I watch my opponent. I watch Lasha. I see her stepping forward, her gaze sharpened like a blade. I see her body twisting, readying to throw a punch.
Her movements are different from the memories etched into my soul. The Lasha I’d watched from behind a monitor, her posture and approach back then, was different. She’d never shown such moves.
Yet, that doesn’t mean she’s become someone entirely different from her game self.
Just like in the game, she longs to face the strong.
Just like in the game, she relies on her fists alone, never using weapons.
Just like in the game, she prefers to toy with her opponent rather than inflict fatal blows right away.
Lasha is still Lasha. Her name, appearance, and even the world she lives in may have changed, but her core remains untouched.
And the same goes for the fist charging at me now. Though it seems completely unfamiliar, Lasha’s punch still shares its roots with what I know. That punch is the culmination of all her accumulated memories in martial arts.
Realizing this, I silently curse my own stupidity.
The answer was simple. But I hadn’t seen it because I was too fixated on my knowledge as a “veteran” player.
When I was a hardcore gamer, facing bosses was nothing more than jotting down memorized patterns on paper.
The only difference was that I used a keyboard and mouse instead of a pen. It was like solving a test with a set answer key, and I went through that test thousands, even tens of thousands of times, until I could answer without even looking.
I’d become a gamer’s gamer, a “stale water” gamer who’d spent so much time perfecting answers that I’d forgotten how to solve problems anew. Back then, I didn’t need the process; I only needed the answer.
So, when I ended up in this world, I carried on in the same way, ignoring the process and chasing only answers. Just like when I was a hardcore gamer.
I’d treated the people in front of me not as living beings but as unchanging problems on paper.
So, when that “problem” started changing its own variables, I gave up rather than trying something new.
In the process of becoming stagnant, I’d grown accustomed to abandoning attempts when they failed, instinctively choosing to start fresh.
But now things are different. Now that I know where I went wrong, I won’t keep living that way.
I focus my eyes, engraving every movement of Lasha into my mind. I recall the days before I was a “stale” player, back when I was just a pure gamer.
Boom!
Lasha’s fist and my shield clash once more. But this time, my shield, weakened by the divine power I poured into it earlier, is less sturdy than before.
Yet, the impact traveling up my arm feels lighter than before. This time, I didn’t simply rely on pure reflexes to counter her; I chose my moves based on the knowledge I knew well.
“Have you grown already?”
“Unlike a muscle-headed pig who’s got nothing left but old age, I’m young, so growing is only natural♡.”
“Haha. I like you more and more.”
Lasha’s grin turns even more feral, and I can feel a smirk creeping up on my own lips.
No fear. No hesitation. Only exhilaration.
Yes, this is why I loved Soul Academy.
Even seemingly impossible trials could be overcome with repeated effort. My hard work would yield immediate results. My past knowledge wasn’t rendered useless. Each challenge brought new enjoyment, and that’s why I loved Soul Academy.
Lasha raises her right fist, aiming for a blow to my side that would slip past my shield.
At first glance, it looks like an easy attack to block, but instead of moving hastily, I continue to observe.
Lasha is a warrior hardened by countless battles. She wouldn’t throw such a simple punch without an ulterior motive.
See? Her left fist is poised, waiting to strike the moment I move my shield.
Blocking with my shield would be a poor choice. Retreating would break my stance.
In that case, the answer is to move forward.
Using my shield to cover my body, I surge forward, and Lasha’s punch aimed at my side cuts through empty air.
Simultaneously, her left fist, prepared to strike me, loses its optimal range and power.
Ordinarily, I might think this is my chance and swing my mace, but I hold back.
I’m certain that moving rashly would cause this brief advantage to slip through my fingers.
And my caution proves right.
“Hahaha! Good!”
The moment her hands are too tied up to attack, Lasha drives her forehead into my shield.
To an onlooker, it would look insane, as if she were inviting a concussion, but that concern doesn’t apply to Lasha. Her body, honed into a weapon, delivers a headbutt that feels like a cannonball crashing into my shield.
Boom! The impact forces me backward, sliding across the dirt and creating space between us.
“Not much time left. Guess I should pick up the pace a little!”
For the first time, instead of swinging her fist, Lasha lifts her leg.
Her kick, grounded firmly on her left foot, swings out like a whip.
Dodging clumsily would only ruin my defense. I have to block it.
Planting my feet, I grip my shield with both hands and focus on the incoming blow.
Against Lasha, you can’t trust your ears. Her attacks are faster than the sound they make.
I can’t rely on my eyes, either. Her movements have long outpaced my senses.
In the end, the only thing I can rely on is the instinct ingrained in my body.
It’s a desperate situation, but for some reason, a grin spreads across my face.
Boom!
I feel the familiar impact of a parry but not the exact timing I needed. I failed to fully absorb the shock.
Ha. She’s insanely strong. If she had been this powerful back when I was behind a monitor, taking her down would have been exhilarating.
As I strain to hold on, the foot I’d anchored to the ground is dislodged, sending me airborne. Bracing for the coming impact, I clench my teeth.
When I regain consciousness, my forehead is pressed into the ground. I must have rolled forward after crashing into the wall.
Trying to stand up proves a mistake. As soon as I press down on my arm, pain shoots through it, and my head slams back into the dirt.
Ugh?! My arm is broken just from the force transferred through the shield?
Damn. If my shield weren’t a legendary piece, it would’ve been split in half.
I chuckle despite myself, but a cold sweat prickles down my back.
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Fear creeps along my spine, snuffing out the exhilaration that had built up during the fight, leaving behind a frigid void.
A tangled mess of thoughts runs through my head—a part of me whining about the pain, a voice urging me to surrender, another warning me to apologize to Lasha.
But gritting my teeth, I heal myself and push back to my feet.
The dam hasn’t broken yet. The toad swallowing this rising fear still insists I can hold on. Things may look bad, but it’s not over yet.
If that’s the case, I can raise my shield again.
I don’t need to think. I can ignore all those stray thoughts in my head. As long as I have just a few seconds to react on instinct, that’s enough.
“You’re one tough bastard. Are you even human?”
“I’ll throw that question right back at you♡. Are you human?♡ You look like an orc or a troll half-breed♡.”
“Ha. Can’t keep your mouth shut, can you? You’re the best.”
Her loud, raucous laughter fills the entire arena. Then, her expression shifts as she prepares her final, decisive strike.
Cracks form in the earth. Air rushes toward her fist, drawn in by the mana she gathers. Her red-stained eyes glint with killing intent.
Wow. How am I supposed to block that? Even if I were in perfect condition, it would shatter me; in my exhausted state, I don’t stand a chance.
Should I surrender? That might at least save my life.
With that half-crazy thought, I chuckle, but instead of retreating, I raise my shield, praying for a miracle.
“Good job, Lucy.”
And then, a miracle in human form appears behind me.
“Stand back for a moment.”
Benedict steps forward with a calm face, assuming a stance to deliver a punch of his own. His gathered mana rivals Lasha’s, if not surpasses it.
Watching the scene unfold, I realize there’s no place for me between these two monsters and take a step back.
“Haha! Benedict! It’s been a while—shall we go for it?”
“For your age, you could stand to act more mature.”
“You’re the one who’s too grown up!”
After this relaxed exchange, the two throw their fists at each other.
From my perspective, it doesn’t look like a clash between two humans—it’s as if two dragons are breathing down on each other.
The intensity is as visible as it is threatening, and the aftermath is just as fierce.
The ground cracks and screams under the pressure. Winds whirl around, so powerful that I have to drive my shield into the ground to avoid being swept away. Some spectators even faint from the overwhelming impact.
But the two who caused this storm remain mostly unscathed.
Benedict merely swings his arm as if loosening a cramp, and Lasha, showing no sign of fatigue, grins and gathers more mana.
“Your daughter lost the bet, so you stepped in? Good! Let’s get right to it!”
“What nonsense. Lasha, my daughter won the bet.”
“What nonsense? You interrupted, didn’t you? That’s a clear foul!”
“And continuing to attack after the minute was up isn’t a foul?”
“...The minute’s up? Seriously?”
Lasha blinks, looking toward Count Bardronel in the audience, who nods in affirmation.
“Sir Allen is correct, Lady Lasha.”
“Damn it. I couldn’t knock out that brat within a minute?”
With her voice turning a little more hostile, Bardronel remains silent, while Benedict’s mana flares, ready for any trouble Lasha might stir.
But I don’t need that. Removing my shield from the ground, I step past Benedict and grin mockingly at Lasha.
“All that tough talk, yet you couldn’t even beat me♡. Why don’t you bow your head and accept defeat, like any pathetic loser would?♡”
Lasha stares at me, dumbfounded, and just as Benedict rushes over in a panic, she bursts into laughter.
Contrary to Benedict’s worry, she laughs for a long time before running a hand through her hair and approaching me.
“Fine, kid. I’ll let you have this one.”
“Think there’ll be a next time?♡ You really are a muscle-headed pig♡. You’ll always be the loser who couldn’t beat me♡.”
“Heh. Alright. Let’s meet again. I’ll make sure I’m strong enough to go all out next time.”
With that, she waves a hand and strides out of the arena.
When only Benedict and I remain, the referee, finally regaining his senses, raises his voice.
“Winner! Lucy Allen!”
Perhaps realizing that everything was over, my forcibly held-together consciousness snaps, and my body tilts forward.
Ugh. Here we go again.
After using up all her strength to defeat Lasha, Lucy Allen collapses like a—