The cheers still echoed in Aslan's ears long after he returned to the dorm.
His uniform was damp with sweat, yet fatigue hadn't claimed him. Not physically, at least. Inside, he felt only a strange restlessness.
He sank down on the edge of his bed, clenched his fingers into a tight fist, and slammed it down on the desk. The sharp thud shook the surface, sending a book tumbling to the floor.
"I promised myself…" he growled through clenched teeth. "I will never use that power again…"
Another blow. The desk rattled, and the pendant hanging loosely from his neck swayed before coming to rest.
Then came the thought that refused to leave him. What was that?
"Why did it happen? Why did that aura appear? It felt like… like the power from my past life."
He sank down further, brushing hair out of his eyes as he began pacing. "That shouldn't be possible. Not in this world. The mana test proved I have no magic left. I sealed that power from my past life myself…"
He stopped. Could it be that something buried deep within me was trying to awaken?
The door creaked open. Cael poked his head in, wary. "Hey… everything alright?"
Aslan didn't turn. "Did you notice anything strange during the match?"
George followed right behind, munching on a cracker as if this were any ordinary conversation. "You mean when you unleashed some kind of aura? Totally 'normal'… if 'normal' means 'a little insane.'"
Then came Alice, notebook in hand, sharp eyes narrowing. "Why didn't you tell us you could use an aura?"
"I didn't tell you," Aslan replied dryly, "because I didn't know. I've never learned the sword, and I've never felt an aura before. That's why I'm asking if any of you noticed something strange in the arena."
Cael shrugged. "Maybe that's worth thinking about."
Aslan lay down on the bed and pressed a hand to his temple. "It shouldn't have happened. I don't even understand it myself."
Alice tilted his head, brushing hair from his eyes. "Do you remember anything? What triggered it?"
"It's like one of those old hero stories," George said with a half-grin.
"Stop," Aslan groaned .
Then, suddenly, a thought sparked in his mind.
The pendant.
He pulled it from under his shirt and held it out. "During the fight… this started glowing."
Cael stepped closer, brushing a finger over the pendant as the room fell quiet.
The Next Day — Before the Final Match
Aslan walked down the academy corridor, the sound of bustling students echoing from the training grounds. Beside him, Cael bubbled with excitement.
"I'm going to win this match," he said, grinning. "My father will finally be proud of me… and maybe my brothers will acknowledge me too."
George and Alice chimed in, sharing stories about their own families — about fathers, siblings, expectations, and belonging.
Then George glanced at Aslan, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "What about your family, Aslan? They'll be happy too if you win, right?"
Aslan faltered for a moment, the sound of that word — family — resonating deep within him.
Family.I've never really thought about it.After my mother died… there was no one.But now…
Images surfaced — a smiling mother, a father with a proud gaze, and older brothers he had never truly seen as family until this moment.
Mother… Father… My brothers.In this life, my mother is still alive. I have a family.I never really noticed it before.All this time, I only thought about dying.
"They've always accepted me… no matter what."
"But now? Now, I want to live happily with them. And I'll cut down anyone who tries to take that away.
To protect this new family. To walk this path… and make sure no one can ever destroy the fragile peace I've found."
He stopped. "My family…" he said with a faint, happy smile, looking toward the training ground. "I have two older brothers."
Cael, Alice, and George exchanged surprised glances. They wanted to ask more, but before they could, the group arrived at the entrance of the arena.
The match was about to begin.
Yet within Aslan's heart, something had changed — a quiet peace… and an unshakable strength.
The Final Match
The sound of the starting bell rang out.
Aslan stepped into the match slowly, calmly. He refused to attack, relying only on precise, instinctive dodges. To the crowd, it looked like he was holding back.
"You're acting like a coward," Cael yelled across the sand. "Why do you only dodge?"
Then came the blow. A strong, decisive slash — the kind any swordsman would block.
But Aslan didn't move.
The blade sank deep across his chest.
He fell to the ground.
Blood surged from the gash.
Cael froze, terror and confusion overtaking him. The crowd fell into silence. Aslan's fans surged to their feet, yelling angrily.
The referee announced,
"The match is over! Cael wins!"
But cries rose from the stands:
"That doesn't make sense!
Aslan was distracted!
He didn't even block!" *
"He wouldn't lose like this!"*
"Redo the match!"
Cael stood shaking, staring down at Aslan. "Why? Why didn't you block it?" His voice rose, almost breaking. "Why did you throw the match? Why?"
Aslan pushed himself up from the ground, crimson staining the dust. He wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth and spoke, voice low and bitter:
"I don't know, Cael. Sometimes… you forget to raise a sword when your own heart is too busy trying to remember."
And deep down, Aslan thought, I didn't fight today… because I was afraid. Afraid that if I drew my blade, those powers would awaken again.