The Coconut Gambit

Sighing heavily, I feel the weight of frustration settling over me like a dense fog. Ugh, there's no need to get frustrated over this. Fuck Isabella and all her bullshit. How dare she think this will make me lose. Tsk, I really hate myself for making Isabella such a pain in the ass.

Resolved, I spin on my heel and address Professor Don, whose eyes gleam with an amber hue that speaks of wisdom and experience. "Professor Don, can we change the rules of this sparring session?" I ask, trying to keep a hint of hope in my voice.

His response is immediate, his tone steeped in the gravitas of his position. "V, this is your midterm. This is not a joke," he replies, the seriousness of his statement hanging heavily in the air.

I sigh again, this time with a hint of determination, and walk over to him. Pulling him aside, away from the prying ears of other students, I lean in close. "Hey, come on, Professor," I whisper conspiratorially. "You already promised last week Isadora wouldn't be part of it because of how insanely ahead she is compared to the rest of us."

Professor Don starts to respond, "She is still—" but I cut him off, my whisper urgent yet compelling. "Come on, Professor, I know an annoying girl did something to make me fight with Isadora, and I won't judge you for accepting whatever she offered. But I'm sure we can still alter the match. And I promise you one thing."

I pause for a moment, ensuring I have his full attention. "You've been wanting someone strong for the competition your professors have, right? I can convince Isadora to do one duel. It's a guaranteed victory, right? All I'm asking is for you to change the rules a little. Restrict the use of aura and have a time limit so that if I last long enough, we can end it with a draw."

A grin cracks across my face, a sly, knowing expression that holds more than a hint of mischief. Heh~ Professors love to gamble, don't they? They get a kick out of betting on students, hosting those regular competitions. Professor Don here is no different. I bet every professor has tried to rope Isadora into their schemes, but she's always more into training than fighting someone beneath her skill level.

I fix my gaze on Professor Don, who appears to be weighing my words, his expression an unreadable mask. "Come on, Professor~" I urge him, a playful tone sneaking into my voice. "I'm sure she just told you to have me match against Isadora, right? But altering the rules... that's still on the table."

My mind races with the possibilities, and I can't help but let the excitement bubble into my voice. "Think about it~ You could make an absurd bet with the other professors without telling them who's fighting. They'll probably think it's a bluff and go all in. Then, when Isadora shows up, you win big time~"

Professor Don's attempt to mask his amusement is almost endearing. He clears his throat, a sound that cuts through the murmurs of the onlooking students. "That seems like a reasonable argument," he proclaims, his voice carrying across the space. "Isadora is indeed ahead of everyone, so altering the match between you two is a plausible solution." His announcement rings clear, authoritative yet tinged with a subtle note of intrigue.

I suppress a victorious smirk. Heh, I knew it would work. Now, I just have to hold my own on the platform long enough.

With renewed vigor, I stride up to the platform, each step steady and sure. I can feel the eyes of the other students on me, their whispers a blend of speculation and awe. Professor Don's voice rises again, capturing the attention of everyone present.

"Due to the unfairness of the fight, I am going to alter the test so it's fair for both combatants. No aura is permitted during the spar, and there is a 15-minute timer. If both of you are still standing after 15 minutes, it will officially be declared as a draw."

★

Kael gazes across the platform at Isadora, his opponent who's as unreadable as ever. "Sorry for the wait. Hey, please go easy on me, Isadora," he says, attempting to add a light-hearted twist to the tension that grips him. She blinks—once, twice—holding her sword up, her stance unwavering, her face betraying no hint of emotion.

Professor Don's voice cuts through the air, "The timer starts now!" At his words, Kael's heart rate spikes. Adrenaline surges, his thoughts racing. Come on, there's no need to get scared. I've sparred with Isadora countless times. My underclothes are resistant to physical damage. I technically have the advantage since I can use mana... But with Isadora, technicalities are often useless.

He watches her, still as a statue with her sword gripped in one hand. Her expressionless mask is as familiar as it is unsettling. Kael blinks—the simple, human action anyone would do—and in that split second, Isadora springs into motion, her approach silent but deadly.

But Kael is ready; he's sparred with her enough to sense the subtle shift in the air, the displacement that heralds her charge. As she closes the distance, he acts on impulse, tossing a coconut into the air. It's a bizarre, unexpected move, but it works.

Isadora's eyes, usually so dull and emotionless, light up with a flicker of interest as she tracks the coconut's arc. It's a momentary distraction, but a distraction nonetheless. Kael seizes the fleeting opportunity, his own eyes narrowing in focus. This is it, the moment to take control.

With the coconut still arcing through the air, Kael seizes the moment. He lunges towards Isadora, his movements a blend of determination and desperation. Each step is measured, his mind calculating the distance, the angle, the precise moment to strike. But Isadora is already turning towards him, her movements fluid and effortless.

Their swords clash with a metallic ring that echoes through the gym. Isadora's block is effortless, her strength belying her slender frame. Kael's strike, aimed with precision, is parried with an ease that speaks volumes of her skill. Her expression remains unchanged, a mask of stoicism that gives nothing away.

Kael circles her, his steps light but purposeful. He feints to the left, then swiftly changes direction, aiming a strike at her right. But Isadora is unfooled, her sword meeting his with a deft movement that sends a clear message: she's not just his equal, she's his superior in this dance of blades.

The fight is a spectacle of skill and strategy. Kael attacks with a series of well-practiced moves, each one executed with great precision. He aims high, then low, mixes direct thrusts with wide, arcing swings, but Isadora counters each one with a calm that's as impressive as it is frustrating.

Her face is an impassive canvas, no trace of effort or strain, no sign of fatigue. She doesn't speak, doesn't grunt, doesn't even seem to breathe heavily, her quietude in stark contrast to Kael's grunts and exertions. Her blade moves in harmony with her body, a seamless extension of her will, blocking, parrying, and occasionally, striking back with a precision that forces Kael to retreat, time and again.

Kael's mind races as he engages, analyzing every move, every response from Isadora. He tries a more aggressive approach, a flurry of rapid strikes designed to break through her defenses, but she's like water, flowing around his attacks, leaving him grasping at air.

He switches tactics, attempting to use his speed, darting in and out, looking for an opening. But Isadora's sword is always there, a silver barrier that thwarts his every attempt. Her eyes, those pools of unfathomable depth, follow his every move, predicting, countering, dominating.

★

Panting heavily, my breath comes out in ragged bursts. "Fuck, this is so hard," I gasp, feeling the sting of sweat in my eyes. She's holding back, I can tell. And yet, she's like an immovable object, a force of nature that I can't seem to alter in the slightest. Not even a single grunt of effort from her—nothing to show she's even exerting herself.

A wry grin pulls at my lips despite the exhaustion clawing at my muscles. Time to play my card—the one advantage I have left. I focus inward, feeling the familiar thrum of my mana. It's a warm current, a river that rushes through my veins, and I let it engulf me, let it flow into my legs until they're buzzing with the power of it.

"Okay," I think to myself, steadying my stance. "She can't use aura, which means her abilities are capped. She doesn't use magic, so I've got the upper hand there." My smile turns into a full-blown smirk. "With this mana boost, I should be able to match her speed... maybe even outpace her." I've never tried it before, so it's a gamble, but hell, what have I got to lose at this point?

I sink into a crouch, every fiber of my being concentrated on the sensation in my legs, the mana that wraps around my muscles like a second skin, reinforcing, empowering. "Let's find out just how fast you can go without aura Isadora" I challenge her internally.

Just as I'm about to unleash my new strategy, Professor Don looks like he's about to interject. I beat him to it, stating firmly, "Professor, the rules said we can't use aura. Mana is still fair game." He seems a bit taken aback but reluctantly backs down. The technicality is on my side this time.

Isadora tilts her head, her expression as unreadable as ever, watching as I coat my legs in mana. I can't help but grin at her. "Hey, just trying to make this a fair fight," I say, half-joking. She doesn't respond verbally, but there's something in her gaze that says, "You better cook something good later." I guess I've gotten pretty good at reading her subtle cues after feeding her for so long.

To my surprise, instead of gearing up for a more intense battle, Isadora casually reaches into her pouch. She pulls out the coconut I had thrown earlier and, with a practiced motion, uses the metal straw I gave her to drink from it. I remember giving her that straw after watching her drink straight from coconuts like some island castaway—it was a ridiculous sight.

There she stands, sipping from the coconut as if we're not in the middle of a duel, her sword held up in her other hand as a silent signal that she's ready whenever I am. The absurdity of the situation isn't lost on me, and I stifle a chuckle. Only Isadora could turn a duel into a casual drink break.

"Alright then," I say, shaking my head in amusement. "If you're going to enjoy your drink, I guess I'll have to make my move." I take a deep breath, feeling the mana still buzzing in my legs. This is it—time to see if my boosted speed can really give me the edge I need against her.

With a sudden burst of energy, I dart forward, my movements now a blur thanks to the mana. I'm faster, more agile, and for the first time since this duel began, I feel like I've got a shot at actually landing a hit on her. But even as I advance, I know Isadora won't make it easy for me—she never does.

In the split-second it takes for me to close the gap between us, I can see the focus in Isadora's eyes. They're locked onto the movement of my wrist, calculating, predicting. And then, she does something so ridiculously Isadora—she makes a point of sipping her coconut loudly, as if to say, 'I see you, but I'm not worried.'

My strike, aimed at her sword hand, is fast, a blur powered by my mana-enhanced speed. But Isadora, she's something else. With a deftness that's almost infuriating, she flips her sword so it's pointing downwards and blocks my attack effortlessly.