Who The Hell Is Main Character?

Within hours, there was not a single cadet of the third generation that was not aware of the duel.

Almost everyone had signed for the audience notice. And made reservations for their seats.

No one expected the first duel of the academy would be someone challenging the heir of Severan.

Professors were busy handling the crowd of cadets as the time of duel approached.

The walk to the vesting hall should have taken not more than ten minutes, but Maeve made it in five. Her hand wrapped firmly around Marcellus’s wrists cutting through side corridors most cadets didn’t even know connected to the arenas.

Every hallway they passed through had eyes. Cadets would stop mid-conversation, phones half-raised, whispers trailing him as he walked by.

Marcellus, for his part, seemed entirely unbothered, which only made Maeve walk faster.

The vesting chambers sat alongside Arenas. Glass winged corridors, doors marked with a small insignia of lion.

Inside the noise of the hallway dropped away immediately.

The vesting hall was long and clinical. Endless rows of white wardrobes lined both walls, each containing regulation duel equipment.

Along the upper portion of the walls, several large displays glowed with live information.

It was an area for equipment for duels.

A young man sat at the front desk, in the centre of white wardrobes lining on both side endlessly.

He looked up, really slowly. He had white hair, brown eyes, a fair skin with slight patches of color, and formally dressed in academy uniform.

"Hmm...Marcellus Severan..." He hummed Marcellus’s name and started typing it on the sleek laptop on his table.

"So...you...are...’ere...for...duel..."

"Yes, we’re here for a suit that fits him, can you please be a little quick, just a minute remains!" Maeve cut his slow words.

"Hmm...." The young man hummed and nodded.

"So...what...are...your...powers..."

’Oh, that’s new.’ Marcellus thought. ’My first time seeing someone with psychomotor retardation.’

"My powers?" Marcellus thought, and Maeve suddenly looked at him as if he’ll reply in an instant.

"You wouldn’t believe me if I told you," Marcellus said.

"...Really? ... don’t...judge...me...yet...I...know...a...lot..."

"I-" Marcellus began.

"Hmm..."

Maeve was losing her patience.

"I don’t know what my powers are, haha," Marcellus laughed it off.

"Ha...Ha...Ha...Ha..."

"Oh, that was funny---"

"...No...it...wasn’t," the young man said, entirely deadpan.

"I...was...just...practicing...my...laugh...for...later..."

"..."

"..."

’Was I just outdone in humor by a retard---’

Before Marcellus could think anymore, he felt a tight grip over his collar.

Maeve pulled him, and walked him past the desk, leading him straight to the door that was entrance to the arena.

The east gate of the arena opened first.

Rafe Pretoria stepped through it in full black duel-issue armor, plated shoulder with protected black pads catching overhead light.

The crowd’s noise shifted the instant they saw him. A low, appreciative murmur, and the sound of an audience recognizing someone.

The arena itself was a wide circular field of pale reinforced stone, large enough to accommodate a hundred people with ease.

Tiered seating rose steeply on all sides, already packed with third-generation cadets.

Transparent barrier shimmered faintly between the audience and the floor.

Rafe stopped at the center line and looked toward the west gate.

He waited.

And waited.

....And waited.

He was getting tired of waiting.

Even the crowd had settled back in silence.

For moments, thoughts like Marcellus ghosting everyone surfaced on his mind.

And just then...the gates opened.

Marcellus Severan came through it sideways, pulled by a firm grip on his collar stumbling two steps before catching his own balance.

Wearing the usual black T-shirt and cargo pants, the same clothes he were wearing during the class in the morning.

He had no armor, no suit, no visible acknowledgment as if he had prepared for the duel.

Behind him, the door slammed shut when Maeve was done throwing him out.

"..."

The arena went dead silent.

Rafe stared at him intently. ’He’s not even wearing a suit,’ he thought.

Marcellus cranked his neck to sides, and fixed his collar.

He warmed up with a few jumps, and huffed like an old man out jogging in morning.

Then...he nodded.

"That feels better," he murmured.

His gaze then landed on Rafe.

’Is he the main character?’ he asked in his thoughts.

[I don’t think so.]

’Figured.’

"Alright, I’m rea-"

"ARE YOU SERIOUSLY WEARING PAJAMAS?" Somewhere in the stands, someone shouted.

Marcellus furrowed his brows and stared down.

"NO! These are cargo pants!" He screamed back to the one who’d asked.

*FROOOOM*

Buzzers resounded across the arena the moment laughter was beginning to erupt, and the noise died down in an instant.

The ground beneath Marcellus’s feet moved without a warning.

*Rumble*

A jagged spear of packed earth erupted from the stone floor at an angle aimed clean for his ribs.

Marcellus twisted out of the line on pure instincts, and felt the spear graze close as it tore a cut in his black T-shirt.

The second spear didn’t wait for him to adjust his posture.

It came from a different angle entirely, and this time there was no room for a pivot.

Marcellus dropped low, with his palm slamming flat against the stone, and shifted to left.

Romanos are the family that built their force control around the element of Earth. Pretarios being a branch evidently will have control over the same element, but the way both families use earth is completely different.

Pretarios are limited to using their element earth on the ground, they cannot create massive structures like Romanos, and they don’t have the ability to control metal either.

But despite the difference.

’A spear like this if pierced, can end the opponent if it’s even made to explode within the body,’ Marcellus thought looking at two jagged spears protruding from the ground.

’I was able to dissolve blood crystals of Brandt because they gave me time, but analyzing every power, every time I face an opponent is a serious liability in battle,’ Marcellus thought.

The faint hue of rose again ignited in the eyes of Marcellus, and he stood up from his crouched position, straightening himself up.

"My, at least give me the courtesy of being aware of your attacks, you’re ranked quite high," he said.

"I don’t think you deserve any of that from me," Rafe replied.

"I see," Marcellus nodded. "Forgive me, for I will pay attention now."

[Axiom]

[Executing: Observation.]

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