Villain With A Side Quest

Kieran's recovery arrived with a dull ache in his limbs and a lingering heaviness in his chest. The dim light filtering through the arched windows of the medical wing. He sat up slowly, careful not to jostle the soreness in his core. Exhaustion clung to him like a second skin—a reminder of the incomplete recovery that weighed him down.

Two days isn't much time, he thought, running a hand through his hair, stiff from a night of restless sleep. But it has to be enough.

Madam Reeves arrived before he could attempt standing. Her sharp gaze scanned him, lips pressing into a thin line as she set down a tray with a steaming ceramic cup. Without a word, she placed a hand just above his chest, fingers barely an inch from his skin, and closed her eyes. Kieran felt the warmth of diagnostic magic settle over him, a brief comfort against the chill of uncertainty.

"Your core is still too weak," she said after a moment, opening her eyes. "No magic."

He nodded, the same small gesture as before. It was a game they played—her stating the obvious, him pretending to listen.

She sighed, clearly unimpressed by his silence. "You students push yourselves too hard. It's just a tournament."

Kieran chuckled dryly. "Is it?"

Madam Reeves studied him for a long moment, then exhaled through her nose. "I suppose not. But walking into a fight at half strength is a fool's choice."

"Then I'll have to be the smartest fool you've ever seen."

Her mouth twitched slightly, but she said nothing else. She handed him the cup, her fingers brushing against his for a fraction of a second. "Drink that. It won't fix your core, but it'll help with the fatigue."

Kieran accepted the drink, the heat seeping into his palms. "Thanks."

She hesitated at the doorway, shaking her head. "Just don't die." And with that, she was gone.

The bitter taste of the tonic lingered as he made his way back to his dorm. His muscles protested, but they obeyed well enough. He kept his pace steady, ignoring the occasional glances from passing students. By now, everyone knew the second round of matches was coming. And just like him, none of them knew who they would be fighting until the moment they stepped onto the field.

Not knowing is worse, he mused. At least when you know your opponent, you can plan accordingly. But this? This is just walking into the unknown and hoping you can crawl out the other side.

When he finally reached his dorm, he collapsed onto his bed. His gaze went toward the silver coin on his desk, the one Ronan had given him. He hadn't activated it yet, but its presence was a constant reminder of an opportunity he hadn't decided if he wanted.

They want something from me. But what do I want from them?

His fingers itched to pick it up, to make the choice now, but a knock at the door interrupted his thoughts. He hesitated for half a second before pushing himself upright and opening the door.

Victoria stood on the other side, arms crossed, her expression unreadable.

"Walk with me," she said.

Kieran raised an eyebrow but stepped outside, falling into step beside her. They moved through the halls without speaking, past clusters of students whispering about the upcoming Autumn Gala. He caught fragments of conversation—speculation, nerves, excitement—but ignored them.

Victoria finally broke the silence as they stepped into the outer courtyard. "I know you're not fully recovered."

Kieran didn't bother denying it. "And?"

"And you need a plan," she said, glancing at him. "Because the second-years aren't holding back anymore."

He huffed a quiet laugh. "I already figured that much out."

Victoria studied him carefully. "You don't seem concerned."

Kieran shrugged. "Concern doesn't change anything."

She exhaled sharply, shaking her head. "You should be concerned. These aren't public matches. If something goes too far, it could end badly. Just ten of us in those dueling chambers with whoever they decide we're facing. Master Chen will be there, but even he won't intervene unless absolutely necessary."

He kept his expression neutral, but his mind whirred. No oversight. No distractions. Just a fight until someone wins. And only Master Chen as a safeguard.

Victoria must have caught the flicker of realization in his eyes because she pressed on. "If they want to take someone out of the running permanently, this is their best chance."

Kieran frowned. "And you're warning me because…?"

"Because I want to know how you keep winning," she said bluntly. "And I want to see if you can do it again."

Kieran gave her a long look before smirking. "You sound almost impressed."

She didn't smile. "Just be ready."

"I always am."

Victoria lingered for a moment longer before turning and walking away. Kieran watched her go, then leaned against the stone railing of the courtyard, gazing up at the sky.

The second-years wanted to crush them. The matches were set, but no one knew their opponents. The lack of certainty made it worse. Three days. He had three days to recover, prepare, and sharpen every edge he had left.

And he had no intention of playing fair.

Kieran spent the next two days sharpening his mind rather than his magic. His core was recovering, but it wasn't anywhere near full capacity. If he wanted to win, he had to do it with what he had—and that meant fighting smarter than anyone else.

The morning of the match arrived with a quiet tension in the air. The Academy's dueling chambers had been cleared for the occasion. Only the ten participants and Master Chen were present, standing in a circle around the center platform. The torches on the walls burned low, casting flickering shadows against the stone floor.

Kieran took his place, scanning the faces around him. He caught Ronan's eyes, unreadable as ever. Kael stood with his hands in his pockets, looking as calm as if he were watching the weather. Victoria gave him a single, brief nod before returning her focus forward. The others stood in careful silence, their expressions ranging from focus to barely concealed nerves.

Master Chen stepped into the center, his presence alone enough to command attention. He was not a man of wasted words or gestures.

"You will each be called to the platform when it is your time. Fight to the best of your ability, but know this—if I must intervene, it will not end favorably for either of you."

His gaze moved over the group, ensuring they understood. Kieran already knew what he meant—this wasn't just about winning. It was about control, discipline, and knowing when to push and when to hold back.

A faint crackle of magic hummed through the air as Master Chen raised a hand, and a small, enchanted slip of paper hovered before him. The suspense stretched long and thin, every breath in the room held as they waited.

"The first match," he announced, "will be Kieran."

Kieran's muscles tensed. He could feel his pulse against his ribs, steady but forceful.

"—versus Diana Frost."

The temperature in the room seemed to drop.

Diana stepped forward, her expression composed, but her ice-blue eyes held a sharp, waiting edge. Whispers rippled through the group; Kieran caught Ronan's barely perceptible nod and Kael's exhale, as if he'd expected this. Victoria's fingers curled at her sides for a fraction of a second before relaxing.

Kieran exhaled slowly. He didn't need to fake exhaustion anymore—he was already at a disadvantage.

Of course it's her, he thought grimly.

Master Chen stepped back, and the air between them thrummed with unspoken energy. Kieran squared his shoulders as he stepped onto the platform. The stone beneath his feet was cool, but not yet cold. Not yet.

Diana lifted a single hand. Frost curled at her fingertips, forming delicate crystalline shapes before shattering into mist. It was effortless, an unspoken challenge.

She was letting him see it. Letting him know exactly what was coming.

And then she smiled, slow and deliberate, the kind of smile that promised something inevitable.

Kieran's instincts screamed at him, but he barely had time to react before the temperature around him plummeted, the entire platform frosting over in an instant.

A biting wind howled through the chamber, and his breath came out in white puffs as ice spread beneath his feet. He shifted his stance immediately, but the cold was different from anything he had felt before—fast, invasive, reaching inside his bones like it was alive.

A crack echoed through the chamber.

Ice shot toward him from every direction, cutting off escape.

And just like that, the match had begun.