The arena lights flickered overhead, and faint traces of electricity still danced across the metal floor.

Damon straightened slowly, ignoring the fire in his ribs. His vision had cleared enough for him to make out Matthew’s smug expression, as well as the way the other students leaned forward in their seats, waiting for the ending they thought was coming.

But Damon saw something they didn’t.

Matthew’s limp. The slight twitch still running through his right leg. The way his weight kept shifting almost imperceptibly to the left, compensating for spasms he couldn’t quite control.

"Type advantage," Damon said quietly. "You keep saying that like it’s supposed to mean something."

Matthew’s eyes narrowed. "Because it does. Without lightning, you’re nothing."

"Then let me keep using that same nothing."

Damon lifted both hands.

[LIGHTNING LANCE]

Twin bolts tore across the arena. Matthew avoided the first and ducked beneath the second, his movements still neat and efficient.

But slower than before.

His right leg dragged just a little during the sidestep, and there was a fraction of a delay in the motion that hadn’t been there earlier.

Damon noticed.

[LIGHTNING LANCE]

Two more bolts followed. Matthew dodged again, but this time he stumbled as he landed. His right foot didn’t take his full weight, and his recovery was just a little too late.

"Stop shooting and fight me!" Matthew snarled.

"I am fighting you, but I’m not dumb enough to do it at close range."

[LIGHTNING LANCE]

This time, the bolts didn’t aim for Matthew.

They struck the floor at his feet.

Blue-white electricity raced across the metal plating, and Matthew’s steel body caught the current like a lightning rod. His leg seized again, the muscle locking as the charge surged through his Shell and into the flesh underneath.

"Agh—!"

"You’ve got steel skin," Damon said, already gathering mana again. "Steel conducts. Every bolt I put into the floor goes straight through you."

[LIGHTNING LANCE]

Another pair struck the ground. Another surge of current tore up Matthew’s legs. His Shell was flawless against physical attacks, but it was also the perfect conductor, and every Lightning Lance Damon cast turned that strength into a weakness.

"You think this is enough to beat me!?"

Matthew lunged forward anyway, forcing himself through the spasms. His right hook came in wide, fueled by frustration and the last of his balance. Damon slipped under it easily.

"I don’t just think it will," he said, stepping back as his hands glowed once more. "I know it will."

[LIGHTNING LANCE]

[LIGHTNING LANCE]

[LIGHTNING LANCE]

The barrage kept coming. Twin bolts, then twin bolts again, then a third pair after that. Each strike hit the floor around Matthew in a narrowing ring, and each impact sent fresh waves of current through his steel body.

He couldn’t keep dodging. Not with his leg beginning to fail. Not with the electricity building faster than his body could recover from it.

The sixth volley caught him mid-step. His right leg buckled completely, and he dropped to one knee. The steel plating across his chest flickered as the Shell destabilized under the strain.

"Get up," Damon said.

Matthew bared his teeth and tried to rise, but his arms trembled and his leg refused to cooperate.

"I said get up!"

[SOVEREIGN’S THUNDER]

BANG!

Steel fragments burst outward in a spray of silver light as the lightning tore through what was left of his defense and hurled him across the arena. He slammed into the barrier runes at the far edge of the circle and collapsed, smoke rising from his chest.

Silence followed.

Damon lowered his hands. His mana was almost gone, and the hollow ache behind his eyes had grown sharper than ever. Every breath hurt his ribs. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth where the headbutt had split his lip.

But he was still standing.

And Matthew Voss was not.

Professor Cain stepped forward. His red eyes moved from Matthew’s crumpled form to Damon’s bloodied face, and for a long moment, he said nothing.

Then he raised his hand.

"Victor: Damon Persival."

The upper deck didn’t erupt this time.

It detonated.

"He won!"

"Matthew’s Shell, he shattered it completely!"

"That many Lightning Lances?! How much mana does he even have?"

"He used the floor as a conductor!"

"Someone check on Matthew!"

Damon stood in the center of the arena, breathing hard, surrounded by scorch marks and shattered steel.

He didn’t raise a fist. He didn’t gloat. He didn’t even look down at Matthew for long. He simply turned to Professor Cain and waited.

He was too tired to care anymore.

Cain met his gaze. Something faint and unreadable passed over the professor’s weathered features, not quite a smile, but close enough to feel like one.

"Report to the infirmary after class," he said. "Both of you."

Matthew groaned from the edge of the circle, trying and failing to push himself upright. His lackeys hurried down from the upper deck, but he brushed them off with a weak, irritated wave.

"I don’t need—" He coughed, wincing. "I don’t need help."

"You do," Kara said as she appeared beside him. "Shut up and take it."

For once, Matthew didn’t argue.

Damon made his way toward the edge of the circle. His legs felt unsteady, and his vision kept threatening to blur, but he reached the equipment rack before his body gave out. He leaned against it, letting the cold metal take some of his weight.

A moment later, Kara came to stand beside him.

"That was brutal," she said.

"He started it."

"I know. I’ve been watching him start things for years." She glanced toward her brother, who was being hauled to his feet by his lackeys. "You could have killed him with that last attack, y’know?"

"Too busy fighting for my life to notice."

She nudged his arm, lightly this time. "Well, thanks anyway, for not accidentally permanently crippling my brother, I mean."

Then she walked away before he could answer.

Damon closed his eyes and let his head rest against the rack. His body was one long list of injuries: bruised ribs, a blistered palm, a split lip, and what felt very much like the beginning of a concussion.

And yet, underneath the pain and exhaustion, something else had begun to settle in quietly.

Satisfaction.

Two years of being Matthew’s punching bag. Two years of whispers in the corridors and shoulder-checks in passing. Two years of being the academy’s cautionary tale.

And now Matthew Voss was being carried to the infirmary by the same lackeys who had once held Damon down for his punches.

"Persival."

Damon opened his eyes. Professor Cain stood over him, tablet in hand.

"That was reckless. Efficient, but reckless. You burned through most of your mana in under two minutes."

"I had a plan."

"I saw." Cain tucked the tablet under his arm. "You used the environment, exploited a type weakness, and kept your distance against a superior close-combat opponent. That’s the kind of tactical thinking most resonators need to survive."

"Are you complimenting me, sir?"

"It’s an observation." Cain paused. "But if you want to take it as a compliment, I won’t stop you, but I also won’t vouch for you."

He turned back toward the center of the arena.

"Now, all of you, quiet down. You still have duels to go through. As for you, Persival, the infirmary. Now. That wasn’t a suggestion."

Damon pushed himself away from the equipment rack. His legs held, barely.

As he limped toward the exit, he passed the upper deck, where students were still buzzing with disbelief. A few met his eyes.

But most looked away.

But none of them whispered "dud."

Not anymore.

Now, they had another ridiculous name for him.

"Nepo Baby"

A resonator that got his power from being in the same lineage as Lucas Persival.

Because obviously, bullying wouldn’t stop after a single fight. Most of them only wanted to double down, because admitting he was strong now would be the same as admitting defeat.

And most weren’t willing to do that.