No Nise No

That was tough. I threw myself onto the bed after a long day, every bone in my body just wanting to melt into the mattress. The tests had drained me, and yet, even in exhaustion, I couldn’t stop thinking about tomorrow. The final test. My nerves weren’t from the test itself, but from the possibility of facing some opponent who actually enjoyed fighting. That was the last thing I wanted. A menacing opponent tomorrow would just… complicate things.

...The Next Morning...

“HAHA, THAT LOSER GUY IS PARTICIPATING?!”

“Can he even fight?”

Their voices weren’t even hushed. It was like they wanted me to hear them. I didn’t respond. If I got worked up every time someone said something like that, I’d never have a quiet moment again.

The test had already begun, matches cycling through, and I sat waiting for my turn. My opponent’s codename appeared on the board: Fowl. I’d never heard of him before. That was either good or bad. Hopefully not some martial arts prodigy—though, with my luck, it wouldn’t surprise me.

“Hey, four-eyes.”

I adjusted my glasses slightly. He couldn’t be talking to me.

“HEY!”

…Ok, maybe he was.

I looked up at the guy. Or… guys. A small group, but one of them was glaring right at me.

“Me?”

“Yeah, you. Better forfeit when our match starts. I’ll beat you up if you don’t.”

His tone was casual, but sharp enough to draw a few stares from nearby students.

“Ah, no thanks,” I said flatly.

So this was Fowl. His posture wasn’t threatening, average at best—but appearances meant nothing.

“ARE YOU SERIOUS?!” he shouted, stepping closer. His friends watched like they were waiting for me to crumble.

I shifted my weight slightly, ready to counter if he actually swung. But before anything could happen—

“I’m sorry, but you have to wait for your turn.”

Vitaly stepped in between us, her presence cutting the tension instantly.

“Tch, it’s her. Come on, Fowl. You can beat him up when the match starts,” one of his friends muttered.

Fowl didn’t reply, just clicked his tongue and walked off.

“…Thanks,” I said to Vitaly.

“You shouldn’t have stayed still. Put up some resistance,” she scolded.

“Right… thank you again,” I repeated, bowing my head slightly.

“It’s whatever.”

If she hadn’t stepped in, something stupid would’ve definitely happened.

“Vitalyyy!”

A cheerful voice suddenly rang out. A girl jogged over, waving at her.

Vitaly instantly straightened her posture. “Hey, I thought you didn’t want to watch the final test.”

“Oh, uhm, hi Fin. I was just passing by,” Vitaly said quickly.

“I seeee.”

Our eyes met for a second before she leaned in with a teasing grin.

“Ehh, who’s this now? First Ace and now you’re hanging with the quiet type.”

“I’M NOT!” Vitaly snapped, louder than she meant to.

“I’m Fin. Vitaly’s friend and also her classmate,” she said, smiling at me. I recognized her—she was with Vitaly at the café the other day.

“Loser, first year,” I introduced myself plainly.

“Ohhh, you’re the one with the lowest FP, right?”

“Yes,” I muttered. I didn’t need the reminder.

“It’s been a while since I met a Lotus type,” she said casually.

“…Lotus?” I asked.

Fin blinked, but Vitaly explained. “Lotus is the weakest of all four Frame types. Anyone with less than 1000 FP is classified as Lotus.”

“And the others?”

“The third strongest is Nostra—between 1000 and 2000. Then Dawn—2000 to 5000. And the strongest is Moon. Above 5000.”

“…So I’m the only one with a Lotus here?”

“Well… yeah,” Vitaly admitted.

“That’s fine,” Fin added quickly. “You did great in the reaction test. Faster than Vitaly when she was a first year.”

“Hey, he was only a bit faster,” Vitaly muttered, clearly annoyed.

Still, the reality sank in. The only Lotus type in this school.

“Is there any way to change my Frame type?” I asked, desperate for any loophole.

“No direct way,” Vitaly said. “Just enhance yourself through combat.”

“I see.” That was the only answer I expected.

The matches cycled through. Lock won easily—his opponent forfeited before the fight even began. No surprise.

Then came Drag vs Clocker. I drifted to a quiet spot with a clear view.

Clocker’s stance was solid boxing form, while Drag’s looked improvised, self-taught. When the whistle blew, Clocker closed the distance fast, tackling him to the ground. Drag resisted, but it was over the moment Clocker locked him in place. The tap-out came quick. No drama, just decisive.

The crowd roared. Sportsmanship carried through, with fist bumps and even a hug afterward.

I liked that. Simple. Clean.

Then the announcement echoed:

“Next Match: Fowl VS Loser.”

“Oh, you’re up,” Fin said.

“Yeah. Can you hold these?” I asked, handing her my glasses.

“Sure. Best of luck.”

“Thanks.”

I glanced at Vitaly. She frowned. “Wait—your eyes…”

“My eyes?”

“N-nevermind. Probably just seeing things.”

“…What things?”

“Just shut up and go to the ring already! And good luck, I guess…”

I nodded, stepping away.

The instructor handed me gloves. “These will disable Frame abilities. Just in case.”

I slipped them on, the faint glow signaling they were active.

Inside the ring, Fowl sneered. “You’re gonna regret this.”

“I already have. Wouldn’t be here if I did average on the FP test,” I muttered back.

“That test should’ve told you to quit.”

I ignored him.

The whistle blew.

He lunged first—a predictable right kick. Blocked.

“COME ON! BEAT HIM!!” the crowd roared.

Their cheers seemed to fuel him. His attacks got wilder—sloppy punches, kicks with no rhythm. I blocked what I could, and absorbed some hits.

“WHAT’S WRONG?! CAN’T FIGHT BACK?!” he taunted, grinning.

…This was ridiculous. But strangely, I felt a spark of enjoyment. (This is fun, isn’t it?)

The crowd loved it.

Soon, his movements slowed. Breathing heavier. Perfect. I raised a hand, taunting him to come again.

“DON’T GET COCKY ON ME, LOSER!!”

He lunged with one last punch. I slipped past it and snapped a back kick straight to his face.

Crack.

He crumpled instantly.

The whistle cut through the noise.

“NO WAY!!”

“That’s the first knockout of the day!”

“UNBELIEVABLE!!”

I pulled off the gloves and left the ring, ignoring the stares.

Fin rushed over. “Wow—uhm, here are your glasses.”

“Thanks.”

“You waited for him to exhaust himself,” Vitaly said, disbelief in her tone.

“Yeah?”

“That’s… kind of impressive.”

“Thank you.”

“Still, unnecessary.”

“It was the strategy I committed to,” I lied. The truth was, I just wanted to stretch the fight a little.

“WHAT A MATCH, LOSER!!” Clocker boomed, grinning ear to ear.

“That was entertaining to watch,” Ace added.

“Where’d you learn to fight like that?” Clocker asked.

“Self-taught,” I said simply.

“…Amazing,” he muttered.

“You’ll be ranked pretty high with that,” Fin said warmly.

“That would help.”

By the end, the leaderboard flashed:

Lock

Ace

Mist

Loser

Not bad. Mist was the only girl in the top three, beating a male opponent with grit alone.

“I expected you to rank higher,” Vitaly said bluntly.

“I don’t mind. This is a good result for me.”

“Really?” she asked, skeptical.

“Yeah. But… it’s nice to hear Vitaly has high expectations for me.”

“WHA—NO! DON’T GET THE WRONG IDEA!!” Her face turned red instantly.

She stumbled over her words. “W-what I meant was… I wouldn’t be satisfied with just fourth, not if I felt I was stronger than everyone else.”

I tilted my head. How was I supposed to know that?

Still, one thing was clear—Vitaly was competitive to her core. And I’d need to remember that.

The opening tests were finally over. My life in this school had just begun.

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