Chapter 71: Results (1)

The students were stunned—none more so than Randolph.

Had they really heard the professor correctly? Ten minutes ago, she’d promised to punish them collectively. Now, she was offering to act as the intermediary for their bet.

Braydon’s eyes flashed with something Michael couldn’t quite read. Was it… panic?

Michael, on the other hand, was cheering inwardly. With Professor Quinn’s involvement, Braydon and Randolph had no excuse to back out if they were to lose.

“Your wager,” the professor prompted, holding out her hand. Her tone left no room for refusal. When Randolph hesitated, she let out a low, dark chuckle.

“Don’t tell me you don’t have the money to wager after all this?”

The words hit like a slap to his pride, and anger stirred behind his eyes.

“I don’t have the gold coins,” Randolph admitted stiffly, “but I have something of similar value.”

He retrieved a small suitcase from his storage ring, his movements heavy, reluctant. Handing it over, he wore the strained expression of a man giving away a piece of himself.

Without a word, the professor slipped Michael’s heavy pouch of gold into her own storage and turned her attention to the suitcase. She flipped the latch open with a snap, inspected the contents, then gave a short nod.

“Five Bloodmend Phials, each worth about fifty gold pieces. Still a little short.”

Randolph’s jaw tightened. He fished out his coin purse, glanced inside, and placed it into her waiting palm. She didn’t bother counting.

“Alright. Now we just need the added wager of the storage ring.” Her gaze slid to Braydon.

A silver ring spun through the air, glinting under the midday sun before she snatched it from the air in one fluid motion. With all wagers collected, her smile widened, sharp and knowing.

“Rudy, Jakob—front and center.”

Rudy cast Michael a worried glance. Michael simply grinned and gave him a thumbs-up, as though wagering his entire net worth was a casual pastime.

Rudy trailed after the professor toward the center training dummy.

“Same rules,” the professor announced, her tone shifting into the clipped precision of a commander. “No mana. No magic. Break the rules, and you forfeit. The other side wins.”

“Do you understand?”

Both boys gave solemn nods.

“One attempt,” she continued. “One only—so make it count.” She stepped aside and gestured toward Jakob, who stood nearest. “You first.”

The surrounding students pressed in, buzzing with anticipation.

Jakob’s face twisted into a rare frown, his usual impassive mask cracking. He cast a glance toward Braydon—a fleeting look laced with something Michael couldn’t quite name—before taking his position in front of the dummy.

Michael’s eyes narrowed.

Why does he look pissed at Braydon? Is their relationship more complicated than I thought?

Up until now, Michael had assumed Jakob was just another one of Braydon’s hangers-on—eager to prove himself and win favor with the son of Lord Marbury.

But the tension in Jakob’s eyes told a different story.

Michael made a mental note to keep a closer eye on Jakob in the future, then turned his focus back to the spectacle.

The last time Jakob had struck the training dummy, it was with a brutal overhand right—ugly in form but packed with raw, crushing power. It had stood out among the other students’ attempts.

But now… something about him was different.

He stood a few feet from the dummy, body squared, elbows tucked in tight, fists clenched. A slow, audible exhale escaped his lips.

Michael’s eyes widened.

Martial arts!?

Panic flickered through him. Was Jakob holding back earlier?

The next moment blurred. Jakob’s left foot shot forward and planted firmly. His torso twisted like a coiled spring snapping loose, his right fist driving forward in a sharp, direct strike that slammed into the dummy’s chest plate.

The thump of impact cut through the air like a hammer strike, silencing every voice in the yard. The training dummy’s shield flared deep yellow for an instant before flashing to orange.

“W-whoa!”

“The shield turned orange, right? I’m not imagining that?”

Murmurs erupted like wildfire. Most of the gathered students had only managed to register white on the shield—barely equivalent to a chore-tier spell. But Jakob, a boy their age, had just landed two whole levels above them.

“You have some technique, young man,” Professor Quinn remarked evenly, her face giving away no surprise—no approval, no concern. It was as if his feat was nothing more than a line in her lesson plan.

Michael and Rudy, however, were sweating bullets—especially Michael.

A tier-two spell’s worth of power? Are you freaking kidding me?

It took effort not to gape like an idiot.

Even the professor’s strike from earlier had only resulted in a yellow glow—granted her punch was only a casual one.

“Heh, looks like you bet on the wrong horse,” Braydon jeered, his laughter rolling loud across the field.

Randolph’s shoulders eased, relief washing away his earlier tension. He joined in Braydon’s laughter, as if Rudy’s upcoming attempt were nothing but a meaningless formality.

Jakob, however, still wore that same irritated expression from earlier—something neither Braydon nor Randolph seemed to notice.

Michael’s mind was still spinning with dread when he felt a light nudge at his side.

“If you wanted to throw away your gold, you could’ve just spent it on me instead,” came a soft, teasing voice.

“Not now, Melody…” His reply came flat, drained of energy. Bantering with this blue-haired girl was the last thing he wanted.

His eyes drifted to Rudy, who was stepping up to take his turn. The boy’s lips were pressed into a thin line, his frown betraying the pressure he felt.

No, Michael thought, swallowing the lump in his throat. I can’t look beaten before he even tries.

He hadn’t made the bet to get rich. He’d made it to stand by his friend.

That thought steadied him. Slowly, his expression hardened with resolve. Ignoring Melody entirely, he walked forward toward Rudy, closing the distance until he stood right beside him at the front.

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