CHAPTER 107: CHAPTER 104 – CLEVER HANDS, BITTER HEARTS

Central Duel Platform – Late Afternoon

The fortress had fallen into a profound stillness. Not merely quiet, but charged with tension—like the hushed breath held in anticipation before a spell is uttered.

The announcer’s voice rang out, buoyed by powerful magical amplification charms that resonated through every archway, terrace, and skybox, weaving an electric atmosphere.

"Severus Shafiq – Ilvermorny Academy... versus Kaito Rin – Mahoutokoro."

Severus stepped onto the raised stone platform, its surface freshly conjured with intricate, shimmering runes pulsating with protective magic. His boots made no sound as they met the smooth stone, and he felt the weight of ancient magic enveloping him—a tight, simmering energy forged for precision and purpose.

Kaito Rin awaited him at the far edge of the platform, standing poised with his wand held high like a katana—upright, steady, and reverent.

He stood a fraction shorter than Severus, perhaps an inch or two, with dark hair neatly tied back in a high knot. A silver-threaded sash was belted tightly around his waist, accentuating the elegance of his cream dueling robes. Not a flicker of emotion betrayed him; he didn’t fidget, didn’t blink, his demeanor as still as a statue carved from the finest marble.

Severus studied him intently, his senses heightened, attuned to the silent intensity radiating from his opponent.

Not a peacock. Not a storm. A blade.

The platform glowed softly, casting a gentle, ethereal light that illuminated the surrounding space. As if responding to an unseen command, the shields rose—a shimmering, transparent dome of spectral light arcing gracefully overhead, cocooning them in a protective bell.

The bell chimed, a clear and resonant note that marked the beginning of their duel.

Kaito struck first—there was no flourish, no dramatic sweep of his wand; his movements were efficient and precise. A jet of pale orange light darted toward Severus’s face with the swiftness of a thrown needle, but Severus merely tilted his head, allowing the spell to sail past harmlessly. Almost instantaneously, another spell shot towards his wand arm, followed by a third spell—a quick, low shot intended to sweep his legs from beneath him.

Three attacks launched in rapid succession. All were sharp, calculated; there was no wasted effort.

Severus stepped to the left, raising a half-shield just in time. He then countered with a flick of his wrist, sending out a flicker of violet—a soft feint hex that was deliberately aimed wide of its mark. His true intention wasn’t to strike; he was probing, observing Kaito’s reactions, attempting to discern the patterns in his movements.

Kaito held his ground, refusing to take the bait. Instead, he transformed into a blur of motion, invoking a speed-step charm that Severus recognized from the intricate arsenal of Eastern dueling forms. In an instant, Kaito reappeared behind Severus, launching a flurry of hexes from his new vantage point.

Without hesitation, Severus pivoted sharply on his heel, his wand sweeping through the air in a practiced diagonal arc. He cast a Mirrorturn Deflection, watching as the incoming spells rebounded mid-air with a metallic whir, like spinning knives returning to their thrower. One of the hexes grazed the edge of Kaito’s sleeve, a near miss that sent a thrill of excitement through the atmosphere.

Yet, the Mahoutokoro duelist remained unperturbed, his expression steely and resolute.

They began to circle one another, each measuring the other’s strengths and strategies, intent on finding an opening.

One minute passed in a tension-filled silence. Then, two minutes elapsed, stretching on as they continued their careful dance. The audience leaned forward, their collective breath held in anticipation of what would unfold next.

Evie gripped the edge of her seat, her heart pounding in rhythm with the intensity of the duel unfolding before her eyes. "He’s waiting for something, like he’s reading him," she whispered, her gaze locked on the combatants.

Alessandro, standing beside her, narrowed his eyes, his brow furrowing in concentration. "No. He’s solving him," he replied, his tone filled with a mix of awe and disbelief.

The fourth exchange began, a pivotal moment charged with tension. Kaito lunged forward with a fierce determination, conjuring a compact triple hex—Stinger, Lock-Point, Falterstep—a devastating combination designed to cripple opponents, lethal if even one curse landed successfully.

Severus faced the onslaught head-on, allowing the Lock-Point curse to strike his shoulder. It stung sharply, flames of pain lancing through him, but the effect was superficial. His resilience shone through.

The crowd gasped, the sound rising in volume and energy as they realized the magnitude of the clash—this time, they were truly witnessing something extraordinary.

In the judges’ box, Flitwick straightened in his chair, eyes sparkling with curiosity. "What is he—" His words were cut off as he leaned forward, eager to understand the duel’s unfolding narrative.

Severus, undeterred by the pain, didn’t falter. Instead, he staggered backward, eyes narrowing as if reeling from the impact, a clever feint designed to draw Kaito in.

Kaito surged forward, invigorated by the apparent opening, ready to press the advantage he believed he had seized.

Exactly as planned. Severus had anticipated this moment, and he repeated a movement he’d used before—a deliberate step to the left, his wand lowered, and his arm tucked in, every motion calculated and precise.

It was a trap, expertly laid.

Kaito, recalling the swift attack angle he’d used in the second round, executed a precise right diagonal slash aimed at Severus. But Severus had anticipated this move, ready to spring his cunning trap.

From the tip of Severus’s wand, a dazzling spectacle unfolded. A triple-layered chain spell burst forth, cleverly concealed beneath the innocent façade of a harmless Sparkspin and a shimmering Reflection Decoy. The true strike, known as Vinculo Tria, shot out like a series of golden wires, weaving through the air with remarkable speed and precision. They sought out Kaito’s vital pressure points, aiming to restrain him swiftly and effectively.

The final binding thread snagged the tip of Kaito’s wand. In one fluid, whip-like motion, the spell effectively disarmed him. He fell, unceremoniously cast to the ground, stunned and breathless, ensnared within an elegant, shimmering lattice of magical energy.

The entirety of the duel had unfolded in less than five minutes, a whirlwind of skill and strategy.

For two full seconds, the arena remained eerily silent, a palpable tension hanging in the air.

Then, the murmurs began to ripple through the crowd, growing in intensity. Applause erupted, starting softly but quickly escalating to a thunderous roar. In the midst of it all, someone let out a sharp whistle, cutting through the excitement as admiration filled the space.

Flitwick leaned closer to the Mahoutokoro judge, his brow furrowed with concentration. "Clever bastard," he muttered under his breath. "He made him predictable. On purpose."

Kaito, still recovering from his last move, blinked in surprise. He looked up at Severus from where he knelt in the arena, his expression one of respect and acknowledgment, and bowed silently, lowering his head.

Severus returned the gesture, nodding slightly in acknowledgment. It wasn’t a deep bow, but it was precise—an acknowledgment of their unspoken understanding.

With a measured grace, he turned and left the platform, his footsteps unhurried and steady, resolutely avoiding any gaze from the stands, where spectators were buzzing with energy and opinions.

Rejoining the Waiting Area, Severus was immediately met with an onslaught of energy. Evie flung herself at him, clearly agitated. "You took a hit on purpose, you maniac! I could’ve throttled you!" Her eyes flashed with a mix of worry and frustration.

"You saw that, didn’t you?" Severus replied mildly, brushing off the imaginary dust from his shoulder as if to cast aside the tension of the match.

Ben, standing nearby, whistled low in admiration. "You baited a Mahoutokoro duelist into overextending. That’s practically sacrilege," he commented, eyes wide with disbelief at Severus’s maneuvering.

"Or suicide," Alessandro chimed in, a grin breaking through his initial concern. "Lucky for us, you’re too stubborn to die."

The corners of Severus’s mouth finally turned up as he allowed himself a faint smirk. "He was good. Just... readable," he acknowledged, his mind still processing the duel.

Ben laughed heartily, the sound cutting through the tension. "You do realize half the judges probably needed two rounds to catch what you did?" he pointed out, still shaken by how Severus managed to outsmart his opponent.

"Not my problem," Severus replied again, his voice light, a hint of satisfaction woven through it as he reveled in his victory and the camaraderie of his friends.

Behind them, the name Severus Shafiq continued to echo through the enchanted air—his name spoken in a myriad of accents, tones, and languages, each one adding a unique twist to the syllables. Whispers of admiration and fear intertwined, creating a tapestry of sound that filled the space. But despite the varying expressions, every voice conveyed a singular truth. He was not merely intelligent; he possessed a menacing quality that made him a formidable presence.

Upper Balcony – Observation Deck (Sponsors’ Gallery)

James sat stiffly at the edge of the balcony reserved for high-tier sponsors and their entourages. The plush velvet seats surrounded him, a stark contrast to the whirlwind of emotions bubbling beneath his surface. Quiet murmurs floated around the room, an expensive silence that felt heavy with expectation. His father had pulled a few strings for this prime view—it was the sort of box meant for diplomats and legacy patrons, not a sixteen-year-old boy desperate to prove his worth.

His duel was over.

He’d won.

Not perfectly. Not cleanly. But a victory is still a victory, isn’t it?

So why did he feel like he was the one being judged?

Across the vast dueling fortress, the central platform began to glow once more, bathed in an ethereal light. Another name echoed through the enchanted air, bold and clear, cutting through the murmur of the crowd.

"Severus Shafiq – Ilvermorny Academy."

A smattering of excited murmurs rippled through the lower audience tiers. The noise wasn’t loud, yet it was unmistakably filled with intrigue and anticipation, an electric buzz that hinted at Severus’s reputation.

James leaned forward before he could stop himself, his elbows resting on his knees, palms pressed tightly together. Anxiety twisted in his gut as he strained to get a better look, the weight of his earlier battle still palpable in his mind.

From this height, he could see everything clearly. Severus stepped onto the platform with an air of belonging that was almost palpable. There was no flashiness, no trace of arrogance—just a quiet, unwavering certainty that set him apart from the crowd. His robes, adorned with the silver-stitched crest of Ilvermorny, flowed as he moved, and his wand hand rested casually at his side, unraised and ready.

James bit the inside of his cheek, feeling the tension coiling within him.

He’s just putting on a show. That’s all it is. He’s not unbeatable, he reassured himself, though doubt crept in like a shadow.

"Watch his footwork," came the calm, measured voice of his tutor—a seasoned ex-ICW enforcer with a beard that resembled steel wool and scars that remained hidden beneath the layers of his formal coat. "The boy’s not wasting any motion. That’s textbook discipline."

"Can’t be that hard to take him down," James muttered under his breath, frustration lacing his words.

"You’ll lose if you assume that," the tutor replied coolly, his eyes sharp and focused. "You fight Shafiq like a Gryffindor, and he’ll pick you apart like a chessboard, leaving you in disarray."

Sirius nudged James’s arm, flashing a grin that was meant to encourage. "C’mon, Jamie. You’ll flatten him when it counts. He’s still Snivellus underneath it all, right?" The playful jab was intended to lighten the mood, but James felt the weight of the challenge ahead pressing down on him.

James didn’t smile. He kept his eyes fixed on the unfolding scene before him.

The duel commenced, a clash of wills and skill. What followed wasn’t flashy or overly dramatic. It lacked the rapid intensity, the brutal exchanges, and the theatrical flair often found in such contests. Instead, it was starkly clinical.

Calculated.

Kaito Rin—Mahoutokoro’s enigmatic silent prodigy—moved with a deadly elegance, his spells cutting through the air with the sharpness of a razor. Yet, Severus stood unyielding. He adapted to every move, countered with fierce precision, and absorbed a hit only to spring a deeper trap.

James’s gaze remained fixed on Severus as he transformed his defense into an intricate net of countermeasures, ultimately concluding the duel with a clean and flawless binding spell.

A collective gasp escaped the onlookers, followed by a wave of applause. It was polite at first, but gradually grew louder, charged with admiration.

To James’s left, Charles Potter sat with his arms crossed, his expression inscrutable as he observed quietly, while beside him, Dorea’s jaw was set tight—her gloved hands unmoving since the duel’s onset, a tense figure of restraint amidst the excitement.

But it was Remus’s face that James found hardest to bear in that moment. His expression was a blend of worry, thoughtfulness, and resignation, a silent reflection of the stakes at play and the burdens they all carried.

Like he already knew how this would end.

James leaned back in his chair, attempting to project an air of nonchalance. "He got lucky. That Mahoutokoro kid was just too predictable."

"He wasn’t lucky," Dorea countered softly, her voice sharp yet tinged with an undercurrent of realization. "He was ready."

James went still, the words hanging in the air like an accusation.

For once, her statement didn’t come off as reprimanding. Instead, it felt like a harsh truth—a painful revelation he couldn’t ignore.

Sirius opened his mouth, ready to interject, but found nothing to say and quickly closed it again, his expression pensive.

After a tense moment, Charles finally broke the silence—his voice low and unreadable. "Watch the other duels closely. Study their strategies. Day Two won’t allow for improvisation."

James remained silent, his throat tightening as a wave of something ugly and fervent surged within him, choking off any response that might have escaped his lips.

Why does everyone speak as if he’s already claimed victory? Why do they gaze at him as though he’s something... extraordinary?

Below, Severus stepped down from the high platform, his demeanor effortlessly confident. Alessandro clapped a hand on his shoulder in camaraderie, the gesture almost brotherly. Evie laughed joyfully as she swung an arm around him, her eyes sparkling with admiration. Even Ben Hale, usually reserved, managed a nod of approval, a rare sign of respect.

It wasn’t the victory itself that twisted like a knife in James’s gut.

It was the effortless nature of it. The undeniable grace with which Severus carried himself. He didn’t even spare a glance toward the sponsor box, didn’t acknowledge James’s presence at all as if he were completely insignificant.

Like he didn’t matter.

James’s jaw tightened with suppressed fury.

Let them cheer. Let them whisper sweet nothings in his ear. He won’t last.

I’ll make sure of it.

Remus’s hand rested on James’s shoulder for a brief, comforting moment. "James," he said softly, his voice low enough to be almost a whisper, "you’ve got nothing to prove to him. Just focus."

James remained silent, his thoughts swirling like a tempest.

But within him, the war drums were crashing like thunder.

Not for the tournament.

But for something deeper, something older, something far more sinister than mere competition.

And somewhere far below, Severus Shafiq laughed at something Evie had said, a sound that made James’s blood boil—and he turned away before the laughter could pierce through him.

Duel Platform – Just Before Dusk

Alessandro’s duel was set to begin next.

"Alessandro DeLuca – Ilvermorny Academy versus Gaspard Delacour – Beauxbatons."

The Beauxbatons champion stepped forward with an air of practiced finesse, every movement executed with a charm-based elegance that dazzled the audience. Gaspard’s demeanor was almost casual, a smile gracing his lips as he treated the confrontation like a vibrant social gathering. His wand danced through the air, creating flares of light and silver spirals that shimmered with enchantment.

In stark contrast, Alessandro approached the duel with unwavering focus and grounded precision. He watched as Gaspard’s illusions unfolded like flowers in bloom, their brilliance momentarily captivating his attention. But Alessandro was not entranced; he remained alert, ready to dismantle the deceptive charms.

With deft swiftness, he cast anchoring hexes that disrupted the illusions, causing them to shatter into nothingness. The smile on Gaspard’s face faded, the confidence washed away as the Italian duel-wolf effortlessly countered his next charm, batting it away as if it were a mere wisp of mist.

Finally, when the moment was right, Alessandro launched a silent stunning spell, hidden cleverly behind the momentum of a ricochet. The spell struck true, landing squarely on Gaspard’s chest with a resounding thud. The French heir stumbled before collapsing to the ground, breathless and defeated.

With a low bow, Alessandro acknowledged the outcome of the duel, his expression devoid of triumph, only a steely determination evident in his posture.

From the gallery, Severus gave a single nod of approval, his expression one of admiration for the skill he had just witnessed.

Flitwick leaned toward the Uagadou judge beside him, his eyes gleaming with excitement. "He has remarkable discipline," he remarked. "And an exceptional ability to read his opponent."

Judges’ Tower – Nightfall

Flitwick scribbled notes furiously, his quill dancing across the parchment with rapid, precise flicks.

"Candidate #42 – James Potter," the Mahoutokoro judge remarked, his brow furrowed. "He’s raw. Lacks control."

"Flashy but fundamentally brittle," Flitwick concurred, his expression tinged with concern. "He has a tendency to react impulsively rather than analyze the situation thoroughly."

The Uagadou judge tapped the parchment again with a thoughtful expression. "He passed the assessment. But just barely. In high-pressure scenarios, I doubt he’ll hold up."

Without lingering, they transitioned to the next candidate.

"Candidate #88 – Alessandro DeLuca?"

"Impressive instincts," the ICW judge commented, nodding appreciatively. "He reminds me of the strategic dueling tacticians from the Japanese schools—precise and calculated."

The Beauxbatons witch leaned forward, her keen eyes sharp with interest. "And what about Candidate #71?"

Flitwick allowed a faint smile to surface. "Ah, Severus Shafiq. He plays like a meticulous clockmaker—he observes, measures, and then deftly dismantles the mechanisms of his opponents."

This observation elicited quiet nods of agreement from the assembled judges, acknowledging the expert assessment of Shafiq’s skills.

Contestant Hall – Late Evening

The names began to shimmer in golden fire across the high stone wall, capturing the attention of everyone present. A heavy hush fell over the crowd, anticipation palpable in the air.

Top 50 Duelists – Day 1 Qualifiers

Severus Shafiq – Rank 2 (Ilvermorny)

Benedict Hale – Rank 4 (Independent Contestant)

Evie Sterling – Rank 7 (Ilvermorny)

Alessandro DeLuca – Rank 11 (Ilvermorny)

James Potter – Rank 49 (Independent Contestant)

Evie let out a slow breath, her heart racing with the news. "We’re in," she said, disbelief and excitement mingling in her voice.

Alessandro released a deep exhale, rolling his shoulders back as he cracked his neck. "Day one was just the warm-up," he declared confidently, a grin spreading across his face.

Ben shot them both a mischievous smile. "Just wait till they see me duel properly. I’m going to give them a show!"

Severus, however, remained silent, his eyes methodically scanning the list with a calm detachment that hinted at his inward strategy. He turned away, already focused on what lay ahead, his mind racing with plans for the next matches.

Across the expansive room, James stood alone, a stark contrast to the jubilation around him. There was no applause ringing out for him, no cheers to buoy his spirits. Just the weight of his name languishing near the bottom of the list, the golden glow surrounding it now feeling like a cruel mockery of his aspirations.

He raised his gaze from the ground, taking in the sight of Severus, who was once again being approached—this time by a swarm of delegates, sponsors, and mentors all eager to congratulate him. Handshakes, notes of praise, and offers for prestigious training opportunities came his way like confetti at a celebration.

James couldn’t bear to watch any longer. He turned away quickly, blinking back the shine of unshed tears in his eyes, desperate to shield his vulnerability from the world.

The contestants were given a precious day to rest, an opportunity to reflect on their strategies and prepare for what lay ahead. They all understood that Day Two would be nothing short of brutal.

This day would unfold with two grueling rounds. For each contender, a single loss would mean immediate elimination, a harsh reality that loomed large over them like a thundercloud. The rank each participant held would dictate their opponents, and as fate would have it, those at the top of the standings would soon find themselves pitted against one another in fierce combat.

As the stars sparkled ominously above the imposing dueling fortress, and the air grew thick with tension akin to swirling smoke, one undeniable truth settled deep within every competitor’s bones:

The easy fights were now a thing of the past.

With this realization, they steeled themselves, knowing that the real battles—the ones that would test their strength, strategy, and resolve—were about to commence.

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