My Second Chance in Life in Another World-Chapter 57: LUNCH BET

The swordsmanship class had begun, and Leonardo and I were now running side by side on the training field, completing our 20 laps. The sun was climbing higher into the sky, its rays casting long shadows across the field. The rhythmic sound of our footsteps blended with the distant chatter of other pairs training in the background.

We were on our 17th lap, and I could feel the burn in my legs. My breath came a bit heavier, but I wasn’t about to slow down. This was part of the training, after all—and compared to 50 laps of Instructor Gord, this is nothing. I glanced over at Leonardo, curious about how he was faring.

To my astonishment, he showed no signs of fatigue. His breathing was steady, his pace consistent, and his expression calm, as though this were just a casual jog. Was this the gap between a first-year and a fifth-year student?

He must have felt my gaze because he turned his head slightly, his sharp eyes meeting mine. "What?" he asked, his tone neutral but laced with curiosity.

"Nothing," I replied quickly, trying to mask my amazement. "I was just thinking about how you don’t seem tired at all."

"Well," he said with a small shrug, his voice carrying the same casual confidence he exuded earlier, "I usually do 100 laps, so this is nothing."

My jaw nearly dropped. 100 laps? I couldn’t even fathom reaching that level. The thought alone was exhausting.

I looked down at my feet as they pounded against the dirt, wondering if I’d ever be able to achieve what seemed like an impossible feat. Compared to Leonardo, I felt miles behind—not just in endurance but in overall skill.

Finally, we completed our 20 laps, coming to a halt near the weapon racks. My legs felt like they were made of lead, but I refused to show any sign of weakness in front of Leonardo. He, on the other hand, didn’t even seem winded.

"Good work," he said, his tone indicating he wasn’t particularly impressed.

"Yeah," I replied, trying to sound as casual as possible while suppressing the urge to collapse on the spot.

"Now," he continued, his voice taking on a more serious edge, "let’s move on to practice. I want to see what you’ve got."

He took his stance in front of me, his feet firmly planted and his sword held with precision. There was something about the way he stood—so composed, so steady—that it was almost intimidating. His presence alone radiated strength, as if daring me to find an opening in his defense.

I mirrored his stance, though I couldn’t help but feel like an amateur in comparison. Every small adjustment I made felt awkward, as though my body hadn’t yet fully adapted to the demands of swordsmanship.

Leonardo reached into his pocket and pulled out a coin. "We’ll use this to signal the start of the match," he said, holding it up between his fingers.

He flipped the coin into the air. Time seemed to slow as it spun, catching the sunlight before falling to the ground with a soft clink.

The moment it landed, Leonardo remained completely still. He didn’t move a muscle, his stance unbroken.

"Come on," he said, his tone calm but challenging. "If you manage to hit me before lunch break, it’s your win. But if you can’t, and lunch break arrives, it’s my win."

The confidence in his voice was infuriating. He wasn’t just underestimating me; he was outright taunting me.

"How about we make it more interesting?" he continued, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "The loser buys lunch for the winner. What do you say?"

I clenched my teeth. He clearly thought I had no chance, that this was an easy way to secure a free meal. But if he wanted to underestimate me, fine. I’d use it to my advantage.

"I accept your offer," I said, my grip tightening on my sword.

"Good," he replied, his smirk widening. "Then let’s begin."

I took a deep breath, steadying myself. If I wanted any chance of landing a hit, I couldn’t rely on basic skills alone. I needed to catch him off guard, to make him underestimate me even further.

Without hesitation, I charged toward him, my eyes locked on his stance. He didn’t move, his calm expression unchanging. Was he seriously going to let me attack first?

As I closed the distance, I prepared to activate the only intermediate sword skill I knew. I leaped forward, channeling every ounce of energy into my strike.

"Horizontal Arc!" I shouted, swinging my sword in a wide, powerful arc aimed directly at his torso.

For a moment, I thought I had him. His eyes widened ever so slightly, a flicker of surprise breaking through his composure. My heart raced with the thrill of potential victory.

But just as the thought crossed my mind, he moved.

"Vertical Slash!" he shouted, his sword flashing through the air with blinding speed.

In an instant, my blade shattered, the broken pieces clattering to the ground. Time seemed to freeze as I stared at what was left of my weapon, disbelief washing over me.

I had activated my skill first. I had the advantage. So how had he been faster? 𝙛𝒓𝓮𝙚𝔀𝒆𝒃𝓷𝒐𝓿𝙚𝓵.𝙘𝒐𝒎

Leonardo lowered his sword, the faintest hint of amusement playing on his face. "I’m sorry your sword broke," he said, his tone almost apologetic but laced with unmistakable smugness. "Take another one so we can continue."

I looked up at him, my frustration bubbling beneath the surface. He wasn’t even trying to hide how much he was enjoying this. For him, this wasn’t just a practice match; it was entertainment.

I took another wooden sword from the rack, a replacement for my broken sword, and as I straightened up, I noticed a crowd of spectators had gathered around us. Their murmurs and whispers reached my ears, a mix of curiosity and excitement. I hadn’t even realized they were there before, too focused on the match to pay attention to anything else.

The weight of their stares pressed down on me. I clenched my jaw, refusing to let it shake my resolve. I couldn’t afford to lose now—not here, not in front of so many people. The thought of their judgment, the potential humiliation, was enough to light a fire in my chest. I had to land a hit on Leonardo, no matter what.

I tightened my grip on my sword, my palms slightly slick with sweat. My mind raced, searching for any strategy that might work against him. Then it hit me—a tactic I had used once before during my match with Uncle Philip. It was risky, but it might just work.

"Hey, you’re slow," Leonardo called out, his voice cutting through my thoughts. His tone was casual, almost bored, but there was an edge to it, a challenge hidden beneath the surface.

"Sorry, I’m coming!" I replied, forcing a confident tone as I moved toward him.

I took a deep breath, steadying my nerves. If this plan failed, I’d accept my loss. But if it worked, even against someone as skilled as Leonardo, it would prove that I wasn’t just some inexperienced first-year.

Leonardo tossed a coin into the air, its metallic glint catching the sunlight. Time seemed to stretch as it flipped end over end before landing on the ground with a soft clink.

The moment it hit the dirt, I charged toward him.

"Sharp Nail!" I shouted, activating the skill that doubled my speed. My body surged forward like an arrow, my blade aiming directly for his chest.

As expected, Leonardo intercepted my attack with ease, his sword moving fluidly to block mine. He didn’t even activate a skill—he didn’t need to. His strength and precision alone were enough to deflect my strike.

"Single Shot!" I shouted, channeling all my strength into a follow-up attack aimed at his shoulder. The force of the skill made my arms tremble as I swung.

But again, Leonardo blocked it effortlessly, his blade meeting mine with a resounding ’clang’. He didn’t even flinch, his stance unbroken. It was like trying to cut through a wall of iron.

"This guy..." I thought, my frustration mounting. He’s on a whole different level. The only person I’ve faced who’s practically stronger than me is Mother, and she’s practically untouchable.

"Is this all you’ve got?" Leonardo asked, his voice laced with disappointment.

Before I could respond, he shifted his stance. In a blur of motion, he attacked.

I barely had time to react, raising my sword to block. But his strike was so powerful that it sent me sprawling to the ground, the impact jarring every bone in my body.

"It seems my expectations were wrong," he said, looking down at me with a mix of amusement and pity.

His words stung, but I forced myself to remain calm. This was the moment I had been waiting for, the one I had been hoping would come. Just like with Uncle Philip during that match, there was always a brief lapse in guard when an opponent became overconfident.

I scooped up a handful of dust from the ground, my fingers curling tightly around the gritty particles.

"This better work," I thought, silently apologizing to Leonardo for what I was about to do.

With a quick motion, I hurled the dust at his face.

"Dust Hurricane!" I shouted, adding a bit of theatrics to mask my desperation.

"What—? My eyes!" Leonardo exclaimed, stepping back as he instinctively brought his hands to his face, trying to clear the dust. His confident demeanor cracked for the first time, replaced by genuine surprise.

"This is my chance," I thought, adrenaline surging through me as I scrambled to my feet.

"My turn," I said aloud, determination hardening my voice.

I activated my skill again, feeling the familiar rush of power coursing through my limbs.

"Sharp Nail!" I shouted, my speed doubling once more as I darted toward him.

Leonardo was still trying to wipe the dust from his eyes, his movements uncharacteristically clumsy. He couldn’t see me coming, his usual precision and composure thrown off by the unexpected attack.

My sword struck his stomach, the impact reverberating through my arms. But I immediately deactivated the skill upon contact, ensuring I didn’t cause him any real harm.

The crowd around us erupted into a mix of cheers and disapproval, their excitement palpable. I stepped back, lowering my sword as I watched Leonardo stumble slightly, his hand still pressed to his stomach where I had struck.

He blinked rapidly, finally clearing the dust from his eyes.

"It’s my win!" I shouted, raising my sword in triumph, the sharp clang of steel still echoing in the air.

The training field fell silent, save for the faint rustle of wind brushing through the gathered spectators. My chest heaved as I tried to steady my breath, the weight of the match lifting off me. For a moment, I felt invincible, as if I’d achieved something impossible.

But my victory wasn’t met with the cheers or applause I’d anticipated. Instead, the crowd stared at me with mixed expressions—some amused, others disapproving, and a few outright judgmental. Their gazes bore into me, making my earlier confidence waver slightly.

I glanced over at Leonardo, who wiped the last traces of dust from his face. His expression wasn’t angry—at least not fully—but there was a distinct frown tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"That’s unfair," Leonardo said, his voice sharp with irritation. "What you did was cheating."

I straightened up, gripping my sword tightly as I turned to face him. "There are no rules against throwing sand at your opponent," I replied, my tone firm. I wasn’t going to let him diminish my hard-earned victory.

Leonardo narrowed his eyes, his frown deepening. "Maybe not, but it’s not exactly honorable."

"Honorable?" I repeated, raising an eyebrow. My voice grew sharper as I continued, "In a real battle, would you prioritize honor over protecting your life?"

He opened his mouth to respond but stopped, the words catching in his throat. I watched as his expression shifted—first defiance, then contemplation. He furrowed his brow, clearly weighing my point.

"That’s..." he trailed off, his voice quieter now.

I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. It wasn’t easy standing up to someone like Leonardo, the academy’s top swordsman, but I wasn’t about to let him diminish my effort.

"Well," I said, my tone lightening as I shifted the conversation, "it’s my win, so you’ll be buying me lunch, right, Mr. Leonardo?"

His lips twitched, the ghost of a smile breaking through his frustration. "Yes," he admitted with a reluctant sigh. "We agreed on it, and I won’t go back on my word. You can order anything you like."

"That’s what I wanted to hear," I said, unable to hide the grin spreading across my face. The weight of the match, the tension, and the crowd’s judgment all faded as I savored the moment.

But just as I was beginning to bask in my victory, Leonardo’s smile shifted. It became something sharper, more mischievous, and I immediately felt a sense of foreboding.

"But before that," he began, his voice carrying an unsettling edge, "we still have some time. Let’s run another 50 laps. Twenty laps weren’t nearly enough for a proper warm-up. Let’s go!"

"What?!" I exclaimed, my voice rising an octave. I stared at him in disbelief as he casually stretched his arms, already preparing to take off.

"Don’t ’what’ me," he said, raising an eyebrow as if my reaction was absurd. "You’re still my student, and I’m still your teacher. You need to build up your stamina, and running is the best way to do it."

"But you’re only doing this out of spite because you lost!" I accused, pointing an indignant finger at him.

"Spite?" He feigned offense, placing a hand on his chest. "I’m deeply hurt by your assumption. This is purely for your benefit as a swordsman."

I could see through his act, but it didn’t matter. He was already jogging in place, his energy seemingly boundless.

"Hey! Don’t make me run 50 laps!" I protested, trying to reason with him.

Leonardo smirked, his playful demeanor only adding to my frustration. "Your legs do the running, not your mouth," he retorted. "And just so you know, you won’t be getting lunch until you’ve finished all 50 laps. So, start running now."

"But—"

"No buts. Get moving, or I’ll make it 100 laps instead," he threatened, his tone light but leaving no room for negotiation.

I groaned, my shoulders slumping as I realized I had no choice. "Please, give me a break," I implored one last time, hoping he might take pity on me.

Leonardo only chuckled, already jogging toward the edge of the training field. "Come on, you’ll thank me later. Let’s go!"

Reluctantly, I started running, my legs feeling like lead as I forced myself to follow him. The crowd had mostly dispersed by now, their curiosity satisfied, but a few lingered, their amused smiles making my humiliation even worse.

As I ran, my mind raced with a mix of annoyance and determination. Sure, I’d won the match, but at what cost? Was this really what victory felt like?

"Next time," I muttered under my breath, my gaze fixed on the ground ahead, "I’ll win without resorting to tricks... and without having to run 50 laps afterward."

Leonardo glanced back at me, his grin widening as he caught my muttering. "What was that?" he called out, his tone teasing.

"Nothing!" I shouted, quickening my pace to catch up with him.

"Good! You’re already picking up speed. Let’s see if you can keep it up for the next 49 laps," he said with a laugh, his energy still annoyingly high.

I sighed, resigning myself to my fate. Maybe I’d won the match, but it was clear Leonardo wasn’t going to let me forget who the real victor was.