crushed, his innate genius adapted and evolved mid-battle.

“You… bastard…”

He glared with fury even as his body trembled on the brink of collapse.

But it didn’t last long.

“I’ll kill you if it’s the last—”

Before he could finish, his eyes rolled back.

He hit the ground unconscious.

Silence fell over the dome.

“….”

Was this the talent of someone worthy of being second in the academy? To grow this fast even in defeat?

Despite his overwhelming victory, Juhyeok didn’t feel pleased.

‘Still not enough.’

Even if he smashed a million training dummies, someday he’d be caught by those born with talent.

He wasn’t even average in that regard. To keep up, there was only one path left.

[Training Room upgrade and system maintenance — Mana supply 1/100…]

He rubbed his left arm; the faint message shimmered again.

“….”

Juhyeok looked toward the stands.

Voices buzzed all around.

“Wait—did the vice top just collapse?”
“No way. That can’t be real!”

The students erupted in disbelief.

“Juhyeok? How did he…?”
“I did think he was moving sharper lately, but still…”

Even the instructors were stunned.

“….”

And the guild scouts covered their mouths, whispering among themselves.

‘Maybe I drew too much attention.’

Still, it didn’t feel entirely bad.

But his moment of satisfaction didn’t last.

Juhyeok approached the referee, who was checking Hyeongju’s condition.

“He’s unconscious. You win.”
“I see.”
“I don’t know what happened to you this past week, but it seems you’ve gained some insight. I’ll make the announcement now.”

The referee raised his hand toward the sound crew for signal.

Juhyeok lifted his arm as well.

“Wait—what’s he doing?”
“….”

What a shame.

Part of him wanted to bask in the applause that should’ve followed this silence.

But he couldn’t.

‘If I want to see the bigger picture… this is the right call.’

With a faint, relieved smile, Juhyeok turned to the referee and said—

“I forfeit.”