Not the Hero, Not the Villain — Just the One Who Wins

Eren's face, usually a mask of arrogant composure, twisted into a snarl of pure, unadulterated rage. His knuckles whitened around the hilt of his sword, the polished silver gleaming ominously in the courtyard sun. "What did you just say?" he spat, the words sharp as broken glass. "Girlfriend?"

I smirked, my grip on Sasha's arm tightening just enough to be reassuring, pulling her closer until she was tucked against my side. "Yes," I said, my voice deceptively light, carrying easily across the now-silent courtyard. "Mine."

Sasha stiffened in my arms, her body a rigid line of tension. I felt her tremble, and for a moment, I saw a flash of confusion in her tear-streaked face. Then, as if understanding the role she had been cast in, she gave a tiny, almost imperceptible nod, playing along with my dangerous charade.

Eren's laugh was a jagged, ugly sound, filled with a bitter, wounded pride. "So this is why," he seethed, taking a menacing step forward. "This is why she said that in the recording, why she rejected me! You—!"

"What exactly did she say?" I interrupted, my voice calm, though I already knew the answer. I wanted him to say it. I wanted everyone to hear it.

Eren's voice dripped with a venomous fury. "'I'd rather die than be bound to me.' Someone recorded it. Now I see why—she's already your whore!"

My shadow lashed out, a whip of pure darkness that sliced through the air inches from Eren's throat, leaving a thin, sizzling line in the cobblestones at his feet. "Careful," I warned, my voice dropping to a low, dangerous whisper. "That's my girlfriend you're insulting."

Eren's rage seemed to curdle, replaced by a sudden, raw anguish. "You wouldn't understand," he choked out, his voice thick with an emotion I hadn't expected. "For two weeks, I've been observing her. I had… an interest in her. I wanted her. I… I loved her."

Chapter source: My Virtual Library Empire (M|V|L4EMPYR).

"Let's settle this," I said, my voice once again deceptively light, cutting through his clumsy confession. "A duel. For Sasha's honor. If I win, you vanish from her life. Permanently. If you win," I shrugged, "I step aside."

Eren's grin was feral, a predator's smile that promised nothing but pain. "You think you can beat me? You?"

Noora stepped forward then, her lilac eyes sharp and calculating. "Brother, listen to me," she warned. "He's a trickster. A manipulator. Define the rules clearly, or he will use them against you."

Eren, blinded by his rage and wounded pride, waved her off. "No VR. Real pain. Any weapons. One-on-one. No tricks, no shadows, just steel."

Layla, who had been silently observing the entire drama with the cool detachment of a queen watching a play, finally spoke. "Since the official Rank Challenges are closed, this will be a registered spar in the Warzone Arena. No audience. Just us."

"Fine," I agreed, my grip tightening around Sasha's waist. "We fight. Now."

Eren mirrored my intensity. "Now."

Layla sighed, a sound of weary resignation. "Then prepare yourselves."

The Warzone Arena was a brutal expanse of scorched earth and lingering magic, a place where the academy's most serious disputes were settled. There were no safety barriers here, no healing runes embedded in the floor. Just raw, unfiltered combat.

As we stepped onto the cracked, obsidian-like ground, I stretched, rolling my shoulders with a theatrical nonchalance.

[System: You're enjoying this too much.]

"Obviously."

Sasha pulled away from me, her face a mask of anger and betrayal. "Why are you doing this?" she hissed, her voice a low, fierce whisper. "You've just made my life more of a hell than it already was."

I turned to her, my expression softening for a moment. I gently patted her head, a gesture that seemed to surprise her into silence. "As I promised earlier," I said softly, "everything will be fine."

Across the arena, Eren drew his sword. It was a gleaming relic of the Whitehound lineage, its silver blade humming with a faint, holy light. "No tricks, Crimson," he called out, his voice echoing in the vast, empty space. "Just steel and pain."

I summoned my own shadow blade, the inky darkness writhing and coalescing in my hand. "Oh, Eren," I murmured to myself, a pitying smile on my lips. "You still don't get it."

"Begin!" Layla's voice cut through the tension, sharp and final.

Eren lunged.

His blade flashed with a brilliant, golden light as he closed the distance in a single, explosive heartbeat. His movements were a testament to years of elite, relentless training. The Whitehound heir fought with the brutal precision of a master duelist, each strike aimed not to wound, but to kill. I barely managed to sidestep the first thrust, feeling the scorching heat of his holy energy singe my cheek as the sword passed within millimeters of my face. The smell of burnt ozone filled the air as our weapons finally clashed—shadow against light, darkness against radiance in a shower of brilliant, violent sparks that illuminated the war-torn arena.

From the safety line, Sasha's nails dug bloody crescents into her palms as she watched, her face pale with a mixture of fear and a strange, unwilling hope. Noora's grip was tight on her shoulder, a gilded cage of silent warning. "Don't even think about interfering," the Whitehound princess had warned, her crimson eyes locked on the battle. The unspoken threat hung heavy between them—one wrong move, and Sasha would join the growing list of Eren's victims.

The first brutal exchange left smoking craters across the ancient battlefield. Eren moved with the practiced grace of someone who had been swinging a sword since he could walk, his family's legendary swordsmanship on full display. Each slash carried enough force to cleave stone, his footwork impeccable as he pressed the attack, a relentless storm of light and steel. Yet I flowed like liquid night between the barrage of strikes, my shadow blade dissolving and reforming to counter each attack with an eerie, unpredictable precision. Where Eren fought with the rigid discipline of a textbook, I fought like a living storm—unpredictable, relentless, and utterly without mercy.

"You fight like a coward!" Eren spat, unleashing a devastating wave of searing light that forced me to skid back several meters, my boots leaving molten grooves in the earth. "Always hiding in the shadows like the rat you are!"

I grinned, wiping a trickle of blood from my split lip with the back of my hand. The coppery taste only sharpened my focus, a familiar anchor in the chaos. "And you fight like a spoiled prince who's never had to struggle for anything in his pampered life." I twirled my shadow blade lazily, a gesture of contemptuous ease. "Tell me, Eren—have you ever actually fought for something? Or has everything just been handed to you on a silver platter?"

Eren's eyes burned with a righteous fury, his grip tightening on his sword until his knuckles turned white. "You know nothing about me!" he roared, raising his blade high. The weapon erupted in a blinding radiance, the light so intense it forced even Layla and Noora to shield their eyes. The very air vibrated with power as Eren channeled his family's most sacred techniques—the same techniques that had once purged entire battlefields of darkness.

But I simply closed my eyes.

[System: Now!]

My shadow senses, a gift from my unique affinity, painted the world in pulses of heat, movement, and killing intent. Eren's blinding light was irrelevant. When the prince's final, devastating strike came screaming toward my heart, I wasn't there.

In one fluid, impossible motion, I melted into the shadows beneath Eren's feet and reappeared behind him, my inky blade materializing at his throat before anyone could even register what had happened. The cold edge of my weapon pressed just enough to draw a thin, crimson line of blood against his pale skin—a warning, not yet a killing blow.

The arena fell deathly silent, the only sound the ragged, disbelieving gasps of the Whitehound heir.

"Checkmate," I whispered, my breath ghosting over his ear.

Eren froze, his sword slipping from numb fingers to clatter against the scorched earth. He had been so certain of his victory, so assured in his power, that the reality of his defeat crashed over him like a tidal wave. He had been outplayed from the very beginning—not through brute strength, but through cunning, patience, and an intimate, brutal understanding of his opponent's weaknesses.

A choked sound broke the silence. Sasha had broken free from Noora's grip, her eyes wide with a disbelief that was slowly, tentatively, turning into something dangerously close to hope. I turned to her, the menacing shadows around me dissipating like morning mist to reveal the boy beneath the monster.

"Told you everything would be fine," I said softly, offering her a bloodstained hand.