The Extra's Reincarnation

They clashed once again, exchanging blows with increasing speed.

BAM!

Julian landed a clean hit to Uzan's jaw, only to receive a punishing strike to his sternum in return.

BAM!

Neither fighter attempted to dodge or evade—each standing their ground and meeting force with force.

"This isn't normal," Tylo whispered from the stands, his face pale with worry.

"They're just... taking hits."

Rean nodded, his knuckles white as he gripped the seat in front of him.

"It's like they're testing who can withstand more punishment."

In the ring, Julian and Uzan had established a brutal rhythm.

Julian would land a precise combination, targeting the same clusters of energy-absorbing spheres on Uzan's body.

Uzan would weather the assault, then deliver his own devastating counter-attack, channeling the absorbed energy back into his strikes.

Blood spattered the arena floor as Uzan's fist connected with Julian's mouth, splitting his lip.

Julian responded with an uppercut that snapped Uzan's head back, drawing fresh blood from his already damaged nose.

"Why aren't they dodging?" someone in the crowd shouted.

"This is madness!"

Drothgar leaned forward in his seat, his eyes never leaving the combatants.

"It's dwarven combat tradition," he explained, loud enough for those nearby to hear.

"To step back or evade is to admit weakness. The stronger fighter is the one who can withstand more punishment while still dealing damage."

What began as a challenge had evolved into something else entirely, it was a test of will that transcended competition.

Neither fighter attempted to evade anymore; they simply stood their ground, trading blows with increasing ferocity.

Julian's eyes glowed with crimson light as he analyzed each of Uzan's movements, while Uzan's spherical protrusions pulsed with purple energy, absorbing and redistributing impact. Their blood mingled on the arena floor, creating dark patterns across the cracked stone.

"This is how my people have fought for generations," Uzan panted, spitting blood to the side.

"Face to face, strength against strength."

Julian nodded, wiping crimson from his split lip.

"Then I'll honor that tradition."

The crowd watched as the two fighters abandoned their strategy or defense.

Each blow landed with devastating force, yet neither yielded.

Julian's ribs were certainly broken, and Uzan's entire face was almost swollen shut, but still they fought on.

"They'll kill each other at this rate," Rean whispered, his face pale with concern.

BOOOOM!

Minutes stretched into what felt like hours as the brutal exchange continued.

Both fighters were now barely recognizable beneath the blood and bruises that covered their faces.

Julian's uniform hung in tatters, revealing dark purple bruising across his torso.

And Uzan's entire body had dents that ran along his skin.

Eventually, their movements slowed.

As both fighters reached their physical limits.

Their eyes had swollen nearly shut, forcing them to rely on instinct and spatial awareness rather than sight.

"Can't... see..." Julian muttered, his voice barely audible as he swayed on his feet.

Across from him, Uzan grunted in acknowledgment, his massive body leaning to one side.

"Don't need... to..."

They stood facing each other, two bloodied figures silhouetted against the hushed arena.

Neither could properly see, yet both sensed the other's presence through the haze of pain and exhaustion.

With one final, monumental effort, they summoned their remaining strength.

Julian's hand glowed with fading crimson energy while Uzan's last functioning spheres pulsed weakly with purple light.

They lunged forward simultaneously, each throwing everything they had into one final strike.

BAM!

Their fists connected with perfect synchronicity…

Julian's striked Uzan's right cheek and Uzan's massive fist slammed into Julian's left.

The impact echoed through the silent arena like a thunderclap.

For a moment, they remained frozen in that final exchange, two statues locked in eternal combat.

Then, as if choreographed, both fighters collapsed to the ground in unison.

Immediately Drothgar rose from his seat and approached the fallen students.

He knelt beside them, checking both Julian and Uzan if they're alive.

After a moment, he straightened and turned to face the stunned audience.

"This match," he announced, his voice carrying throughout the arena, "is declared a tie."

For a heartbeat, silence reigned.

Then the arena erupted in chaos.

"A TIE?" someone shouted in disbelief.

"That's impossible! No one ties with Uzan!"

"Did you see what that Julian kid did? He matched a royal giant blow for blow!"

Students leapt to their feet, some cheering wildly while others argued heatedly about what they'd just witnessed.

The noise was deafening as first-years and upperclassmen alike pushed forward for a better view of the two fighters still motionless on the arena floor.

Drothgar raised his hand, signaling to the medical team waiting at the edge of the ring.

They rushed forward immediately, hovering stretchers and emergency medical equipment floating behind them as they approached the fallen combatants.

"Give them space!" Drothgar commanded, and the crowd reluctantly complied, creating a path for the medics.

In the elevated seating reserved for faculty and administration, Javier Aurues, President of Aethel Academy, was on his feet applauding enthusiastically.

His brown hair caught the light as he nodded appreciatively at the spectacle below.

"Magnificent!" he exclaimed, his blue eyes alight with excitement.

"Absolutely amazing! I haven't seen a first-year match with this level of skill since Drothgar called out Xavi three years ago—and this was even better!"

Beside him, Vice President Lorraine Wintervale maintained her composed demeanor, though her sharp eyes missed nothing as she observed the medical team attending to the students below.

"It was certainly... unexpected. Though I fail to see why you're so enthused about two students nearly killing each other in what should have been a simple evaluation exercise."

"Come now, Lorraine. You of all people should appreciate what we just witnessed. Wasn't it you who declined Julian Uzziel's exam question submission? The very reason Kiera had to advocate for his special admission?"

"Principal Nyx made a compelling case at the time. I simply followed protocol regarding his unorthodox submission." Lorraine's lips thinned slightly.

"And now?" Javier pressed, gesturing toward the arena where medics were carefully loading Julian onto a stretcher. "Does this not vindicate her judgment? The boy clearly belongs here—perhaps more than most."

"One impressive display of brute force doesn't necessarily indicate academic potential, regardless he somehow has the special admissions title…" Lorraine replied, though there was less conviction in her voice than before.

"Speaking of special admissions," he said thoughtfully, "if Julian Uzziel is capable of this level of combat prowess, I wonder what Franz Evera must be hiding..." He trailed off, tapping his chin.

"With Francine, of course, her abilities are second to none, she's a tactical genius and I mean… it runs in our family."

Lorraine shifted in her seat, folding her hands primly in her lap.

"From what I've heard, special admissions students aren't evaluated solely by the principal. There's a separate criteria assessed by higher authorities within the academy structure—perhaps even the board of governors."

"Is that so?" Javier's eyes lit up with interest.

"Well, if Julian Uzziel is truly that exceptional, then I believe we need him on the Student Council."

Lorraine's eyebrows shot up.

"That's absurd, Javier. We already have enough first-year representatives. Adding more would only increase our administrative burden, and we're stretched thin as it is."

"No, no," Javier waved his hand dismissively. "I don't mean as another first-year representative. I was thinking Drothgar might recommend him as his successor when he graduates."

"As Head Discipline Officer?" Lorraine nearly choked on the words.

"After one match? Javier, you can't be serious. The position requires years of training, impeccable judgment, and the respect of the entire student body."

Javier's smile widened as he watched Drothgar supervising the medical team's departure.

"Respect can be earned quickly through exceptional deeds. Did you see how the crowd reacted? How many students do you think could stand toe to toe against Uzan Modan Jr. and force a draw?"

"I'm not sure…"

"See?-"

"Even so, there are protocols to follow," Lorraine interrupted Javier.

"Traditions that have served the academy well for centuries."

"Traditions evolve, my dear Vice President." Javier rose from his seat, straightening his immaculate uniform.

"And exceptional times call for exceptional measures. I believe we're witnessing the emergence of a truly remarkable generation of students."

Below them, the arena was slowly clearing as students filed out, voices raised in excited discussion about what they'd witnessed.

Lorraine watched Javier with a mixture of exasperation and reluctant admiration.

"You're serious about this," she said, more statement than question.

"Absolutely," Javier replied, his eyes tracking the medical team as they carried Julian away.

"We need students like him on the council—students who can inspire others, who aren't bound by tradition or expectation. And," he added with a knowing look, "students who can help us achieve our larger goals."

Lorraine's gaze followed his.

"And you think Julian Uzziel is one of those students?"

"I have no doubt," Javier said, his voice filled with certainty.

"I want to meet him face to face. But first," he added with a chuckle, "I think we should let him recover."

He turned to leave, Lorraine following with a resigned shake of her head.