The air was already tense before either of them moved. Lyra’s voice cut through the dusk like a blade. “Oh, come on, again with that look, Rin? You think you’re better than me, don’t you?”

Rin didn’t answer. She just stood there, quiet and still as the wind stirred the dust between them. Her hand twitched — barely noticeable, but enough to set Lyra off.

“That’s it. That silent judging face of yours!” Lyra snapped, stepping forward, her red hair flaring like a banner in the storm.

It should’ve been nothing — a misunderstanding over a training order, a misplaced word after days without rest. But in that moment, all the little cracks between them split wide open. The arguments, the unspoken jealousy, the exhaustion — everything they had buried under forced teamwork burst free.

Rin’s voice came low and even, a whisper that hurt more than any shout. “You always talk too much when you’re scared.”

The words hit like a spark on dry grass.

Before the could even blink, Lyra lunged — the metallic gleam of her blade flashing between them. Rin met her halfway, calm as ever, their knives clashing with a sound sharp enough to slice the silence apart.

Dust exploded around their feet. Their uniforms — black and crisp — moved like shadows locked in a furious dance, each strike an outlet for every bottled emotion neither could ever put into words.

It wasn’t about winning anymore. It was about everything they hadn’t said.

And as the watched from a few meters away, frozen in disbelief, the two girls’ blades met again — fire and still water colliding in a storm they both desperately needed to unleash.