Yoo Mujin.

One of the strongest in the entire world.

One of the few people whose name could be listed with pride.

To °• N 𝑜 v 𝑒 l i g h t •° be acknowledged by someone like that—it felt good.

It also served as a clear benchmark to confirm my own position.

I was watching the footage from the exchange match uploaded to Gaon’s database.

Analysis must always come first.

Memory can be swayed by emotion, but footage captures only the facts.

First, our team.

Yoon Chaeha.

Overall, excellent.

Her innate battle instincts allowed her to maintain perfect positioning without needing any orders.

Her final force field was particularly impressive—outstanding.

She kept it thin yet dense, and it burned away every last ghost without a single breach.

A highly polished defensive field.

“She’s good, really good...”

But—there was one issue.

She’s too conscious of me.

Lately, I’ve been giving her a lot of guidance. In class, during training, even outside school.

It felt like she was starting to genuinely accept me as her mentor.

Her expression practically shouted, ‘I did well, right?’

She wasn’t even trying to hide it.

Well, it’s not like we’re going to drift apart, so there’s no harm in it.

Still, I do worry.

As long as it doesn’t develop into dependency, it should be fine.

Next up—

Yu Hana.

—Swish!

“Wow...”

Even on a rewatch, it’s awe-inspiring.

A single slash so fast, the camera couldn’t keep up.

Before the smoke had even cleared, before the ghosts had regenerated—

She struck at the perfect moment, severing the unicorn’s neck in one blow.

Even the flower petals that fluttered up afterward were perfectly timed.

She wasn’t conscious of anyone’s gaze.

Her own, singular cut.

In many ways, a clear contrast with Chaeha.

But this isn’t about who did better or worse.

It’s just a difference in style.

In the end, both were strong. And both were on the same team.

That was the end of my team’s analysis.

I just replayed it to see if I’d missed anything.

As expected—there was nothing I’d missed.

Now it was time to look at the other team.

[Team 2 – Johan]

They were listed as second, but the difference in record time was just a few seconds.

If we had been just a bit slower, we would’ve been second.

Which meant—there had to be someone on their team pulling serious weight.

I hit the play button on the footage.

“...”

I needed to see who had performed that well.

In a broader sense, this was still part of taking care of Yoon Chaeha.

Because the star of that team—was probably Ju Seojun.

Just as expected, the footage proved it.

Tactical decisions, combat timing, positional adjustments—Ju Seojun was controlling nearly everything.

And then came the final part.

[Phantom Beast. Hornless Unicorn.]

The moment I saw how they dealt with it, I let out a sigh.

“Damn... what the hell...”

I understood now.

How he’d managed to take down the Hornless Unicorn so easily.

“...She might lose.”

And I meant it.

It occurred to me that Yoon Chaeha might actually lose.

***

Today was the second day of the exchange match’s individual division.

The first match ended predictably—without much drama.

The mid-tier swordsman from Gaon couldn’t beat Yoon Chaeha.

She didn’t suffer a single scratch and won cleanly.

And now, it was the day after.

I had called Yoon Chaeha early in the morning.

[belief_]: Hana, can we skip this morning’s workout...?

[belief_]: I have a mentor–mentee thing...

I felt bad for Yu Hana. I had to cancel our workout.

She didn’t even reply—probably sulking.

I arrived at the training hall first and sat quietly on a mat laid out on the floor.

Silence lingered for a while, until I heard footsteps in the distance.

“What’s with this mentor–mentee thing? You haven’t called me in forever... and now, first thing in the morning?”

It was Yoon Chaeha.

She was wearing a training outfit that fit her perfectly, her hair half-tied.

I had told her to dress comfortably since we’d be fighting.

Her tone was curt, but her steps were light, and there was a faint hint of anticipation in her voice.

This is going to hurt.

Today, I probably wouldn’t be able to meet those expectations of hers.

“Shall we start right away?”

“Well... sure.”

Yoon Chaeha nodded slightly.

Her answer was indifferent, but her eyes were faintly glowing with anticipation.

I slowly rose to my feet.

Yoon Chaeha and the Hornless Unicorn.

In a broad sense, their magic was similar.

Territory control.

That’s how I’d describe it.

The unicorn spread intangible ghosts across a wide area to block vision and dominate the battlefield.

Yoon Chaeha flooded the field with flames using her area-of-effect fire magic.

She restricts enemy movement on a stage she built herself—and from within that framework, delivers precise attacks.

That’s what made them similar.

A battle style constructed entirely by Yoon Chaeha herself.

But based on the footage I watched yesterday—

Ju Seojun’s strategy was the perfect antithesis, the exact counter to her magic.

Single-point breakthrough.

There’s a fundamental concept in magic called “reverse calculation.”

It’s the process of dismantling and retracing the flow of mana.

And he had overlaid that reverse calculation directly onto her magic—and stabbed through the center.

Now I understood how he took down the unicorn so easily.

Ju Seojun must have spent a great deal of time thinking, training, and repeating, all to defeat Yoon Chaeha.

Honestly—it was impressive.

So I decided to give Yoon Chaeha a little preemptive exposure.

I spent all night analyzing.

“Reverse calculation” sounds grand, but it’s not an advanced technique.

In the end, mana behaves similarly for all humans.

What Ju Seojun applied was just a simple, fundamental reverse flow of mana.

The nail was the reverse calculation.

And the hammer was the force he used to drive it.

That combination could shatter any defense or formation with a single point of attack.

That was his strategy.

“Chaeha.”

“Yeah?”

“Use the strongest attack you can.”

“On you?”

Yoon Chaeha frowned.

“That might be a bit... dangerous.”

“It’s fine. Just do it.”

I lightly shook out my hands.

“No holding back. As strong as you can.”

At that, a slight change flickered in Yoon Chaeha’s gaze.

“...Got it.”

Crimson flames flickered in her eyes.

Her hair fluttered in the wind, and the air around her began to distort like it was catching fire.

“ㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡ.”

A short incantation.

Then, dozens of massive spears of fire tore down from the sky, engulfing the entire training ground.

Yeah, she’s serious.

I bent one knee lightly and flipped my spear around.

Then I overlaid a reverse-calculation mana flow onto the tip.

“ㅡㅡ!”

At the same time, Yoon Chaeha’s spears of flame rained down like a deluge.

I aimed for the shallowest point—the weakest gap.

And instantly kicked off.

The angle of approach: head-on.

—KWA-BOOM!!

With a roar of impact, I shattered one of the dozens of spears and broke through the gap.

Yoon Chaeha’s eyes widened.

Her lips parted slightly.

I charged straight toward her.

Click.

I flipped the spear in my grip and raised it right in front of her forehead.

And then—

Tap.

I lightly tapped her forehead with the spear’s tip.

“Again.”

I left just that one word and turned away.

Yoon Chaeha stood frozen, staring at me blankly, unable to speak.

***

I pierced through her magic the same way—over and over again.

Dozens of times.

No matter what spell she cast.

Even if she filled the entire space, covered the sky—I broke through the gaps.

“Again.”

Again. And again.

This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.

Honestly, I started getting a little concerned.

Yoon Chaeha had a strong sense of pride.

Not just pride in herself—but in her magic, in everything she did.

She was always confident.

That’s why I’d been worried Ju Seojun would completely shatter that confidence.

So I approached it with the idea of giving her a preemptive dose—a “vaccine.”

But somehow, I felt like I was the one hitting harder.

I worried—what if she lost heart? What if this discouraged her?

“Let’s stop here.”

At my declaration of the session’s end, Yoon Chaeha dropped down where she stood.

Ah, damn.

I might have pushed her too hard.

I rushed over to check on her.

“You okay? Sorry, I might’ve gone too far...”

But—

“......”

She didn’t answer.

“Haa... haa...”

Her shoulders were heaving.

Her mouth hung open as she gasped for air, cheeks flushed hot.

A bead of sweat formed on her forehead and slid down under her chin.

Her eyes.

They were trembling faintly—but there was no anger. No despair.

Instead, they were clearer—more vivid—than I’d ever seen.

“One more time.”

She drew in a long breath.

And then—

“No, let’s keep going until my match today.”

The corners of her mouth slowly began to rise.

Her breath still trembled slightly, but within it bloomed a clear emotion.

“No. Let’s do this forever. I... really love it.”

That voice.

Laced within her shaky breath was thrill—and desire.

“Jeong Haein.”

She slowly lifted her head.

Strands of hair clung to her flushed cheeks. Her eyes, misted and wet.

All of it merged with her fierce competitiveness, creating something strangely magnetic.

“I’m really glad you’re my mentor.”

I was wrong.

Yoon Chaeha doesn’t break.

The more pressure she’s under, the more she burns—hotter, harder—like a forge.

In her eyes, the will to fight had reignited.

“Hit me harder. Break me.”

She was truly enjoying this fight.

“That’ll... probably feel even better.”

Her lips curled upward slowly—but unmistakably.